The phone slipped from Johana's hand. It bounced on the rug, the screen glowing.
"Sibley Memorial," she said, her voice hollow. "Chloe, we have to go. Now."
Chloe was already on her feet, the last traces of vodka gone from her eyes. "I'll get a car. Get your coat."
They scrambled. Johana's hands were shaking so badly she couldn't grip the zipper of her jacket. She yanked it hard, the metal teeth scraping her chin, not caring about the sting.
Chloe was on her phone, swearing. "Surge pricing is insane. Two hundred bucks just to get across town."
"Just pay it!" Johana yelled.
They ran down the stairs, bursting out of the dorm into the freezing night. The snow had stopped, but the streets were slick and empty. The wait for the car was three minutes. It felt like three hours.
Johana stood on the curb, her breath coming out in white puffs. She pulled up Hazelle's contact and hit call. It rang. And rang. Voicemail.
"Hazelle, please," she whispered into the phone. "Please be okay."
The car pulled up. They dove into the back seat.
"Sibley Memorial," Chloe told the driver. "Fast. Please."
The driver looked in the mirror, saw their faces, and hit the gas. The city blurred past the windows. The streetlights smeared into streaks of yellow and white through the tears Johana was trying to blink back.
She remembered yesterday morning. Hazelle at the mirror, putting on lipstick, a smile on her face that Johana had never seen before.
"I'm going to meet someone," Hazelle had said. "Someone who can change my life."
Johana had laughed. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
The memory was a knife in her chest. She should have stopped her. She should have asked more questions.
"She probably just drank too much," Chloe said, gripping Johana's hand. "You know how she gets. She's not used to the hard stuff."
"It wasn't just drinking," Johana said, staring at the seat in front of her. "That man on the phone... he was too calm. It was wrong."
The drive stretched on—through snarled traffic on the bridge, past a fender-bender that had two lanes blocked, the minutes bleeding into each other. By the time the hospital came into view, nearly an hour had passed since Kamren's call. More than enough time for a helicopter to cross the hundred miles from the Hamptons.
Her phone rang. It was the same unknown number. She snatched it up.
"Hello?"
"Miss Neal," Kamren Hubbard's voice was still maddeningly level. "Just to let you know, we've arrived. We're in the emergency room waiting for you."
"Who are you?" Johana demanded. "Why are you the one calling me?"
"I am handling the situation," Kamren said smoothly. "Just focus on getting here safely. We will talk when you arrive."
The line went dead.
Johana stared at the screen. "Kamren Hubbard," she said slowly. "Do you know that name?"
Chloe frowned, thinking. Her face went pale. "Hubbard? Like... the Hubbard family? The hedge fund?"
The car screeched to a halt in front of the Sibley Memorial emergency room. The lights were blindingly bright, a harsh contrast to the dark street.
Johana threw open the door before the car fully stopped. She ran across the sidewalk, her boots slipping on the ice, and shoved through the double doors of the ER.
The waiting room was bright and cold, smelling of disinfectant and anxiety. And sitting in the plastic chairs, looking completely out of place, was a group of men in expensive coats.
One of them was Kamren Hubbard, his dark hair perfectly styled, his face calm.
And sitting next to him, his long legs stretched out, his pale blue eyes lifting to meet hers, was Dalton Black.
