Dr. Rachel Carter stepped into the room a moment later.

She closed the door behind her, locking out the noise of the busy hallway.

She walked over to my bedside and checked the digital display on my IV pump.

“How are you holding up?” Rachel asked softly, her hand resting on my forearm.

“I’m burning,” I whispered, my throat feeling dry and raw.

“The morphine should help soon,” she said, her eyes filled with professional concern.

I looked at the small window in the door to make sure we were completely alone.

“Rachel,” I said, my voice barely louder than a breath.

She leaned closer, her ear near my mouth.

“I need you to do something for me,” I said.

“Anything, Natalie. Just tell me what you need.”

“My key ring,” I said. “It’s in the clear plastic property bag the paramedics brought in.”

Rachel nodded slowly. “I have it locked in my desk drawer in the office.”

“The small brass key with the star stamped on the head,” I said. “It’s for the safe deposit box at First Merchants Bank on Fourth Street.”