Nurse Gable paused, her gaze dropping to my hand, then rising to meet my eyes.

“Dr. Harrison is not available at this hour,” she said, her tone growing colder. “And I have a job to do.”

She stepped forward, forcing me to either yield or make a scene in the hallway.

Before I could answer, the burner phone in my pocket vibrated against my thigh.

I felt a sudden jolt of adrenaline as I realized I had left the nurse’s phone with Vivian, but my own phone—the one I used to coordinate with my father—was still in my cardigan.

But the vibration was steady, a call coming through.

I looked past Nurse Gable into the dark hallway, where the shadow of a figure was standing near the end of the corridor, watching us.

The phone vibrated again, the screen lighting up my pocket with a pale, blue glow.

The shadow moved, stepping into the dim light of the wall sconce.

It was Mr. Vance, Vivian’s personal security detail, his face carved of granite.

“Nurse Gable,” Vance said, his voice cutting through the quiet corridor. “Mrs. Vivian Thornton requires your assistance in the study immediately.”