The main lobby was mostly dark, illuminated only by a few security lights.

The reception desk was empty.

I looked toward the sliding glass doors at the front entrance.

The rain was coming down harder now, washing over the glass in thick sheets.

Through the blurred window, I saw a dark sedan parked in the fire lane.

Its headlights were off, but the exhaust was rising in white plumes from the tailpipe.

I pushed through the inner set of glass doors and stepped into the vestibule.

The air smelled of wet asphalt and cold wind.

Through the glass, I saw a figure walking toward the building from the parking lot.

She was wearing a long beige trench coat, her silver hair pinned up in a neat, tight bun.

She was carrying a large, empty canvas bag over her shoulder.

She wasn’t going to the admissions desk.

She was heading toward the side entrance of the hospital, near the emergency room.

I backed away from the glass, my mind racing.

She had a keycard.

Or she had someone on the inside.