“They almost killed him, Leo,” I whispered, though my voice was lost in the hallway noise.

Outside, rain lashed against the dark windowpanes, blurring the lights of downtown Des Moines.

Josephine took a step back, pulling her arm out of the security guard’s grip with a sudden, violent jerk.

“Don’t touch me again,” she told the guard, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous purr.

She looked at the exit door, then her eyes drifted to the small plastic table next to my hospital bed.

Leo’s heavy brass key ring lay there, glinting under the harsh lights.

His car keys, attached to the black fob for our terrain SUV, sat right on the edge of the laminate surface.

Josephine looked from the keys to Melanie, a silent, knowing signal passing between them.

“We are leaving,” Josephine said, straightening her collar.

“You aren’t going anywhere, ma’am,” the first guard said, stepping into her path.

“You have no right to detain us,” Melanie snapped, pulling out her phone. “We are going to our car.”

Leo finished his call and slid his phone into his pocket.

He walked over to my bedside and took my hand.

His palm was cold and sweating.

“The police are five minutes out,” Leo whispered to me.

He didn’t notice his keys sitting on the table near the doorway.

He didn’t notice the way Josephine’s gaze lingered on them, or the way she nudged Melanie toward the threshold.

“They won’t hurt you again, Grace,” he said, his voice breaking. “I promise.”

Just then, the double doors at the end of the ward swung open with a loud, metallic clatter.

A team of paramedics pushed a gurney through the double doors, shouting for a doctor.

The yellow linoleum floor squeaked under their running sneakers.

In the sudden rush of noise and movement, the two guards turned their heads toward the hallway.