“News was delayed on account of a ball game, but see?”

The guard chuckled as he pointed himself out on the screen, which showed a wide shot of a moderate crowd of people. Rye recognized the backdrop as the courtyard he and Brynn had walked through only minutes before, the building in the background.

The guard stood out in the crowd because he was in uniform when everyone else was wearing civilian clothing or white lab coats.

Rye had difficulty making sense or lending credibility to the voice-over commentary. The captions superimposed across the bottom of the screen seemed just as nonsensical. But, gradually, he began to piece together a story that filled him with disbelief and anguish.

The guard said, “I guess I shouldn’t be lettin’ on about myself, when it’s all about Violet. Sweet kid.”

He was talking to himself. Rye was already running back toward the elevator.

Chapter 21

8:08 p.m.

The light above the elevator indicated that it was still on the third floor. For the second time in three hours Rye opted for the fire stairs. He climbed, taking several at a time, rounded the landings without slowing, and burst through the door marked “THREE,” winded but wild to find Brynn.

The long and empty hallway stretched both left and right. He ran several yards in one direction, didn’t spot anyone or hear voices behind the closed doors, reversed direction and ran the other way until he reached the last room, where light shone into the hall through the door standing ajar.

He pushed it open and went in. There was a hospital bed, empty except for a pink, well-worn stuffed bunny lying on the pillow. Under the window, a twin bed, the linens stripped from it and piled in a bundle on the bare mattress. Coloring book pages of ballerinas taped to the walls.

Rye registered all this within a second.

Brynn and a young woman with a name tag clipped to her scrubs were standing before a wall-mounted flat-screen TV, watching the same news story Rye had seen a portion of downstairs.

Hearing him huff up behind her, Brynn turned her head. Her face had been leached of color; her expression was stark with despair. He moved to stand beside her in a show of support, but he didn’t touch her, aware of the other woman’s curiosity over his sudden appearance.

The news story ended with a wrap-up from the smiling anchorwoman. “Senator and Mrs. Hunt certainly made it a memorable Thanksgiving for little Violet and her family, hey, Mark?”

The co-anchor looked into the camera through moist eyes. “They certainly did. What an inspiring and heartwarming story for Thanksgiving night. And the story isn’t over. We’ll have coverage of Violet’s homecoming for you on our morning program.”

He went on about it being a day to count blessings and spread happiness to those in need of cheering, that everyone should take the Hunts’ example to heart. Rye’s stomach turned. Since Brynn appeared to be hypnotized by the anchor’s blather, he plucked the remote from her hand and muted the audio.

The name-tagged woman regarded him with uncertainty. “Are you with Dr. O’Neal?”

Brynn roused herself. “I’m sorry. Abby, this is…uh…my…friend.”

He hitched his chin. “Hi.”

Abby said hi back, then, “Is everything all right, Dr. O’Neal?”

Brynn placed a reassuring hand on the young woman’s arm. “Yes, of course. Fine. I’m just more than a little surprised that I wasn’t consulted before all this took place.” She motioned toward the TV. “Who signed Violet out? Dr. Lambert?”

“No.” The doctor she named must’ve been familiar to Brynn. She gave an absent nod. “I would like to have been notified, so I could be here to wish Violet a safe journey home.”

“It all happened so suddenly,” Abby said with a genial smile. “No sooner had I come on duty than the TV vans started pulling up outside the gate. I’m told that only the administrator was given a heads-up, and barely fifteen minutes before the Hunts themselves arrived in a long white limo. They intended for it to be a surprise, and said that it wasn’t about them, it was about Violet.”

“Leaving one to wonder how the TV stations knew of it in advance,” Brynn said.

Abby shrugged. “They’re such a high-profile couple, I guess it’s hard for them to keep anything under wraps.”

“The limo might have been a giveaway,” Rye said. He admired Brynn’s ability to maintain her forced smile when he felt like smashing something.

Brynn asked, “Was it ever explained how Violet came to be chosen for this—”

“Farce.”

“—honor?” Brynn asked, talking over Rye’s angry whisper.

Abby’s lips formed a moue of sadness. “I heard the senator telling one of the reporters that they wanted to do this for a child who was seriously ill, but well enough to withstand the trip.” She laughed softly. “Of course the travel was streamlined for her. They made it hassle-free for Violet and her mother.”

“Yes,” Brynn said, keeping her smile pasted on, “they literally rolled out the red carpet for them.”

The news vans had caravanned behind the Hunts’ limousine to a private landing strip where the couple’s Gulfstream had been waiting to fly Violet and her mother to Tennessee for a reunion with her father, brothers, and beloved dog, Cy.