“If it’s true, your reward is the knowledge you did a good deed.”
“Please, man. I got medical bills you wouldn’t believe. You gotta admire my restraint not taking your picture, given the breaking news.”
“What news?”
“About you being wanted by the cops.”
“The hell are you talking about?”
“Seriously, just in the last few minutes. There’s a scoop on one of the sites I shoot for.” He opened a website on his phone. Griffin could just make out the headline:Griffin Hart: Wantedby Police? “I could get a big paycheck for the first pics of the fugitive.”
“Show me that,” Griffin said, snatching the phone.
The story quoted unnamed police sources saying Griffin was a “person of interest” in a murder inquiry. It was only a few paragraphs long—with more promised. Who was he supposed to have killed?
Shit. He needed to find Lana.
“You see how restrained I’m being?”
Griffin returned the phone. “I got bigger problems—but thanks, you’re a real hero.”
Griffin rounded the corridor, got to the elevator and punched the button repeatedly. His phone rang—his manager. He ignored it. Lana was the priority.
“Don’t worry, baby,” called a familiar voice beside him. “Momma’s here.”
He groaned. Were they letting anyone in now? “Not now, Maggie.”
“I been looking for you,” she whispered. “It’s a set-up! I know it’s a set-up! I’m here to save you before the cops come for you!”
“What do you mean ‘before the cops come’?”
“They’re on their way, baby! It’s on the news—OJ all over again! But I can get you past them.” She was almost jumping with excitement. “I got my car here—in the basement garage. You can hide in the trunk!”
The elevator doors opened. She went to step in with him, but he held up a hand. “No thanks, Maggie.”
He got out on the third floor, still ignoring his ringing phone, and found Room 341. It was the one with the John Doe. Except, he realized as he entered, it was a woman, unconscious. A slender woman with dark hair.
“Lana?” he said, approaching the bed, his heart jumping. It wasn’t Lana—it had to be … her sister. An orange cap lay on thefloor—a Broncos cap. Griffin’s gaze snagged on Vivien’s hand—there was a torn piece of paper in it. He drew it out—a photo—and stared at it. Had Lana left it for him to find? But what did it mean? And where was she?
He canceled the incoming call, set his phone to do-not-disturb to shut the damn thing up, and did something he’d never done in his life. He went on the Where-is-Griffin-Hart website. If Lana had left, there would be footage. And there was. Stacks of footage—inside and outside the hospital, multiple streams rolling ever since he and Lana had arrived. He rewound every feed by half an hour and watched them on fast-forward, stopping at anything likely. There was even a live feed of the VIP entrance from a neighboring building—the same angle of the shot that had caught him hugging Lana. But no taxis—just an ambulance leaving five minutes ago. Nothing likely from the main entrance either—on foot or by car, unless she was out of sight.
Out of sight. Like, in the back of an ambulance.
He went back to the feed of the VIP entrance and zoomed in on the driver. The blond doctor. And next to him was … Detective Keisha Graham. Everywhere they turned, the same people were there. The detective, the doctor, the nurse.
He stared blankly out the window. The witness to Darnell’s body washing up was a nurse. Theonlywitness. The doctor had him rerouted here in the ambulance. Probably easy enough to do, if he was expecting the call. He looked at the photo in his hand. That couldn’t be a coincidence, either.
He called Estelle.
“Griffin! What’s all this about you being wanted by the police?”
“They’re setting me up.”
“Which likely means that you’re getting close to the truth. I don’t know how they think they’ll get away with it.”
“Speaking of the truth. You’ll never guess who I’m standing next to.” He told her about Vivien, the photo that Lana had apparently left for him, and the ambulance.
“That would explain a lot,” Estelle said.
