Page 70 of Grant’s Heat

Elijah swung his car into a parking space marked for visitors, and we both got out quickly but then came to an abrupt stop.

Shit. Am I really ready for this?

On paper, who was I to this woman? Why would they release her to me over the family member who had her committed to their care in the first place?

Gripping the back of my neck, I looked to my buddy. “I didn’t think this through, man,” I said in a bit of panic.

“What do you mean? Come on,” he urged. “Let’s go inside.”

“Wait a second.” I held up my hand to stop him, then shoved it back through my hair, gripping the strands in frustration. “I think I need a plan. What gives me the right to sign her out of here when a family member put her here in the first place?”

“Do you know if Abbi initiated a fifty-two hundred on her?”

“I don’t. I don’t even know what that is, dude. We didn’t get into all that. I was so pissed, I just got off the phone before I really lost my shit and said something I’d regret.”

“Okay, so like I said, let’s go inside and talk to the people running this place and see what we’re dealing with. There’s a lot of bureaucratic red tape with an involuntary hospitalization, so it takes time to have one put into place. I believe a judge’s ruling is even involved.”

As we opened the front door of the building, I looked skeptically at Elijah and asked, “All for a seventy-two-hour hold?”

He nodded and lowered his voice now that we were inside. “Think about it. Basically you are asking them to hold her against her will because someone has determined she is a danger to herself or others. That is taking away her civil rights. It’s not done without serious consideration.”

“Yeah, that all makes sense.”

“It’s for the detainee’s own protection,” he continued.

“But be serious.” I motioned to the lovely, well-kept building and grounds all around us. “These places are all about protecting themselves, too. I’m sure of it.”

“Oh, you can count on it,” Elijah agreed.

I continued to nod as we approached a counter resembling a hotel registration desk. A woman about our age smiled warmly in greeting.

“Hi. Can I help you?”

“I hope so.” I smiled back because a little charm never hurt the cause. I leaned forward marginally to see the name on her badge, since she didn’t offer it herself. “Pamela, my name is Grant Twombley”—I turned a bit and motioned to my friend—“and this is my friend, Elijah Banks. It’s my understanding that a very dear friend of ours was brought here earlier today. Rio Gibson?”

The woman continued with her polite smile but was all business when she said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you both. Mr. Twombley, was it?”

“Please, call me Grant.”

“Mr. Twombley,” she went on as if I hadn’t spoken, “I’m sure you can understand, given the sensitive nature of what we deal with here at Clear Horizons, I’m unable to discuss any patient information with anyone other than spouses and immediate family members.”

After taking a fortifying breath, I tried a different approach with the administrator. “Earlier today, I got a phone call from Ms. Gibson. She was very distressed. She said she was being held against her will in this facility. She asked me to come get her.” I watched her reaction closely for any clues on how to proceed.

The woman’s brows popped up toward her severe hairline. Every strand of her intense bun was pulled back and slicked into place with the bulk tied off in a knot at the nape of her neck. The hairstyle gave her the appearance of a stern prison warden crossed with a sexy librarian.

“I can assure you, Mr. Twombley, no one is ever detained here against their will without proper court proceedings.”

“Well, since Ms. Gibson was just admitted this morning, and given the backlog of our state’s judicial system, I’m sure a hearing was not held”—I looked at my watch to make my point very clear—“between ten thirty this morning and now, closing in on noon.”

“Pamela, can you help me understand the California Welfare and Institutions Code?” Elijah asked. “Specifically, the Lanterman-Petris-Short Act?” My friend gave a self-deprecating chuckle. “It’s all so confusing, you know?” His tone sounded sugar sweet, but everyone involved in the conversation knew it was anything but.

Elijah was firing a warning shot across Pamela’s bow by letting her know he had been doing his homework. If she kept toying with us much longer, we’d have an attorney walking through her front doors. Possibly a camera crew too.

“Listen, gentlemen, I’m not looking for any sort of trouble. I’m just trying to do my job. And also, keep my job.”

“Of course you are, Pamela,” said Elijah. “But we need to see our friend, Rio Gibson. And I need you to either tell me where I can find her or show me to the room she’s in. Right. Now. Or I will have my attorney down here so fast, your head will spin. No one likes to hear about citizens having their civil rights violated or taken away completely when protocols aren’t followed.” Elijah bored holes into the woman with his green eyes. “Has a fifty-one fifty or a fifty-two hundred been initiated on Ms. Gibson? And who placed the initial call? Who is doing the assessment? Has a hearing been scheduled?”

Elijah continued firing question after question at the woman, not letting her answer one before asking another. She was so befuddled by his taunting, she finally said, “Fine!” She looked around the lobby quickly and then grabbed for the pearl necklace at the base of her throat. “Please, keep your voice down. Many of our residents get agitated very easily.”