“A frozen checking account doesn’t frighten me.”

“He’s got the local police,” she whispered.

“He’s got all of Nashville on his side.”

“He’s got a local sheriff,” Richard said.

“We’ve got the federal government.”

The door handle turned, and Sarah came in carrying a small metal tray with two fresh ice packs and a plastic cup of water.

She set the tray on the rolling bedside table, put her hands on her hips, and planted herself at the foot of the bed.

“Emily,” Sarah said, in that calm, measured clinical voice that seemed to stop the panic in the room cold.