“They don’t own the federal task force,” Richard said.

The heavy door swung open with a quiet click of the latch.

Sarah came into the room with a slim stainless steel clipboard tucked under her arm.

She went to the foot of the bed and checked the digital monitor showing Emily’s heart rate.

“The second round of swelling in your neck has leveled out,” Sarah said, tapping the screen with her fingernail.

“Your oxygen saturation is up to ninety-eight percent.”