“Keep the engines running downstairs, Paige, because we’re leaving this minute.”

“Where are we going?” she demanded, snatching her car keys off the corner console.

“Wayne County General,” I said, stepping straight over the wet floor and the broken glass.

“Hannah’s in the trauma unit.”

Paige stopped dead in the middle of the doorway, her habit of checking her wristwatch completely forgotten.

“Hannah’s in Detroit?”

“Have the security driver bring the car to the front curb,” I said.

We hurried down the executive hall, our boots hitting the polished marble.