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Dana knewsomething was wrong before they even arrived at St. Elizabeth’s. The telltale glow of red and blue lights was visible in the distance, the sirens blaring her worst fears. “We’re too late.”

“You don’t know that,” Richter said, flashing his badge at the gate attendant when they finally reached St. Elizabeth’s.

“Sorry, restricted access only,” the man replied.

“I’m here on official FBI business,” Richter stated.

The guard stepped back into his hut and made a call. A moment later he returned, lifting the gate, and waving them through. But they were stopped again when they tried to enter the hospital.

“What’s going on?” Dana asked the grim-faced officer barring their entry.

“Lockdown protocol. No one in or out till we get the all clear.”

She and Richter stepped back, waiting with the crowd of confused onlookers filling the parking lot.

“You’re the sort who likes to say I told you so, aren’t ya?” Richter muttered, when Dana caught his eye.

Dana shook her head. “I’d much rather say I’m wrong. Life just doesn’t seem to work that way.”

They stood in the parking lot watching the sun sink lower in the sky. An hour later, the doors whooshed open, and a gurney wheeled out. The sealed body bag confirmed Dana’s fears. Heart in her throat she started toward the silent ambulance, when she heard her name being called.

Nurse Avery cut her way through the crowd, waving at Dana. The old woman was out of breath by the time she reached her.

“What happened?” Dana demanded.

“I did what you asked,” Avery said, clutching her chest as the wind swept her chin length gray hair into her face. “I switched the room number plaques just like you said, but I told you, our floor was full. No empty beds.”

Dana glanced back at the gurney being loaded into the silent ambulance as Richter joined them.

“Poor thing OD’d,” Avery sobbed. “It’s my fault.”

“Let me guess,” Richter said, “The body on the gurney was in room 241.”

Avery nodded. “Yes, but it’s not Meredith.”

All the tension seemed to ease from Dana at once and she had to fight to stay on her feet. “Who is it?” she asked.

“Sharon Thompkins. She’s a lifer. Been with us for more than twenty years.”

“How did she die?” Richter asked.

“Took a lethal dose of Lorazepam.”

“Is that even possible?” Dana asked.

Avery shrugged. “We do what we can, but sometimes patients stash their meds for this reason.”

“Is it something you would’ve expected Sharon to do?” Dana pressed.

“No, never. She was stage 5. She didn’t possess the mental capacity to do something like this.”