The heat of the day had receded, leaving a pleasant breeze in its wake. She parked at Scripps and walked across the lot as the sun dipped lower in the sky.A receptionist greeted her at the front desk. “May I help you?”Kari didn’t know how to proceed. Should she sneak around, hoping to stumble into the right room? That could take hours in this enormous building. “I’m here to see Armando Villarreal.”The receptionist checked her database. “He’s in ICU. No visitors allowed.”“Oh,” she said, crestfallen. After a moment she asked, “Is there a vending machine around here? Or a cafeteria?”“It’s at the end of Hall B.” She handed Kari a folded pamphlet with a map of the facility. “On the west side of the building.”Kari thanked her and headed in that direction, her pulse kicking up. Bypassing the cafeteria, she continued to the intensive care unit, peeping through the double doors at the entrance. There were at least a dozen rooms in the unit, but only one had a uniformed police officer sitting outside, reading a magazine.She hung back, loitering near the restrooms.
