They were windowless rooms (hardly suites) for residents who might somehow manage twenty or thirty minutes of sleep on their on-call night, complete with bunk beds, a small shower that always seemed to have plenty of ice-cold water, and a telephone. Peyton ducked inside, closed the door, and dialed Kevin at the firm. He answered his own line, which startled her a little. She’d expected his secretary. “It’s me,” she said. “He called again.” “When?” “Just now. Somehow he knew I was standing right next to the phone in the hospital lounge. It rang, and I answered. It’s creepy the way he tracked me down.” “Don’t let him scare you.” “How can I not be scared? He’s obviously watching me.” “He’s just playing games with you. Did you tell him that I know everything?” “Yes. He doesn’t care. He still wants ten thousand in ransom.” “What a crock. I hope you were firm with him.” “I was.” “What did he say?” “Have the money by midnight or he’s going to kill Gary.”
