Guiltily, she glanced toward the connecting door to the living area of the suite and spoke in a hushed voice. “Josh? How—” “Are you watching TV? Have you heard?” “What? Heard what? How did you know I’d get this phone?” “I didn’t. Just hoped. You’re at Extravaganza now?” “No. The FBI has me sequestered in a hotel. But they allowed some mail to be brought—” “Turn on the TV.” “Josh, where are you? Are you all right?” “Turn on the TV! If you’re in a hotel, you have a TV. Turn it on.” “Why?” He puffed a sound of impatience tinged with panic. “Turn. On. The. TV.” She reached for the remote on the nightstand. “All right. It’s on.” He told her the channel to tune in. As she navigated the aggravating menus inherent to hotel televisions, she said, “I’ve been so worried, Josh.
