A new message appeared.
SHE PASSED THE FIRST TEST.
Audrey’s breath caught.
She typed with one hand.
WHO ARE YOU?
The reply came almost immediately.
SOMEONE WHO WANTS YOUR SON TO HAVE A FUTURE.
Audrey’s hand moved protectively to her stomach.
HOW DID YOU GET INTO MY ROOM?
No answer.
She typed again.
WHY SHOULD I TRUST YOU?
Three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
Then appeared again.
YOU SHOULD NOT TRUST ANYONE YET.
A second message followed.
BUT YOU SHOULD CHECK THE INSIDE POCKET OF DIANA’S JACKET.
Audrey looked toward the counter.
Diana’s jacket was not there.
She had been wearing it when she left.
The sender seemed to know the room in real time.
A cold awareness settled over Audrey.
Someone was watching.
She looked toward the ceiling.
Smoke detector.
Air vent.
Television.
The small black dome above the door that she had assumed was part of the hospital security system.
The monitor beside her changed pitch.
Her pulse had risen.