“Dr. Greiss, he’s hypothermic. His lips are blue.”
“He is a stranger’s child with no chart, no insurance, and no referral. He is not a patient of this hospital.”
“He is a child in your lobby.”
“Officer Hutchins.”
A security guard near the elevator straightened.
Big man, gray at the temples.
He looked at Lauren.
Then at the baby.
Then at the floor.
“Sir, the little guy looks bad,” Hutchins said quietly.
“I did not ask for your medical opinion. I asked for an escort.”
Dr. Brandt kept filming.
“This is gold,” he muttered. “Quiet Lauren plays mommy.”
The other residents snickered.
Lauren’s jaw tightened.
Every instinct she owned screamed to move.
Airway, breathing, warmth, sugar.
She knew the order.
She could do it in the dark.
She could do it with her hands tied.
But Quiet Lauren did not do that.
Quiet Lauren followed orders.
Quiet Lauren had spent eight months making sure nobody looked twice.
