Harper looked up and down the hall and, watching over her shoulder, she swerved suddenly, aiming the chair into a room directly opposite the elevators.

The man on the bed was unconscious; he wouldn't mind if they hung out there for a bit. Dumping the syringes into the trash, she picked up his phone and made her almost routine phone call: 911.

It would take a while for police to arrive. Meantime, Harper kept her eyes on the hallway and the elevator. Commotion rumbled in and around Hank's room; apparently, Ron and Dr Wyatt had been discovered. An orderly ran by, pushing a gurney. Two security officers rushed down the hall, a phalanx of nurses behind them. Hank sat alert, silent, watching the elevators. When the doors opened to let someone out, he pointed, and Harper dashed, shoving the wheelchair out the door, across the hall, into the car, where she punched the button for the first floor. Finally, she let herself exhale. In a few seconds, they'd be in the lobby. Then out the front door, on to the Ninja a somehow, she'd get Hank on to it a and they'd ride to safety.

Except that the elevator doors didn't close. They stood gaping, exposing the two passengers, inviting anyone a including Dr Wyatt and a new syringe a to step inside.

'Go.' Hank directed the door. Harper pounded the 'door close' button, repeatedly pushed 'L' for lobby. She looked out, saw a throng of agitated staff rushing toward them. Come on. She pushed the buttons again. Suddenly, the elevator buzzed a loud, cloying electronic complaint. And, finally, excruciatingly slowly, just as the men and women in powder-blue coats descended on them, the doors edged together and slammed shut.

The elevator jerked, descending, three, two, one, lobby. The car jolted to a stop. The doors slid open. Cautiously, Harper wheeled Hank out. The first floor, so far, was quiet. No doctors with dripping needles. No nurses in pursuit. Nothing obstructing the front door. Escape was seconds away; the Ninja waited in the lot, just outside. Almost within view. All they had to do was keep moving past the Sleep Clinic and the coffee shop and they'd be safely outside, trying to balance on the back of the bike.

Harper tried to look normal, not to move too fast. Not to draw attention. She started across the lobby as a phone rang. The security guard at the reception desk answered. Getting the call to stop them? Damn. Before he could look around, Harper thrust the chair into a side corridor and sped ahead, looking for another way out.

The door was unlocked; Harper wheeled Hank inside without thinking about where it led. The lights were low; the space divided into cubicles where patients lay sleeping, their heads and bodies wired, their brain and other functions being monitored on remote computer screens. Harper slowed, recognizing the Sleep Clinic, Dr Wyatt's turf. Quietly, she peered around the corner, located the nursing station. Avoiding it, she steered in the opposite direction, wheeling Hank along the row of cubicles, peeking behind curtain after curtain, letting the bluish glow of night-lights spill on to her face, looking for an empty spot where they might hide.

Nothing. Every bed, every cubicle was filled with sleep patients. Pushing Hank, she hurried along but stopped suddenly at cubicle four and doubled back to cubicle two, as her mind registered what she'd seen there: the patient in two was Anna. She was asleep. And strapped to the bed.

Explaining that she'd be right back, she left Hank's wheelchair by Anna's curtain and rushed to the girl's side. She was too still, her skin too gray, her arms bound too tightly. Harper touched her neck, felt for a pulse, found a surprisingly strong one.

'Anna, it's Loot.' Even if she couldn't move, Anna could hear her. 'They've got you tied up. I'm going to loosen the restraints.'

Harper tried, but had trouble untying the knots. Why were they tied so tightly?

'Psst-'

Harper jumped, spun around before realizing who'd made the sound.

'Loot, there's scissors in that drawer.'

'Anna. I thought you were slee a'

'I didn't know who was coming, so I pretended.' Her whisper was quick, impatient. 'Quick. Before someone comes. Can you find them?'

Harper moved fast, opening the drawer, taking out the slender scissors, snipping.

'Dr Wyatt drugged me, Loot. He's nuts.'

'Don't worry. We'll get you out of here.' Harper began cutting. The straps were thick; the scissors small.

'He said I knew too much. About the drugs-'

'You'll be OK.' She had one of Anna's arms freed, was working on the other.

'Hoppa? Go.' Oh great. Hank was shouting, letting the whole clinic know they were there. 'Hoppa.'

'Hank! Shh! One minute.' Harper kept her voice low, working the scissors, making little progress.

'Loot,' Anna whispered, nodding at Harper's shoulder.

Harper stopped cutting, stopped breathing. Her bones got cold.

'Mrs Jennings, why didn't you come when your husband called?'

Slowly, Harper turned to face Dr Wyatt. Fully recovered from Hank's knockout punch, he casually dropped a syringe into a biological waste container, and brushed off his hands. Oh no! Hank!

'What did you do?' Harper charged, ramming full force into him.

Dr Wyatt, almost a foot taller, doubled over, winded, his hairpiece askew. But he held on to her. 'Settle down-'

She thrust herself back toward Anna, who lay with her eyes closed, again feigning cataplexy. Dr Wyatt stepped forward, reached into his pocket. How had he replaced the syringes so quickly? How many did he have? Harper backed away, moving around Anna's bed.

'There's really no point in resisting, Mrs Jennings.' Dr Wyatt moved closer, following her. 'The police already know about your attack on Dr Kendall and your drug ring with your students. Until they arrive, I have no choice but to hold you here.'

Harper's back was to the wall. She had nowhere to go. Dr Wyatt stood between her and Anna's bed, and, this time, Hank couldn't rescue her. She was cornered, had no room for a kick; Wyatt was going to inject her. Harper looked at the needle, planning. She could duck at the last moment. Or cold-cock him. Or grab his arm and flip him, put him in a headlock, even bite him. Maybe butt him with her head. But before she decided on her final moves, Dr Wyatt yowled. His mouth opened, contorted with unpleasant surprise, and he spun around, turning his back.

From which protruded the handles of a small, fairly dull, but nonetheless effective pair of scissors.

The police arrived, and, in moments, ambulances scooped up Ron, who was barely conscious, and Dr Wyatt, who was barely alive. Hank was out cold on a gurney, sedated, his mouth hanging slack. Anna refused to go to the hospital. She huddled close to Harper, sipping a Cherry Coke someone had given her. Harper was concerned about Anna, had seen her hovering over Dr Wyatt after stabbing him, patting his torso, as if to comfort him. She hoped Anna wouldn't agonize over what she'd done; the man had clearly intended to harm them both.

Detective Rivers' eyes were bloodshot and tired. 'You're a walking crime scene,' she greeted Harper.

'Sorry, Detective.' Harper steeled herself, ready to be handcuffed for attacking Ron. 'It was self-defense, but I admit it. I hit him.'

'You hit someone?' Anna sat up, eyes wide.

Oh no. Was the girl going to pass out yet again? Harper patted Anna's arm. 'It's all right. Not to worry.' Not to worry? Really?

Detective Rivers watched Harper, nodding slowly. 'I know you hit him. He told me.'

He did? 'So he's conscious?'

'Kind of. He's said a lot of things. He's in and out, rambling.'

Anna gaped, confused.

'He seems to be saying that you had a primary role in the drug theft.'

'You did?' Anna gasped.

'That's not true.' Harper wondered how she'd defend herself.

Detective Rivers watched her warily. 'But you'll be glad to hear that Dr Wyatt isn't going to press assault charges. He was very weak, but he insisted on letting both incidents go.' She nodded at Anna. 'He said your sleep disorder makes you subject to hallucinations, so you weren't responsible for stabbing him. Of course, if he dies, we'll have to revisit that decision.'

Anna didn't speak; she tilted her head as if considering the information.

'And as for your husband's assault on him-'

Her husband's what? 'My husband didn't assault-'

'Mrs Jennings, please.' The detective took a breath and began again. 'Dr Wyatt could barely speak, but he said your husband's aggressive behavior was probably caused by his brain injury-'

'Bullshit-'

'OK.' Detective Rivers blinked rapidly, irritated. 'You might not want to say anything further. Because, if he survives, Dr Wyatt can change his mind and press charges. And if he doesn't, the state will decide how to proceed. Be advised: despite Dr Wyatt's leniency, your husband's outburst might indicate that he poses imminent danger to others. Which could be grounds for involuntary commitment-'

'No goddamn way.' Harper was on her feet. 'My husband did not have an outburst, Detective. Nor did he attack Dr Wyatt. The truth is that Dr Wyatt attacked me. My husband stopped him-'

'Odd. On what might be his deathbed, Dr Wyatt gave essentially opposite information. And his statement fits with that of the other victim.'

The other victim? Oh. Ron. Oh dear. 'What did Ron a Dr Kendall a say?'

'Here's the situation, Mrs Jennings.' Detective Rivers sighed. 'We have two statements indicating that you led your students to steal drugs. Something went wrong, so you had to eliminate a couple of your recruits-'

'That's absurd.'

'When Dr Kendall found out, you attacked and tried to kill him. He managed to get away, and you followed him to the Center-'

'No! It's the other way around. I was trying to get away from Ron a from Dr Kendall. I figured out that he'd been in my house before. He already knew where the bathroom was-'

'Really, you shouldn't say any more just now.' Detective Rivers looked sad. 'You probably should have a lawyer present before you talk to me.'

A lawyer. Oh God. What Detective Rivers had heard was all twisted. Harper needed to explain, set the facts straight. But how? What could she say? Her story contradicted the others. Why would anyone believe her?

No question, Harper was in serious trouble. And she wasn't the only one; if people swallowed the stolen pills, more lives would be at risk a lots of them. But where were the drugs? Had Larry or Graham already sold them? Had Graham hidden them someplace? Or did her other students have them a Jeremy or Esoso? Shaundra? Terence? Gwen? Were they going to kill themselves or commit other violence? Become murderers, too?

Harper covered her face with her hands and closed her eyes. Furious with herself. A couple of hours ago, she'd been rolling around in bed, cheating on her husband with a smooth, deceitful cad who was now accusing her of drug trafficking and murder. She'd betrayed Hank, the sweet bear of a man who'd tried to protect her and now lay slumped unconscious on a gurney. She deserved whatever happened to her.

'Am I going to be arrested?' She pictured her father, his years behind bars.

Detective Rivers sighed, assessing her. 'We're still trying to piece together what happened. We'll take statements, then we'll see about what to do with you.'

The detective again advised her to call a lawyer and stepped away, conferring with other officers. Harper watched her, questions swirling in her head. Why had Dr Wyatt mentioned the stolen drugs to the police? He'd been hell-bent on keeping them secret. What had changed his mind? Was it that pills had been found on the victims? And what about the numbers she'd found in his pocket? Weren't they proof that Wyatt himself had killed Monique and Larry? She reached for her bag, pulled out the wad of papers she'd stuffed there.

'What's that?' Anna stiffened. 'Where did you get those?'

Harper didn't answer. She looked at the numbers, then at the other pages she'd grabbed along with them. A to-do list. And a recipe for a white chocolate cake.

When Harper looked up, she saw Sameh curled into the chair beside her. No. Harper shook her head, blinked. Anna sat gaping at her, holding her knees to her chest, ashen pale.

'Anna?' Harper controlled her voice, kept it quiet. 'Is this your cake recipe?'

Anna blinked. 'Where did you get that?'

In the corner of the lobby behind Harper, a sniper fired. The odor of explosives soured the air. Marvin started chattering. Damn. Not now. Closing her eyes, she lifted an arm to her mouth and bit down hard, grounding herself with pain.

'Loot? What are you doing?'

Harper heard the faraway voice and struggled to fend off the flashback. She needed to stay centered, to fit the pieces together. Her arm screamed with pain, and she looked for it, realizing it was in her mouth. Oh dear. Anna gasped, alarmed.

'Loot?'

Harper made herself smile. 'It's OK.' Her arm had purple bite marks, but, for now, the flashback and the gunfire were gone.

Anna reached for the papers in Harper's fist. 'Those are mine. Can I have them back?'

Harper didn't release them. She held on, trying to figure out how the page with Graham's numbers had gotten wadded up with Anna's cake recipe. How the numbers had traveled from her bag to Dr Wyatt's pocket, picking up Anna's recipe along the way.

Sameh was back. She swayed past the elevators, eyeing Harper coyly from a safe distance. Harper looked away, refusing to be distracted. Someone had knocked her out and searched her bag, removing the numbers. That person must have known that she'd had them. So, who had known? Ron, of course. She'd told him about them herself, on the phone in her office. And Ron had told Wyatt. But neither of them had known what the numbers meant. Besides, if they'd wanted them, they could have just asked her for them; they didn't have to slug her. So it had to be somebody else. But who else could have known? Nobody.

Except for one person.

'Loot, please. Can I have those back?' Anna again reached for the papers.

Harper moved them away, out of Anna's reach.

'But I need to bake another cake-'

'Anna, stop.' Harper didn't let go of them. She spoke softly. 'I know.'

'Huh?'

'Stop pretending.' Harper met her student's gaze. 'I know.'

Anna swooned and rolled her eyes, collapsing.

'Don't even bother. I know you fake it half the time.' At least, she suspected.

Anna opened her eyes and gazed across the lobby at Detective Rivers. 'How long have you known?'

'Not long. And I haven't told anyone yet. It would be better if you told them yourself.'

'Seriously, Loot. I have no idea what-'

'Oh, spare me. I know everything.' But she didn't. The pieces didn't quite fit together. All she knew for sure was that Anna had been lying on her office sofa during Harper's phone conversation with Ron. Anna, in the throes of real or faked narcolepsy, hadn't moved. But she'd heard everything Harper had said, including that Harper had found a paper of Graham's with numbers on it. And, unless Anna had told anyone else about them, Anna was the only other person who'd known that. The only one who would have thought to look for them in Harper's bag. Which meant Anna must have been at her house, must have slugged her. And, no matter how inconceivable it seemed, Anna must have killed Larry and Monique.

Anna sat back, pouting. Then, suddenly, she burst into a giggle. 'Well, it was worth it. Did you hear what happened? Did you?' Her giggles were girlish. Silly.

Harper had no idea what she was talking about.

'Gwen stripped! That stuck-up snob got completely butt naked.' More giggles. 'She took off everything, in a townie bar. Can you believe it? Goodie two-shoes, I'm-smarter-than-anybody Gwen? She got arrested for lewd behavior.'

What?

'Shaundra got arrested, too. For shoplifting. In a hardware store. Stealing, like what, a sledge hammer? And Jeremy and Esoso got in a fist fight a black eyes, bloody noses, the whole nine yards. And wait, this is great: Terence? He got his privates pierced.' Anna squealed with laughter. 'I tried to keep track. Don't know about Pam yet, but everybody a our whole recitation a went crazy today.'

Was any of this true? Why would all her students suddenly act so bizarrely?

'What about you, Loot? Did you do anything crazy today?'