I picked up the phone.
“Yes,” I said. “I know which code was used.”
“Is it someone who has permission to be there?”
I thought about how to answer that.
“The person I gave the code to has permission,” I said. “The man who used it does not.”
PART 3
Rachel had her car keys in her hand before I’d finished the call.
“We’re going,” she said.
“It’s four hours.”
“Then we’d better leave now.”
She grabbed two bottles of water from the refrigerator, a bag of pretzels from the pantry, and her reading glasses from the windowsill. Rachel is three years older than me and has always moved through emergencies like a woman making a grocery list. When our father had his stroke, she was the one who called the ambulance, found his insurance card, and remembered to turn off the stove. I was the one standing in the hallway crying.
