“Wait here,” I say. “I know where she’s hidden the drugs.” Quickly I move to the bedroom and close the door. I crouch low and ease off the front panel of the heating vent, but when I put my hand into the gap and feel around in there, it’s empty. I strain lower, reach deeper. The tin is gone. What the hell? I think, blood starting to thrum in my ears. Who’s moved it? Who knows? I turn a full circle in the bedroom, kick the chair so it rams into the wall. Shit, shit, shit.

“Alex?” Morris calls from the living room. “Is everything okay in there?”

I take a deep breath and walk back out of the bedroom. “The tin’s not here, Morris,” I say. “Ruth’s taken it. Maybe she’s hidden it somewhere else.”

“Oh, that’s not good.” Morris frowns.

I grab my cell and call Chase. But the call just rings and rings. Eventually it goes to voice mail. I lower the phone and stare at the screen in confusion. Is Chase ignoring me?

“I think the best thing to do at this point, Alex, is to notify the police and have them do a full-scale sweep of the apartment. It’s standard procedure. We need to follow the rules. They’re in place for a reason.”

“Yes,” I say, distracted. I check my phone. Sully still hasn’t gotten back to me. What the hell is going on? Just as I’m putting the phone back into my pocket, it rings. I press the cell to my ear without looking at it.

“Hi, Chase,” I say quickly, but it isn’t his voice on the line.

“It’s Sully.”

“Oh, sorry. Hi,” I say.

“Your sister’s in labor,” he replies. His voice is cool, clipped.

“She’s what? She’s not due yet.”

“Her water just broke. I’m heading up to the hospital with her and Chase.”

“You and Chase are at the hospital together?” There’s nothing but silence on the other end of the line. “Is the baby all right?” As I’m talking, Morris moves to the bay window and takes out his phone. He’s calling in the birth alert. Good.

“They’re both doing fine,” Sully says. “I gotta go.”

“Wait! Sully—” But there’s a click, and the line goes dead.

Morris finishes his call, then looks over at me.

“We need to get to the hospital now,” I say, heading toward the door. But when I turn, he hasn’t moved an inch.

“I know you’re desperate to see your sister,” he says. “But you can’t, I’m afraid.”

“What do you mean?”

“If we’re going to remove a newborn from a mother’s custody, we can’t have you—her sister, and a social worker in our employ—on the scene. It’s a conflict of interest. Remember: by the book, okay? I’m so sorry.”