“Can I see some ID?”

“Oh, yes.” She fumbled in her purse for her wallet. Her hands were damp and shaky, but the cop simply watched her with cool eyes until she offered identification.

“Why don’t you have a seat?” he suggested, then scraped back his own chair and slipped into an adjoining room.

Her throat was dry and desperate for water. She wandered the small waiting area with its grouping of hard plastic chairs in industrial beige until she found a water fountain. But the water hit her tortured stomach like frigid balls of lead.

Had they put her in a cell? Oh, God, had they actually put her sister in a cell? Is that where she would have to see Gloria?

But under the sorrow, her mind was working coolly, pragmatically. How had Gloria known where to reach her? What was she doing so close to St. Christopher’s? Why was she accused of having drugs?

That was why she hadn’t wired the money, she admitted now. She wanted the answers first.

“Dr. Griffin.”

She jolted, turned to the officer with her eyes wide as a doe’s caught in headlights. “Yes. Can I see her now?”

“I’ll need to take your purse. I’ll give you a receipt.”

“All right.”

She handed it over to him, signed the log where he indicated, accepted the receipt for her belongings.

“This way.”

He gestured toward a side door, then opened it into a narrow corridor. On the left was a small room furnished only with a single table and a few chairs. Gloria sat at one, her right wrist cuffed to a bolt.

Sybill’s first thought was that they’d made a mistake. This wasn’t her sister. They’d brought the wrong woman into the room. This one looked far too old, far too hard, with her bony body, the shoulders like points of wings, the contrast of breasts pressing against a tiny, snug sweater so hard that the nipples stood out in arrogant relief.

Her frizzed mass of straw-colored hair had a dark streak shooting up the center, deep lines dug in around her mouth, and the calculation in her eyes was as sharp as those shoulders.

Then those eyes filled, that mouth trembled.

“Syb.” Her voice cracked as she held out an imploring hand. “Thank God you’ve come.”

“Gloria.” She stepped forward quickly, took that shaking hand in her own. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. I don’t understand any of it. I’m so scared.” She laid her head on the table and began to weep in loud, racking sobs.

“Please.” Instinctively Sybill sat and draped her arm around her sister as she looked over at the cop. “Can we be alone?”

“I’ll be right outside.” He looked back at Gloria. If he thought what a change this was from the screaming, cursing woman who’d been pulled in a few hours ago, his face revealed nothing.

He stepped out, shut the door, and left them alone.

“Let me get you some water.”

Sybill rose, hurried over to the water jug in the corner, and filled a thin triangle of paper. She cupped her hands around her sister’s, holding it steady.