Chapter 279
Chapter 279:
“Eliza,” his voice was smooth, threaded with practiced concern. “I heard a rumor. Is it true Dallas is missing? Do you need company? I can come over p>
“I don’t need you,” Eliza said, her voice cold as stone. “I know where he is p>
“Oh?” Anson’s tone shifted, turning sharp. “Where p>
“Somewhere you can’t reach him.” She paused. “And Anson? If I find out you had anything to do with this p>
“With what?” he said, all innocence. “The rain? I don’t control the weather, El p>
“Go to hell,” Eliza said, and hung up.
She grabbed her coat. She didn’t care about security. She didn’t care about Zane or Weston or the Koch family rules. Her husband was hurting.
And she was going to tear down the hospital doors if she had to.
In𝘵е𝘯𝗌𝗲 𝗋𝗈𝘮ance on.с𝗼𝗺
Rain slicked Eliza’s hair flat against her skull, cold rivulets running down her neck and soaking into the collar of her blouse. She didn’t feel the chill. She didn’t feel the burn in her lungs from running three blocks after the taxi got stuck in gridlock. She felt only the frantic, bird-like flutter of her heart against her ribs.
She burst through the sliding glass doors of Lenox Hill Hospital, her sneakers squeaking on the polished linoleum. The air inside was dry, smelling of antiseptic and old coffee — a sharp contrast to the humid storm she had left behind.
She didn’t stop at the reception desk. She knew where he had to be. The VIP wing. Top floor.
She marched toward the bank of elevators reserved for high-profile patients and slammed her hand against the up button.
Nothing happened. The light didn’t turn on.
She pressed it again, harder.
“Ma’am p>
A large hand clamped onto her shoulder. It wasn’t gentle.
Eliza spun around. Two security guards stood blocking her path, built like linebackers, their faces impassive walls.
“You need a keycard or a retina scan to access the twenty-second floor,” the first guard said, his voice a low rumble. “Step back, please p>
“I’m his wife,” Eliza said, breathless, trying to shake off his grip. It only tightened. “I’m Eliza Koch. Dallas Koch is up there. Let me through p>
The guard didn’t blink. He looked at her not with sympathy, but the way one looks at a disturbance — a paparazzo with a camera in her purse.
“This floor has been restricted by Koch Industries,” he recited, his tone flat and clearly rehearsed. “All access is managed by Mr. Koch’s executive office. We have no information for you p>
The words struck her like a blow. Her stomach dropped. A restricted floor meant he was here. Weston’s story about Siberia had just collapsed.
“That’s a mistake,” Eliza said, her voice rising, cracking at the edges. “He needs me. Call Zane Sterling. Call Weston. They’ll vouch for me p>
“Mr. Sterling and Mr. Weston are the ones who set the protocols, ma’am,” the second guard said, stepping forward to close the gap. “We have our orders. Please leave the premises, or we will escort you out p>
People in the lobby were staring. Nurses whispered behind their clipboards. A woman in a wheelchair watched Eliza with quiet pity.