Page 140 of Played
I punch the elevator button, once, twice, three times.
"Liza, where are you—"
"Colleen," I snap over my shoulder. "She needs to know."
The elevator doors slide open and I step inside. My finger jabs the button for the third floor. The ride up takes forever, each floor marker lighting up with agonizing slowness.
Third floor. Finally.
I sprint down the hall and pound on Colleen's door.
"Colleen! Open up!"
Footsteps. The deadbolt clicks.
She pulls the door open, face pale. "Liza? What—"
"We found her." The words tumble out in a rush. "Claudia. She's alive."
Colleen's hand flies to her mouth, fingers shaking against her lips. Her eyes go wide with shock. "What?" The word comes out barely above a whisper, strangled and disbelieving. "Where is she?"
"Daniel kept her in the maintenance room. In the basement. We saw her on the security cameras—she's there right now."
"Oh my God." Colleen grabs my arm, fingers digging in. "Is she okay? Is she hurt?"
"I don't know." Tears blur my vision. "I think she's okay. The police are coming. Julian's on the phone with them now. God… she's been alone for a week.”
“A week?”
“Six days.”
Colleen's face crumples.
She grabs her sneakers from beside the door and shoves her feet into them, not bothering with the laces. "Let's go."
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
We sprint toward the elevator, our footsteps heavy. My breath comes in ragged gasps as we head downstairs.
When we burst into the lobby, chaos greets us.
Police everywhere. Radios crackling. Voices overlapping in urgent commands.
Through the glass doors, I spot the ambulance parked at the curb, lights flashing red and blue. A firetruck idles behind it. Three—no, four—police cars block the street.
A SWAT team member stands near the entrance, his tactical vest bulging with equipment—pouches and holsters strapped across his chest, a radio clipped to his shoulder. His rifle hangs across his torso, and he's scanning the lobby with sharp, assessing eyes. The sight of him makes everything feel more real, more urgent. This isn't just building security responding to a call—this is serious. This is the kind of response you see on the news.
My heart hammers against my ribs.
A female officer speaks to Julian near the front desk. He spots me and gestures me over.
"They need someone to show them where the maintenance room is," he says.
"I'll go." I step forward.
"Me too," Colleen says, pushing past me.
The officer holds up her hand. "Only one civilian accompanies us. Too many people goes against protocols."
