Maddison's POV
Three days had passed. Seventy-two hours of awful, loud-quiet waiting.
The air was thick in the penthouse, as if one could hardly draw breath. Maddison sat on the edge of a brown leather couch, bouncing a knee. She was trying to stop, plant her foot, but it was no use, it started again.
Knock it off. You look desperate.
On the other side, Grant had sat down at his desk, twiddling the silver pen in his hand. It was a nervous tic. He hadn't done that since after left the hospital.
"He arrived two hours ago," she said and it felt too loud in the silent room. Her eyes kept drifting towards the mobilephone. There was no message so far. "Her hotel…he must have gotten to her hotel by now."
"The traffic in New York is unpredictable," Grant said. And he was too calm.
"What if
