before giving her a guarded answer.
“We’re not done.” He rummaged in his truck. “Do you have information about this fire?”
“No. It’s just that Polly had papers she was going to give me today.”
“What kind of papers?”
“Personal records.”
He looked at her for a moment.
“Tell you what, why don’t you show me some identification and I’ll let you know if we find anything.”
Emma showed him her Wyoming driver’s license and a card for her hotel. “Well, you’ve come a long way, haven’t you?” he said as he jotted everything on the back of the card and slid it in his notebook. “Unfortunately, everything in that house is gone.” He dropped some tools into a bucket. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
He ducked under the tape and returned to the scene, where his partner hefted a chunk of wall with a crackling twist that released a small flare.
The dog yelped.
The other investigator doused the fire with an extinguisher. Smoke rose over the site and a gust blew clouds toward Emma, burning her eyes, swirling over everything.
Ashes to ashes.
Death was winning.
Emma’s only hope was gone. Tentacles of smoke pulled her back through the horror that had descended upon her.
Back to the crash, back to Joe and Tyler.
She could not succumb to her pain.
She had to keep moving.
Just over twenty minutes later and a few blocks away, Emma cupped her hands around a hot tea while sitting alone at the Burger King that was near Polly Larenski’s house.
There was a pay phone out front. Emma had stopped to consider it on her way into the restaurant and jotted down the number. Now, she compared it to the one that had been used for the late-night call she’d received at home.
It was identical.
This was the phone Polly had used that night to tell her Tyler was still alive. Emma had come full circle.
Your son was chosen.
Polly Larenski’s files were lost in the fire.
Emma had come so close to the truth. But now it was gone. Now she had nothing.
Don’t give up, she thought, as she got into her car. Do something.
She concentrated.
There was one last thing she could try.
A horn honked behind her.
The blast yanked her from her brooding, reminding her that she was stopped in slow-moving traffic on the freeway, northbound from Santa Ana. If she could get downtown in time, she might have a shot, she thought. But traffic all around her was at a standstill.
She arrived at the Golden Dawn Fertility Corporation before closing and went to the reception desk. “Emma Lane,” she said. “I need to see Christine Eckhardt. Please, it’s urgent.”
“I don’t think she’s available to see you.” The receptionist, appearing slightly flustered, ran a polished fingernail down an appointment sheet when Christine Eckhardt emerged with her briefcase on her way out.
“Emma?” Christine was surprised.
“We need to talk about Polly Larenski.”
“We just heard. It’s terrible. One of the doctors saw it on KCAL and we got a call from police looking for family. They traced the parking sticker on Polly’s car to us.”
“I need to talk to you about what she told me.”
Christine’s face reddened. She started shaking her head and glanced at the receptionist.
“I really can’t; I’m sorry. It’s a terrible time for everyone. I’m so sorry but I just can’t talk to you, Emma. I really have to go.”
Christine headed for the door, giving her a compassionate but awkward smile that vanished when Emma seized her arm.
“Emma!”
“I just came from the fire, and I need to talk to you, Chris. I am your client, remember?”
Christine stared at her for a tense moment, then nodded to the sofa in the waiting area, keeping things within view of the receptionist, who was braced to call security.
“I talked to Polly about my baby and she told me she sold private information from your files, our DNA—”
“Stop, Emma.”
“Why?”
Christine swallowed hard and dropped her voice.
“You’ve threatened to sue the company. I’m a partner and I was legally bound to report your threat to the board. I’ve been advised by our legal department not to talk to you as anything I say could potentially be used in your case against us.”
“No, Chris, you don’t understand.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I was upset then.”
Christine stood.
“You have to go, Emma. Go home, get some rest. Get some help.”
“No. I need your help. Please, I’m begging you.”
“It’s all very, very tragic.”
“I’m begging you, please.”
“I can’t talk to you, I’m so sorry.”
“No, please just listen to me!” Emma reached for Christine’s wrist.
“Larissa, can you call Mac in security to help Emma to her