Authors: Elisabeth Naughton
“Oh, my God,” Simone whispered again. “Annie.”
A chill spread over Kate’s skin. “Um, no. I’m Kate Alexander. We have a one o’clock appointment. If this is a bad time, I could—”
“You…” The lawyer closed her eyes, shook her head, then opened them again. “I—I’m sorry. You look like a woman I used to know.”
Excitement mixed with a good dose of fear flooded Kate’s veins. No. It couldn’t be this easy. Could it? She swallowed the lump in her throat. “You…you recognize me?”
“I’m sorry. It’s not possible.” Simone looked down. When she glanced back up, she’d fixed a polite smile to her face. “What can I do for you?”
“Why isn’t it possible?” Too many questions swirled through Kate’s mind. Too many fingers of hope. She tried to keep the desperation out of her voice, but wasn’t sure she succeeded.
Simone sat again, the white, sleeveless blouse showcasing her toned arms, the slim navy slacks expensive and stylish. “The woman I was thinking of died almost five years ago. They say everyone has a twin. I guess I just met hers. Now that I look closer though, you’re not identical. You just gave me a startle, that’s all. I was thinking of her recently, which is why I jumped to conclusions that can’t be real.” She gestured to the chair opposite her desk. “Now, what can I do for you?”
Kate eased into the seat. Nerves bounced all around inside her. “What…what was her name?”
“My friend?” Simone rested her elbow on the armrest of her chair. “Why do you want to know?”
“Just curious.”
Simone considered for a moment, then said, “Annie Harrison.”
Kate rolled the name over in her mind. She’d never heard it before. That hope began to fade. “How did she die?”
Simone tipped her head. “I’m sure you didn’t come all the way down here to discuss my friend, Ms. Alexander.”
Kate ran a hand over her hair, stopping to rub her scar. “Please, just humor me for a moment. How did she die?”
“In a plane crash, just outside San Francisco. Very similar to the one that happened here not long ago.”
A plane crash. No, that wasn’t the same. Kate’s eyes slid shut. Possibilities, scenarios ran through her mind. None made sense, none seemed feasible, but she had to ask. If she didn’t, it would eat away at her. “What’s different about her and me? I mean, you said we weren’t identical. What’s different?”
Simone’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you so interested in my friend, Ms. Alexander?”
Kate focused on the petite lawyer. Tried to remember the woman. Couldn’t. But there was that feeling…an odd sense of déjà vu. The same one she’d felt when she’d seen Simone Conner’s name online. “I didn’t know about your friend when I came in here. And I’m sorry for asking, but…”
“But what?”
Blowing out a shaky breath, Kate straightened. “I came here on the advice of a colleague. I’m having trouble tracking down some information, and he thought a lawyer might be able to apply some legal pressure that could help me find the answers I’m seeking. I found your name online. And…I don’t know…something just told me you were the one I should see.”
When Simone only continued to stare at her speculatively, Kate shifted. “My husband died in that plane crash here a few weeks ago.”
“Oh.” Simone’s face softened. “Oh, I’m so sorry. No wonder you—”
“No, that’s not it. But thank you.” Kate took a deep breath. “After his death, I found some information that brought me here to San Francisco. I was in an accident several years ago and ended up in a coma.” She frowned, shook her head. “Or so I thought. When I was going through my husband’s papers, I found evidence I’d been in a nursing home here in San Francisco for over two years. Ms. Conners, I don’t ever remember being here. I don’t remember anything before waking up from that coma eighteen months ago. Nothing about my background, where I grew up, my family. My husband told me I was injured in a car accident, that I’d been in a coma for four days. Now…now I’m not sure what to believe.”
Simone leaned forward, her brow wrinkling. “Where have you been living?”
“In Houston. My husband was a doctor. A neurosurgeon.” She dug papers out of her bag. “He signed forms as my attending physician while I was here in San Francisco, though. He’d never have been allowed to do that if he was my husband.”
“No, he wouldn’t.” With narrowed eyes, Simone took the forms, scanned the papers.
“The nursing home burned down a year ago. Coincidental, if you ask me. A new one was built in its place, but they claim all the records were destroyed in the fire. I can’t get anyone there to answer my questions. I was hoping maybe you could help me talk to them. I was a patient. I have rights.”
Simone read the forms in her hands, flipped from page to page. “Permanent memory loss,” she mumbled, scanning the evaluation. “And you don’t remember a single thing from the accident?”
“No. Nothing.”
“What about after the accident?”
“I woke up in Houston. My husband was with me. I didn’t remember him, either. It was like starting over.”
Simone continued to read the papers in front of her. “This is pretty unique. It says the portion of your brain that was damaged deals with long-term memories, specifically personal ones, and personality. Do you have a career, Ms. Alexander?”
“Yes. I’m an editor for a geological publication. My doctor in Houston seems to think the part of my brain that was damaged was where personal memories are stored, which is why I’m able to remember things I’ve learned along the way—like the rate of converge of the Juan de Fuca plate—but nothing specific about where I learned it.”
When Simone glanced up in confusion, a weak smile tugged at Kate’s mouth. “Sorry. I forget others aren’t interested in geology like I am. The running joke around the publishing house is that I’m the queen science nerd.”
“Oh, my. Wow.” Simone blew out a long breath and tossed the papers on her desk. With a hand that appeared to be shaking, she swiped at her forehead. “Did you find anything else with these forms?”
“Just this.” Kate fished the picture out of her bag and handed it to her. “I don’t have a clue who that is in the photo, but the eyes…those eyes are so familiar. They’re just like mine.”
Simone’s mouth fell open. “Oh, my God.”
“What?”
“That’s Annie’s daughter.”
***
Mitch spent the better part of his afternoon at the lab, testing the rock samples his team had sent down from British Columbia. After several hours, he sat back and rubbed his tired eyes. There was still a lot of research to do, but he felt confident they’d made a good start. He’d have to take a trip up to BC soon, probably in a few weeks, but he trusted his team, and their initial tests so far were concurrent with his.
It was after four when he finally made his way back to his office. He smiled at Christy, his secretary, as he strolled in and tossed a bag of Mrs. Fields chocolate-chip cookies on her desk. “Take off, would ya?”
“You’re sure in a good mood.” She loved Mrs. Fields anything, and he knew it.
“Samples are looking good. Call Charlie and find out when they want me to come up. I’m thinking maybe two weeks from now. Find out what sort of progress they’re making and what their schedule’s looking like. Then head home. You’ve been at it all day.”
“You don’t have to twist my arm.” She followed him into his office and set down the report she’d just finished typing. “Here’s the geochemistry profile on the site.”
“Great.” He flipped through it. “Did I get any messages?”
“You have a few on your voicemail. Mac also stopped by and wants a rundown on the biomarkers. I told him you’d call him tonight or tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Christy. What the hell would I do without you?” With a sheepish grin, he leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on the desk.
“Fall flat on your ass.” She winked and walked out of the room.
Mitch picked up the phone and dialed in his access code. He didn’t close his door, he never did, so when he fished out the baseball he kept in the top drawer of his desk and started tossing it in the air, the rhythmic swoosh and tap didn’t even elicit a response from Christy at her desk.
His eyes slid shut as he listened to his voice mail and continued tossing the ball. It was mostly info about the site, a few messages from the lab about what they’d found earlier that morning.
The phone beeped and moved to the next message. When the husky female voice chimed through the line, he sat straight up in his chair.
The baseball he’d just tossed came down with a crack and hit him in the head. “Dammit,” he muttered, rubbing his skull. But the pain quickly dissipated as his mind zeroed in on the voice. He knew that voice.
It was Annie’s voice.
And it was ticked, which was why he was sure it was hers. He’d heard the clip in that voice thousands of time, the lithe way she said his name, the way her condescending tone drawled out the word
jackass
. The blood drained from his face as he scrambled for his phone so he could listen again.
No, it couldn’t be real. He was imagining things. Conjuring. What the hell had his mother called it when he was a kid? Spacing out in the middle of the flippin’ day.
His pulse picked up speed as he hit replay. The message was new. It was Annie’s voice, and holy hell, it was from today. He listened again, this time trying to focus on the words, not so much the voice. She’d said her name was Kate Alexander.
Kate Alexander.
The nut-job from the publishing house? That didn’t make sense. He knew that voice almost as well as he knew his own.
Scenarios, possibilities, questions swirled in his mind. No way. It couldn’t be…
And yet… His heart thumped hard. Her body had never been found. She’d been sitting over the wing. The engine had exploded. No one around her had ever been recovered. They’d all hoped beyond hope that she hadn’t actually been on the plane, that she’d changed her mind at the last minute after Ryan had dropped her at the airport. But that hope had died when Ryan had identified her belongings after the crash.
But what if she’d never gotten on that plane? Was it was possible she could still be alive? The idea was crazy. Ludicrous. Virtually impossible. And still…the only thing he could think about now.
He had to know for sure. He dialed her number but it went straight to voice mail. Slamming the phone down, he grabbed his coat and ran for the door.
Christy stood when he tore past her toward the elevator. “Mitch, what—?”
He barely heard her. He was already in the stairwell. His watch said four-thirty by the time he made it out of the building. There was no way he’d get all the way across town before five. He wove right and left through traffic, yelled at an old woman crossing the street much too slowly, and finally found a parking place in front of McKellen Publishing just before five.
Screw the meter. He didn’t even bother to see if he’d parked in a handicapped spot. He could only think about one thing. That goddamn familiar, irritating as hell, sweet voice.
He raced through the building, swore at the elevator when it didn’t seem to move, then headed for the stairs. By the time he got to the fourteenth floor he was panting, but it didn’t slow him down. He headed straight for Kate Alexander’s office.
The secretary with the tattoos and nose ring he’d run into earlier stood when she saw him, her brows drawing together in an obvious sign of worry. “Mr. Mathews, you can’t go in there!”
He swept past her, shoved the door open with his shoulder. The room was empty.
“Where is she?” He glanced around the cramped office that was the size of his bathroom.
“Ms. Alexander’s not here. She’s out for the afternoon. I can make you an appointment if you’d like.”
He barely heard her. He scanned the room, for what though, he didn’t know. Stacks of journals were shoved up against the wall. A bookshelf sat to his right, loaded with geology books and minerals. Her desk was a sea of papers, and the small window that looked out over the city cast late-afternoon light over the boxes and boxes of journals and books waiting to be unpacked.
Dammit, there had to be something, anything that would tell him…
“You can’t be in here, Mr. Mathews,” the secretary said louder as he rounded the desk. “I’m going to call security.”
He flipped through the files on her desk, moved stacks of paper looking for…shit, he didn’t know what. Just anything. His gaze moved to the photograph beside her computer. And everything inside him froze.
Holy shit.
With shaking fingers, he reached for the frame, then sank into her chair, barely believing what he was seeing.
It looked like Annie. Not the exact image he remembered, but close enough. It didn’t matter that her nose was slightly different, her cheeks a little higher or that she had a scar near her temple. The face staring back at him had the same eyes, same chin, the same dimple that was in his own damn face. And she was cheek to cheek with a young blond boy.
A young boy who was the spitting image of Ryan.
Every ounce of blood drained from his face.
“Mr. Mathews,” the secretary asked. “Um, are you okay?”
“Where is she?” he managed.
“I don’t know. If you come back tomorrow—”
“I need to know now!”
The secretary jumped. “We don’t give out personal information. If you come back tomorrow, I’m sure she’ll see you.”
“Dammit! This isn’t about the goddamn article she wrote! This is personal. Where the fuck is she?”
“I don’t know. Look—”
He clenched his jaw, realizing he wasn’t getting anywhere with the gatekeeper. Grabbing the photo, he headed for the door. She ran after him, yelling something about stealing personal property, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was getting to Ryan.
Now.
***
Her legs felt like they might just buckle.
Kate checked the address she’d pulled from the Internet. Simone had told her not to jump to conclusions, to let her do some research, but as soon as Simone had recognized Julia Harrison in that photo, Kate couldn’t stop thinking about the coincidences.
There was a reason Jake had locked that photo in that box. A reason she felt a surge of déjà vu when she looked at it. A reason she’d found Simone Conners.