He stopped writing and frowned. “That depends. If she’s from somewhere far away and has changed her name, it might not be easy for someone to locate her. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. What about a phone? Did she have one with her?”
“No. As I said, she had nothing besides the clothes on her back.” She cleared her throat. “Actually, I would love some water after all.”
He walked over to the refrigerator and brought her a bottle of Evian and a tall glass.
“Thanks,” she said as she poured it. Then something occurred to her. “There’s one more thing.”
“Yes?”
“She has long scars on her wrists and forearms, all the way up to her elbows. A serious suicide attempt.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Okay. Since she was picked up in New Jersey going south, I’ll have the picture you emailed to me circulated to some connections I have in law enforcement there as well as in New York. I’ll cross-reference the missing persons databases and also hospitals with attempted suicide admissions in the past ten years.” He leaned forward. “Do you only want her background checked, or do you want her followed, too?”
Blythe considered this. “I’m not sure there’s much you’d discover that way. She spends pretty much all her time either working at the photography store or with my son.”
“You’d be surprised,” Fallow said.
“If you think it would be helpful, that’s fine. I don’t want to spare any expense.”
“I have someone in mind. We’ll watch her for the next week and see what we see. In the meantime, can you take a glass or utensil she uses, put it in a plastic bag, and bring it to me? I’ll take a DNA sample.”
“Yes, of course.”
“I’ve got enough to get started now,” he assured her. “Let me do some digging, and I’ll let you know my progress.”
She rose. “By the way, I’d like to make sure this all stays between us. Can you make sure you only use my cell to contact me?”
He gave her his word, and she shook his hand and left. When she got to her car, she added him to her contacts under “Marie Fallow,” so it would look like just another tennis friend of hers if Ted or Gabriel saw it come up on her phone.
As she drove home, she felt a peace descend over her. Now at least she was doing something concrete. Gabriel would be upset if he knew, but in the end, he’d understand, be grateful even. That was her job, after all, to protect her children.
??17??
Addison
As I give the gate attendant my boarding pass, my stomach tightens. This is the first time I’ve flown with fake credentials. I’m always half expecting that the fact that I’m using a dead girl’s identity will be discovered, and the police will show up and take me away. But the attendant scans the pass and waves me in after a quick beep. We walk down the Jetway to the plane, and Gabriel puts our suitcases in the overhead bin. We’re headed to Florida for a few days so that he can meet with a potential new client.
“Aisle or window?” he asks.
“I’ll take the window, thanks.”
I’m about to sit when the cockpit opens, and the pilot walks out to greet the first-class passengers with a friendly hello. Suddenly I can’t speak. I’m freezing, and my hands are shaking. I stumble over my purse as I grab the side of the seat and fall into it, trying to even my breathing, hearing that horrible voice in my head again. Shut up, shut your stupid mouth before I shut it for you. I want to scream and hit something. Rage envelops me, and I clench my fists so tightly that my nails dig into my hands.
“Addison, what is it?” Gabriel leans down, concern in his eyes.
“Leave me alone,” I snap.
His expression is hurt, but I don’t care. I stand up, pushing past him, and pull open the door to the lavatory. Locking it, I put my hands to my mouth to stifle the scream that fights to explode. I grab the roll of toilet paper and pull it, shredding the tissue as violently as I can. All I want to do is punch the wall, but even in my agitated state, I know better than to attract attention to myself. After a few minutes my breathing slows. I splash water on my face and leave the bathroom. When I sit down beside him, Gabriel doesn’t say anything, just waits for me to talk.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me. Some sort of flashback. I didn’t mean to be short with you.”
“That’s okay,” he says kindly. “What did you remember?”
“I don’t know, it was too fast, but it wasn’t pleasant. I don’t want to talk about it.”