And Now She's Gone(103)
How about Elyse Miller? The real Elyse Miller?
What about justice for Ruth and Walter against a con who’d used their dead baby to …
Gray muttered, “Shit.”
Ian O’Donnell—dirty in all of this—could kick rocks, but the couple she’d met, the couple whose lives had been blessed by a baby girl, only for a riptide to take her away …
Isabel Lincoln needed to see the inside of a jail cell.
Gray booked the trip to Oakland, with a layover in Dallas.
Before the security checkpoint, Deputy Burke handed her a business card. “I’ll keep you updated. But you stay safe. Keep your eyes open. Maybe hang out close to security booths until it’s time to board.”
Gray agreed, and after she’d grabbed a bottled water from the souvenir shop, she found a seat close to airport security. Then she found the Percocet she’d planned to take back at the diner. She needed it now more than ever—pain burst from her head to her ankles.
A few times, she thought about Sean. Where did he go?
More than once, she thought about contacting Yvonne Reeves, who was listed as a second cousin in her All of Me report. Gray even opened that report and tapped Send a Message. Soon, her fingers danced over the laptop’s keyboard.
Hi Yvonne. I was born Natalie Kittridge in Oakland on April 25, 1980 but was given up for adoption Shaking her head, she closed the email window.
On the plane to Dallas, Gray texted Nick. On board.
You should come home.
I will after meeting this woman’s family.
She could hear his sigh from across the country and she let herself smile.
You got people in Oakland bigger than Sean?
Yeah. I got Mike. He’ll meet you at car rentals
Gray napped during that flight to Dallas, then woke up in a rush. She made her connection to Oakland seven minutes before the boarding gate closed. Huffing, she plopped into her first-class seat—the only available. Once she caught her breath, she closed her eyes and thought of completing that email to her second cousin. First cousin to my biological mother.
Was her birth mother still alive?
What was her name?
Why did she leave me?
There were chocolate chip cookies and champagne—just like those flights she’d taken with Sean “I Only Fly First Class” Dixon—and thanks to time travel, she landed in Oakland a little after nine o’clock. Plenty of time left to work.
Mobile County Sheriff’s Deputy Burke had left her a voice mail: “Wanted to see how you were and update you on the case.” Gray knew, though, that Burke hadn’t found Sean. And that’s what the deputy said when she called him back.
At Avis rentals, Gray selected a white Impala. She scanned the faces of other customers in line. No one seemed interested in her.
Nick sent a picture. The bodyguard, Mike, had sandy brown skin, sandy brown hair, a “Semper Fi” tat on his left forearm, and bushy eyebrows. She waited near the desk until a giant man who moved like water stood before her.
He said, “You Victor’s daughter?”
Gray paused. Victor’s daughter. She hadn’t been called that in ages. “And you’re…?”
“Mike. I’ll be driving a blue Charger. You’ll see me as soon as you pull out of the lot.”
She did see him, and he followed her, and for a moment Gray focused on her mission.
Find the evil Mary Ann.
57
Alicia Kelly didn’t answer at the phone number that Jennifer had pulled from Rader Consulting’s database. In her driver’s license picture, Alicia’s cheekbones cut her face just like Isabel’s did. Alicia’s eyes were smaller, close-set, and freckles sprinkled the bridge of her nose. Now, Alicia parked her Ford Focus in the narrow driveway of a pink bungalow. She wore jeans and pink Nike Huaraches.
Gray opened the door of the white Impala.
The noise of Oakland banged into the car’s cabin—squeaking trucks, raggedy mufflers, bad rap blasting from subwoofers, cans and bottles clanging as squeaky shopping carts rattled.
Mike, parked in the space behind her, stayed put in the blue Charger.
Gray called out, “Excuse me … Alicia?”
Alicia barely looked back over her shoulder. “Not interested, thanks.”
“I’m not selling anything.” Gray hustled over to the walkway before the woman retreated behind the bungalow’s black-iron security door. “I desperately need your help. I saw your profile on All of Me.”
“Oh, so you’re a long-lost cousin, too?”
“No. I—”
Alicia turned to face Gray. “You have ten seconds, then you need to kindly get the fuck off my property.”
Gray plucked from her purse the creased photo she’d shown to a million people. She now offered it to Alicia Kelly. “Do you know this woman?”
Alicia had formed her mouth to say no, but instead she gasped and plucked the picture from Gray’s fingers. “Oh my…” Her eyes bugged and her hands shook.
On the outside, Alicia’s house was a dreary pink and boasted a scraggly front yard. Inside, though, Alicia had found her inner Martha Stewart. The open floor plan and hardwood floors made the tiny bungalow feel as spacious as Hearst Castle.
Alicia dropped her purse onto the couch. “Who are you? What the hell is this about?”