The Panic Zone

47

Santa Ana, California

A smoky haze rose from the blackened remains of Polly Larenski’s house.

Two men in blue coveralls, wearing gloves and surgical masks, used shovels and crowbars to probe the debris. Another man stepped carefully through the aftermath, accompanied by a German shepherd that sniffed the bits and pieces.

It was late afternoon and Emma watched from the yellow plastic tape protecting the site. Much of the commotion had subsided; nearly all of the fire, police and other emergency vehicles were gone. The street was still sealed. A funereal calm had descended upon the scene, scored by the crack-twist-tear of the investigators shifting and lifting pieces.

And there was the eager chink of the panting dog’s collar.

Somewhere in that charred heap was the key to Emma’s search for her baby and she prayed that somehow she’d find it. She noticed one of the men in blue coveralls walking to a van marked Arson Unit.

She followed him.

“Can you help me? Was this arson? I thought this was an accident.”

He shoved his mask down.

“Are you with the press?”

“My name is Emma Lane. My friend died in the fire.”

“Sorry to hear that,” he said. “It’s no secret what we do. Whenever there’s a fatality fire, Arson investigates. The dog is sniffing for accelerants.”

“Accelerants?”

“To tell us if someone used gas or anything to purposely start it.”

“Do you think it was an accident?”

He assessed her 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 car?”

Emma released Christine’s wrist, her voice breaking when she said, “That won’t be necessary.” She stood, touching her fingertips to the corners of her eyes. “You were an angel when Joe and I first came to you for help.”

“I’m so sorry, Emma.”

“Not sorry enough to help me.”

By the time Emma had returned to her hotel room she was numb.

Smelling the smoke on her clothes, seeing her disheveled reflection in the mirror, she realized she needed a shower.

As steam clouds rose around her, she sobbed in great heaving waves. Overwhelmed by anguish she slammed her back against the wall and slid down to the shower floor, letting the water rush over her as she hugged herself in vain.

She’d already come apart.

Emma was exhausted when she stepped from the shower. As she pulled on a robe, the phone in her room rang and she answered it.

“Emma?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, thank goodness, it’s Aunt Marsha in Big Cloud.”

“Hi.”

“Emma, are you all right, dear?”

“I’m so tired.”

“We were so worried. You gave us a scare, leaving like you did. We didn’t know where you were. A concerned FBI agent gave us your hotel number. Emma, you’ve been through too much. Please, come home.”

Emma didn’t answer because she didn’t know where home was anymore.

“Emma?”

She remained silent.

“Sweetheart, do you want us to fly there and get you?”

A long silence passed, Emma felt warm tears flow.

“No. I’ll come back.”

The next morning, Emma’s jet lifted off from LAX to Denver with a connection to Cheyenne. As she gazed down at the eternal urban sprawl she felt so small.

So lost.

And so alone.

She reached into her bag and touched Tyler’s stuffed bear. As the plane climbed into the sky she was suddenly lying on the road again in Wyoming, reaching for her husband’s hand.

I don’t know if I can do this alone, Joe. Help me find him.