She picked up her cell phone from the table beside the bed as it rang out, startling her.
“Agent Frost,” she said, breathless from the exertion and from the shock of getting a call that she hadn’t been expecting. Still, instinct kicked in. She guessed it was probably going to be Division Chief Rondelle, or—
“Laura.”
Laura’s breath caught in the back of her throat. Of all the people she would have thought likely to call her, he was one of the last. “Marcus?”
“I had a call from the hospital,” he said. His voice was strained and tight, like he was begrudging having to talk to her at all. “Apparently, I’m still your next of kin. Something happened to you?”
“I’m sorry,” Laura said, her voice restrained and subdued. “I’ll update my records. I’m… I’m fine.”
“You get blackout drunk again, Laura?” Marcus asked accusingly.
“No!” Laura said, hating the fact that even the denial itself would make her sound like a liar. She only had herself to blame, she knew. All the times she had lied in the past to cover up her alcohol problem. “No, I’m out here working a case. Things got a little… hairy with the suspect. I took a few knocks, but I’m okay. They’re discharging me already.”
Marcus made a noise that sounded like he wasn’t sure whether to believe her, but before he could say anything else, another voice interrupted.
“Is that Mommy?” The girl in the background of the call was faint, but Laura heard her. It was Lacey. Her sweet, beautiful daughter. She was close by. She was almost close enough to talk…
“Lacey?” Laura burst out, shouting it loud, wanting to make her voice heard over the speakers on the other end. “Lacey, honey, can you hear me?”
“Shut up,” Marcus snapped at her. “No, Lacey, it’s not Mommy. Go back and finish your breakfast, okay?”
“Okay, Daddy.”
“No! Lacey! Please, Marcus, please—” Laura gasped, tears spilling down her cheeks.
“I told you,” Marcus said heavily. “Not until I’m ready.”
Then the line went dead.
Laura felt hot tears streaming over her face, sobs racking her body as she leaned forward, covering her eyes with her hands. Her daughter… she’d been so close. But so far.
Laura cried herself dry. She only had so much within herself. It was partly self-preservation: the harder she sobbed, the more her ribs ached. She managed to lied back on the pillow, breathing deeply and looking up at the blank ceiling, finding enough of a calm inside herself to stop the tears.
Just not the grief.
Laura breathed out heavily, rubbing her head. She needed to do something, anything, to make this feeling diminish. She needed to do some good. She looked back through her contacts and dialed another number—this time, for Dean Marsters, the FBI tech who’d said he would help.
“Yeah?” he said, picking up after only a couple of rings.
“Dean. Please tell me you have something.”
“Oh, Frost. As a matter of fact, I was going to call you,” he replied. His voice sounded chipper, like he was pleased with himself. “I didn’t know if you wanted to be disturbed while you’re recuperating. I heard through the grapevine you were injured early this morning.”
“Please disturb me,” she said. She caught the irony in the words as soon as she’d said it. The more disturbing the dirt he’d managed to find on Governor Fallow, the better.
“Well, turns out he’s had a couple of run-ins over the years,” Dean reported. “As far as I can see, they mostly involve people being paid off to sign NDAs and keep his bad behavior to themselves. I don’t have any exact details just yet, but I have the names of a few people who received suspicious amounts of money. It could lead nowhere if they’re not prepared to talk, but if you need to take him to court, this could be something you could lean on. Get full disclosure from his lawyers, or something like that. Even if you can get a look at the agreements to see what it is they’ve signed off on not talking about.”
“Got it,” Laura said, even though she felt her heart sinking. It sounded like a lot more work. She’d been hoping for something concrete, something she could use to immediately have Fallow declared an unfit father—or at least rock his position in office. But she was going to have to work with it. Amy needed her to. “Send me everything.”
“Will do, Frost. Don’t forget that coffee and muffin you owe me.”
“Next time I’m in the office,” she promised, ending the call.
She lifted her phone, thinking she would dial another number. When her finger hesitated over the call button for Governor Fallow’s residence, a spike of pain hit her in the forehead. She knew what was coming even before it—
Amy. A close-up of her face. Crying.