Emily Kenyon 01 - A Cold Dark Place

talk about it,” he said. “Anything I know is ” privileged.”
    “Privileged? My daughter is out there and you’re going to use that law crap on me?”
    “Emily,” he said, putting his hands on her shoulders.
    “Don’t even think about touching me.”
    He removed his hands and took a step backward. He looked through the floor-to-ceiling sidelight next to his door. The young blonde was watching from the receptionist’s desk. Cary slid out of view.
    I wanted to tell you, but you know I can’t. You wouldn’t respect me if I did.”
    “Respect you? I hate you. I can’t believe that I slept with you again. That’s a joke. I’m so stupid. God, I really know how to pick them”
    “Let’s not get personal,” he said.
    Wrong words, Emily thought.
    “Personal? My daughter is off with some creepy kid. You know something about what’s going on in his family. And you don’t tell me? No. In fact you take me out for a couple of drinks and go back to my house … God, I’m so stupid!”
    The blonde was standing up by then. She held the phone up and pointed at it, signaling to Cary that she could call someone if he gave her the word. She mouthed: “Police? “
    Emily almost laughed at that. Emily was the police.
    “You’re not stupid,” Cary said. “And I am sorry. You know me better than that. I care about you. I care about Jenna.”
    Emily could see this was going nowhere. Everything he said now was some cheap way of trying to calm her so he could get rid of her. Get on with his day. Make some important deal. Screw the blonde. Whatever.
    “Okay,” she said. “Can you at least confirm something?”
    “Maybe. Try me “
    “Was Nick’s dad your client?”
    Cary shook his head.
    “Did another client talk to you about Nick’s adoption?”
    Cary, now sitting on the edge of his enormous mahogany desk, looked down at the floor. His face was completely grim. Saying anything was a breach of legal ethics.
    “All right. I’ll tell you this. My client is another lawyer, working for another party. I don’t know the name. I can’t give you the lawyer’s name, either. But yes, it was about the adoption.”
    Emily moved closer. “Cary, please” She stared at him, imploring with her eyes to tell her what she needed to know.
    “I don’t know the client. But I’ll tell you this. I think it has something to do with Angel’s Nest in Seattle.”
    “Angel’s Nest?” The name was vaguely familiar. Emily ran it through her memory. “Angel’s Nest?”
    “Yeah. Can you believe that? Talk about a blast from the past. That’s all I can tell you I know.”
    Emily turned for the door. The fact that he held information that could have helped the case, could have shed light on Jenna’s whereabouts, was bad enough. That he was so damn weak that he caved in and told her anything at all, was proof positive he was the biggest loser she’d ever slept with.
    “Dinner tonight?” Cary asked.
    Emily stopped and spun around and stood there. If ever she needed Botox it would be from the hostile glance she gave Cary McConnell. She held it longer than any expression she’d ever directed at anyone.
    Finally she spoke. “Go screw yourself,” she said.

BOOK II
    A Desperate Love

Chapter Eighteen
    3:15, twenty-one years ago, northern Washington
    It began like most grisly discoveries. A hapless individual wanders upon the unthinkable in a place where nothing sinister has ever transpired, where it is completely unexpected. The heart skips a beat. The eyes strain to see through the mind’s protective shield of disbelief.
    It was that way for Jeremy Landon, a seventeen-year-old from Meridian, Washington. He was paddling the Nooksack River, a meandering waterway that ran lazily from the crispedged Northern Cascades to Puget Sound, when a flash of white against a gray sandbar caught his eye. He paddled closer and maneuvered around a fallen cedar that dipped into the icy and swift-moving waters. Incredulity kicked in and adrenaline pumped like a spigot cranked on all the way. Jeremy knew what he’d seen before he poked the large plastic cocoon with a paddle. Hair protruded from an opening on one end. It was long and blond. A mahogany hand with fingertips still accented by cherry-red nail polish fell from a tear in the midsection of the cocoon. He rocked the large bundle with his paddle and yelled, this time, even louder.
    “You okay?”
    His kayak nudged the sandbar, a grating noise of gravel against the fiberglass hull