Page 43 of Intersect

“Unfortunately, she took off before we could get it, but we just got results from her blood work, and there is a very serious issue we need to discuss with her. We’re hoping you can help us out.”

“So you just need a phone number?” he asks slowly, uncertainly.

I take a quick breath and try to rein in my eagerness. “Yes. That or an address. If you can even give us a name, we might be able to find her from that.”

“Look,” he says, “I don’t know if I should just be giving out a customer’s information. How do I even know you’re a doctor?”

“You can look me up online.” I spell my name, direct him to the Georgetown website. “You can send the information there if you’re more comfortable.”

He takes the order number off the receipt and then tells me he’s only the assistant manager. “I’ll have to talk to my boss when she comes in and let you know.” Which is precisely what I heard from the person I spoke to yesterday.

“And when will that be?” I ask, straining to keep frustration out of my voice.

“She’s at the beach this week,” he replies. “She’s back next Friday.”

Six days from now. He wants me to wait six fucking days.

I’ve always thought of myself as an honest person. It’s funny how the qualities you value in yourself go out the window when you really need something. “Look,” I reply, “I don’t want to pressure you, but this might be a bit of a public health hazard, so the sooner the better. And if any of your employees came into contact with her I think they’re going to need to be quarantined.”

I wait, holding my breath, until the guy gives a long, exaggerated sigh. “1649 Avon Lane,” he says quietly. “But it didn’t come from me.”

“Okay. And what’s her name?”

He tells me, and the pen falls from my hand.

I expected a name. I just didn’t think it would be a familiar one.

* * *

Quinn is awake when I return to the room, showered and grinning at me. “Now can we leave? Look how healthy I am. I could go run a marathon right now. That’s how good I feel.”

My mouth curves despite myself. “I didn’t know you were a runner.”

“Well,” she says, “I could go run a marathon if running didn’t suck.”

My hand clasps hers and I pull her toward the end of the bed and have her sit. “I called the nursery. They told me who placed the order.”

She freezes, her face gone pale beneath her tan. “That should be good news, but it obviously isn’t,” she says, watching my face carefully.

I flinch and then open my eyes to meet hers. “Quinn…her name is Sarah Stewart.”

Her mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. “That’s impossible,” she finally says. “My aunt? The woman in here wasn’t old enough to my aunt. She barely looked older than me.”

I press my mouth to her forehead. “Rose told us they age slowly, remember?”

“But—” she begins, swallowing, and trails off as she comes to terms with the possibility that the hero of her childhood—the woman who exchanged a dreary life on the farm for a glamorous one in Paris—is the same person who now wants her dead. “Why? Why would my own aunt want to kill me? She’s never even met me.”

“It must be the Rule of Threes. She doesn’t want you to have a child because that child would be the fourth in the line.”

Her shoulders sag. “It can’t be that. I’m not pregnant, obviously. She knows how unlikely it is that I ever will be. It must be the spark thing. She wants mine.”

“I’ll stop her before that happens,” I reply. Though God knows I’ve got no fucking idea how. “I’ve got her address. I’ll get you home and go check it out.”

She springs to her feet. “I’ll come with you.”

“Not a fucking chance are you getting anywhere near her,” I say, grinding my teeth. “She’s already tried to kill you once that we know of, Quinn. I’m a big guy, but even I can’t be sure you’re safe around someone who can vanish in midair and reappear anywhere she wants.”

“Well, you’re sure as hell not going alone,” she snaps.