She had to talk to him about it. She wished she knew what her mother wanted, but they had never talked about death.

They'd never talked about life, either.

Loneliness attacked her again, but this time she expected the dull, ragged pain. She wondered how many families were like hers. Cool. Detached. Uninvolved with one another.

"I'll find her, though," she told her mother. "Sarah is looking for birth certificates, and I'll be talking to your friends here. Someone has to know something."

She paused. "What does Daddy know?" The term "Daddy" slipped out unconsciously. She hadn't called her father that for many years.

"Please wake up," she pleaded. "I need you."

And she did, more than she believed possible. She needed to know unqualified love. She wanted to talk to her mother one last time, to express her anger and bewilderment and deep sense of loss.

She had to know the whys of so many things.

But there were no answers from her mother. She doubted there would be.

So she just sat there, hoping her mother knew she was there. Hoping her mother knew she was loved.

She leaned over and kissed her mother's cheek. She felt guilty for leaving.

Dammit, but she was tired of guilt.

"Good night," she told the returning nurse, then went to the security office and asked for an escort to her car. Revolver or not, she had no intention of walking alone in the parking lot.

Morris had followed her to the hospital tonight and left only after she promised to have security walk her to the car. He'd also arranged for her to park in the doctors' lot not far from the hospital's front door. Probably still afraid of a lawsuit, the security staff had readily agreed.

She would use valet parking at the hotel.

She would be safe tonight.

And tomorrow?

She wouldn't think about tomorrow.

Gage took the call on his home phone. It was a collect call.

Clint. His younger brother.

"Gage?"

"Yeah."

"You coming on Sunday?"

Guilt coursed through him. He 'had' almost forgotten about it. "I plan to. Just been transferred back to homicide. I never know--"

"I understand," came the resigned reply. "Just wanted to ask you to bring a couple of books." A pause. "I'm in a computer technology course."

"That's great," Gage said, trying to interject some enthusiasm in his voice. His brother often joined self-improvement programs in prison. They never lasted long.

"I got a clerk's job."

That 'was' progress. His brother's first years in prison had been disastrous. He'd rebelled constantly. A clerk's job meant good behavior.

"That's good news."

"I'm good at it, Gage. Really good."

"I'll try to be there," Gage said.

His brother gave him the names of two electronics books, then paused, "Thanks, bro."

Gage closed the phone. His brother was the only family he had left. The familiar feeling of failure filled him. He had tried to be father, mother and brother to Clint. He'd succeeded at none.

He wanted to hope now. But he'd hoped too many times before. Still... perhaps.

He 'would' make it Sunday.

Sheer exhaustion dictated sleep. Even so, the sleep was restless, and Meredith woke early. She didn't feel refreshed.

She drove home. The cleaning firm would be there at nine. She took photos throughout the house for the insurance company, straightened up what she could downstairs, then climbed the stairs to inspect her closets in closer detail.

Most of her good suits had been destroyed beyond repair. Something else to do in the next few days: shopping. She had a court appearance at the end of next week. That required suitable clothing. She had a few blouses that had survived the carnage. Some slacks. A dress. Her shoes were untouched. Perhaps whoever did this ran out of time.

She looked at the underwear. She couldn't bear the thought of putting them back in the drawers after they had been touched by the intruder. She put them in a basket and took them to the washing machine. Even then, she knew she would never feel entirely comfortable in those garments. She wondered whether she would wear any of it again.

After she started the wash, she used her cell phone to call her insurance company and ask for a form to list destroyed items, then called the office. Sarah was already there.

"Ask Becky to come over to my house," Meredith said. "I have some shopping to do, and I want someone here with the cleaning crew."

"You plan to move back home?"

"Yes."

Silence. Then, "Do you think that's wise?"

"I now have a state-of-the-art alarm system, a revolver in my purse, and constant visits by the police. I think I'm safe enough. I will 'not' live in a hotel the rest of my life."

"I prepared a list of people who have expressed some displeasure toward you, both in the DA's office and in your private practice," Sarah said.

"Tell me it's a small list."

"Well, it's not that long."

That reminded Meredith that she had not made out her own expanded list yet. "Thanks. I'll add to it and call Detective Morris."

"What about Rick Fuller?"

"He's at the top of mine."

"You know how they protect their own."

"I don't think they will here."

"Okay," Sarah said. Meredith heard the doubt in Sarah's voice.

"I'll be in the office later. I want to discuss the next steps to finding my sister."

"I'll be here."

"You're always there. Have I ever thanked you?"

"All the time, boss."

Meredith hung up, then called the hospital. No change. "Critical but stable."

She leaned against the wall and waited for the cleaning service to arrive. The same wall she had leaned against yesterday when Detective Gaynor kissed her. Why had she allowed it?

More important, why had she responded in such a wanton, needy way? Because she 'was' needy. She felt as if she were holding up the Empire State Building on her shoulders. Her Empire State Building of conflicting loyalties and duties. Her mother against her father. Her practice against both of them. Her duty to clients against the chaos in her own life.

Had that made her so susceptible to a kind word? A gentle touch? An offer of help? Was that why Gaynor ignited a pa.s.sion she'd never experienced before?

Could she trust that help?

The doorbell rang and a small covey of women crowded inside with brooms, pails and other cleaning equipment. She showed them through the house and explained what she wanted done, then provided them with huge trash bags she'd had in her garage for leaves.

Even though she had cleaned up some of the mess, the women gasped at the sliced upholstery, the stains on the floor, the destroyed clothes on the bed and the pieces of gla.s.s in her office.

She worked with them, answering questions, until Becky arrived. She told Becky what to do, then left on a shopping expedition. She didn't expect it to take long. Only the necessities--computer, mattress and at least one suit--now. She would see to everything else in the next several weeks.

Feeling a little more in control, she checked the revolver in her purse. The tossing of her home was a stumbling block, nothing more. It would not interfere with what she had to do.

"Nothing," Sarah said. "No birth certificate on record with the Memphis and Shelby County Health Department or with any other surrounding counties--at least not with your mother's name on it. I also checked with local hospitals. None has records dating back that far."

"I need the names of medical facilities and OB pract.i.tioners near my aunt's home in February 1970. The doctors we can contact. I'll visit the medical facilities."

Sarah nodded.

"Any other emergencies?" Meredith asked.

"Nothing I can't handle."

"Have you spoken to Nan Fuller?"

"She hasn't heard from her husband. Becky took a copy of the protection order to her yesterday."

Darn. She should have done that. But yesterday had been volcanic.

"A Mrs. Fellows called today for an appointment. A divorce case."

"Can she wait until next week?"

"Yes."

Meredith went into her office, checked her calendar, then reappeared. "A week from Monday at two. Tell her it's tentative. I have an illness in the family."

"Are you sure?"

"We still have a practice to maintain."

"Okay. I'll set it up. Did you add any names to my list of people who might want to do you harm?"

"You did a very thorough job. I never would have listed some of them. But no, no one else."

"Nothing I wouldn't know about? Anything personal?"

"I have no personal life, Sarah." The words escaped Meredith's mouth before she considered them. She suddenly realized how sad they sounded. But she didn't have a personal life. Work had been her balm for years, her reason for being.

Now she realized how few friends she really had. Professional acquaintances, yes. But little else. What social life she'd once had had disappeared when her friends' lives evolved and she had no children about whom to exchange stories, no time for social lunches.

She didn't even have a family. Not really.

"You should remedy that, boss."

"Some day," Meredith said lightly. "But now my calendar is full. Do you have everything under control?"

Sarah nodded.

"I'm going to drop the list at police headquarters, then go to my parents' home. It's Mrs. Edwards's afternoon to shop. Some of my grandfather's records are stored in the attic. My father always expected a case might come back to haunt him, so he kept all his records. There could be some personal stuff there as well. I'm also going to look through my mother's things for a diary. Address book. Anything that can give us a clue."

"I'll call your cell phone number if I need you."

"Good."

Meredith decided to go to Morris's office with the lists. She could call him, ask him to meet her, but...

She might see Gaynor. Perhaps he would have talked to Rick Fuller, who was still at the top of her list.

'Let Morris take care of it.'

She couldn't. Drat it. She wanted to see Gaynor. She tried to keep thinking of him as Gaynor. Not Gage. She wanted to convince herself that yesterday's encounter was the result of sleeplessness, of fear, of grief. She had her emotions in check today. She wanted to prove to herself that the attraction between them had been fleeting.

'Certainly not because you just want to see him.'

Meredith picked up her purse. "Thanks, Sarah."

"Good luck."