Tonight, she failed.
She walked directly toward the executive elevator.
At the NICU desk, she smiled.
“I’m looking for Dr. Ethan Caldwell.”
“He’s upstairs.”
Margaret’s eyes wandered toward the incubators.
Then stopped.
Noah Mercer.
Lily Mercer.
The color left her face.
A nurse noticed.
“Ma’am?”
Margaret recovered instantly.
“Nothing. I’m simply tired.”
She stepped closer to the glass.
Two premature infants slept beneath dim lights.
Her hand tightened around her handbag.
Five years ago, Margaret Caldwell had paid a great deal of money to ensure Hannah Mercer disappeared.
Apparently not enough.
Behind her, a voice said, “Mother.”
Margaret turned.
Ethan stood at the end of the corridor.
His white coat was gone.
His sleeves were rolled to his elbows.
His expression frightened her.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Margaret said.
“Interesting.”
“I came because your message concerned me.”
“You declined my calls.”
“I was driving.”
