Линвуд Баркли - Find You First

“No. But there isn’t a guy on the planet who’d say no to her.”

“You like her?”

“She’s cute. A little young for me, but if I was twenty again? It’s not rocket science. Look at him. Ever since she asked him, he looks like he’s got the fidgets.” He smiled. “I think he’s new at this.”

Kendra leaned up against the wall, crossed her arms. “They’ll have to go somewhere. Somewhere private. Could present an opportunity.”

Rhys nodded thoughtfully. “But a short one. Got a feeling this guy’s gonna come before he’s even got his pants off.”

New Haven, CT

Around one in the morning Chloe, her head still tucked into Miles’s shoulder, stirred, waking him. They struggled off the couch, leaving their plates of pizza crusts on the coffee table. Miles showed Chloe to a guest room, where she flopped down onto the bed without even turning back the covers, and Miles went off to his own bedroom.

He was up shortly after six, having slept fitfully in his own bed. He’d gotten more of a rest when they’d fallen asleep on the couch. He kept asking himself one question: Who knew the names?

Dorian and Heather.

His brother, Gilbert, although he had shown him a printout of the names for only a second.

There was the woman at the ReproGold Clinic who had provided the names of the women who’d been artificially inseminated with Miles’s donation.

There was Dr. Gold himself.

Maybe Gold was worth visiting again. Go back to the source, except this time don’t settle for noncooperation. Lay it out for him, if possible without exposing his assistant as the source of the information. Miles might be able to bluff his way through that part, persuade Gold he’d made some headway through the services of WhatsMyStory. Or, given his own background, maybe Miles could persuade him he’d hacked into some database somewhere to get the information.

The other matter weighing heavily on Miles was the need to get in touch with the rest of his biological children. If there really was a chance they were in danger, he needed to alert them. But as of today, as of right now, what would he tell them?

It was enough of a shock to have someone walk up to you and announce he was your father. Even more of a shock to then be told that one day you might come down with a crippling disease. Now, on top of all that, imagine adding, Oh, and by the way, something really, really terrible might be about to happen to you .

Jesus.

Having stared at the ceiling long enough, he got up, wandering into the kitchen at 6:15 A.M. He dropped a pod into his Nespresso, and while he drank his coffee, he made yet another list — a mental one — of what needed to happen today.

Miles got out his phone and texted Dorian.

COME TO THE HOUSE INSTEAD OF OFFICE. ASAP.

He hit Send.

Before he could put the phone back down on the countertop, he saw the three dancing dots indicating that Dorian was already getting back to him.

NEARLY TO YOUR PLACE.

It was barely light out and Dorian was coming to the house? He debated asking why, then figured he’d find out when Dorian arrived. He typed:

OK.

He walked down the hall to the guest room. The door was open a crack and he peeked inside. At some point during the night, Chloe had crawled under the covers. She was asleep, her hair splayed out across the pillow. Miles watched her for several seconds before gently and noiselessly closing the door.

When he got back to the kitchen, he saw a set of headlights coming up the driveway. Dorian’s Prius. He went to the door so she wouldn’t have to ring the bell and possibly wake Chloe.

“Hey,” Miles said as Dorian got out of the car and approached. “And here I was worried my text would wake you.”

“I’m your personal 911,” Dorian said.

Dorian came into the house and accepted Miles’s offer of a coffee.

“If you were already headed here, you must have news.”

“Well, you texted at the crack of dawn, so I’m guessing you’ve got something urgent on your mind, too. You go first.”

“Can we get same-day test results?” he asked.

“What kind?”

Miles tipped his head toward the back of the house. “Genetic. I have a guest. Chloe Swanson.”

“First on the list,” Dorian said, and smiled. “How’s that going?”

Miles took a moment. “Good, I think.” He paused, appeared on the verge of being misty-eyed. “I like her. She’s her own person. Doesn’t take any shit. Single-minded. Smart.”

Dorian nodded. “Like my mom used to say, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

“I’ve been feeling pretty stressed.”

“Who wouldn’t be? This is a crazy situation.”

“It’s not just that. It’s the Huntington’s. It’s clouding my brain at times. And everything that’s happened in the last few days, it’s like it’s accelerating some of the symptoms. Short-tempered, frustrated, unable to concentrate. Not to mention that I feel like I’m wobbling around all over the place. I’m feeling this sense of urgency. That we need to find these people, that Chloe needs to get tested.”

“Don’t worry. We can get all these things done. How’s Chloe feel about the test?”

“Not great, but she’ll go along with it. She has a somewhat fatalistic view of life. Maybe I did at that age, too. She says I can keep the results to myself. She doesn’t want to know. I don’t know why, but I need to know.”

“I’ve got the lab that did the test of Gilbert primed and ready to go,” Dorian said. “I make the call, someone’s here right away to retrieve the sample. We’ll pay through the nose, but what do you care, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then they should be able to tell us something before the end of the day. I’ve seen it done. Worst case, tomorrow.”

“And we need to set up another meeting with Heather. I don’t exactly know what to do next, but she may have some ideas. I want to know more about the woman from the ReproGold Clinic.”

“Sure.” Dorian pulled out a phone. “I’ll text her now. She’ll be up.”

“Okay, your turn,” he said.

“Hmm?”

“You were already on your way here. What was so important that you couldn’t text me or tell me over the phone?”

Dorian put the phone down and looked at Miles, grim-faced.

“There’s another one,” she said.

“What?”

“I’ve got all the names on your list set up on Google Alerts. Anything anywhere pops up about them, I get a notification.”

The color drained from Miles’s face. “Tell me.”

“Dixon Hawley is missing.”

Miles blinked. “Scottsdale.”

Dorian nodded. “Didn’t show up yesterday morning at his place of work. An art gallery. When he didn’t show, they tried calling him. No luck. So they sent someone around to his place and there was no sign of him. He’s just... gone.”

“This can’t be happening,” Miles said.

“I’m still trying to get more details, but there was something funny on the release that was on the police department website.”

“Which was?”

“His apartment had been stripped clean. Every personal item gone. Clothes, bed linen, toiletries. More than what you’d take if you were hitting the road.”

Miles wavered.

“You okay?” Dorian asked.

“I feel a bit... dizzy,” he said.

Dorian rushed to his side and steered him onto a nearby stool at the kitchen island.

“What’s happening?” Dorian asked. “Is this a symptom? Do I need to get a doctor?”

“No, no,” he said quietly. “It’s not that...”

“I know it’s a shock, this Hawley guy going missing, but it’s only been a day and—”