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CALIFORNIA, 2011

Horns blast and oncoming drivers gesticulate as I run a red light, so desperate to get there before it’s too late that I can’t see straight. When my phone rings, I fumble for it in the center console, but my hands are shaking so much that I drop it into the footwell. I lose my grip on the steering wheel as I make a grab for it, swerving into the middle of the road.

My breathing is louder than the music on the radio, yet the only thing I can hear are my father’s words jumping off the page and sounding a death knell in my head.

“Please, god,” I beg, willing someone I don’t believe in to give me one good reason why he might be lying. But the resounding silence is deafening.

By the time I pull into the hotel parking lot, I’m convinced that Zoe’s already gone, having given up on chasing a dead end. Or perhaps she’d known more than I had given her credit for? Did she know who I really was? What I’d done…?

With my hand on the car door, I take a few seconds to force myself to breathe in and out long and slow, to stop myself from hyperventilating. I’ve only got one chance at this and I can’t afford to screw it up.

My heart is still pounding out of my chest as I sprint into the hotel lobby and across to the front desk, demanding attention from the first person who looks in my direction.

“I need to speak to Zoe Mortimer. She’s staying here and it’s urgent.” It comes out in a rush.

The receptionist taps a keyboard while I tap my nails, impatiently waiting for him to tell me that redemption is nigh.

“She’s checked out,” he says, as if it means nothing.

My legs buckle. No, no, no, no, no…

“Where was she going? Did she leave a forwarding address? Do you have a phone number?”

He looks at me as if I’m crazy, or at least thinks he might be losing it. “I’m sorry, madam, we can’t—”

“She was going to the airport,” interrupts a colleague without looking up from her screen. “About fifteen minutes ago.”

My shoulders slump. I can’t possibly catch up with her now. The thought that my only hope of making things right has left on the red-eye to London makes my throat close up.

“Are you looking for me?” comes a voice.

I swing around and a guttural cry catches in my chest. “Oh, thank god!”

Zoe’s standing there with her coat over her arm and a suitcase at her feet.

“You can’t go. I have to speak to you.”

Her eyes widen. “I thought you didn’t want to…”

“Something’s changed.”

She looks at me with tears in her eyes. “What can possibly have changed since yesterday? Everything you know now, you knew then.”

“No,” I say, shaking my head, vehemently. “I didn’t know why all this was happening or why you were here, but it’s all falling into place.”

“I didn’t come here to make things difficult for you,” says Zoe.

“I know,” I say, daring to believe that she might mean it. “And I’m sorry for shutting down on you.”

“I don’t want anything more from you than you’re prepared to give,” she says. “I just wanted to give you the chance…”

I shudder. Give me the chance to do what? To confess? To tell her how sorry I am?

She goes to step forward, but seems to think better of it and stays put.

“Where do we go from here?” she says in a small voice.

My jaw spasms as I look at her, knowing this is my last chance for my life to resemble anything close to normal. But what choice do I have?

“Do you know where he is?” I dare to ask.

She nods.

“Then I need you to take me to him,” I say.