Cradling the phone between her ear and shoulder, she fished out a bottle of aspirin from her desk. After dry swallowing two pills, she glanced up at Jill, who was hovering in the doorway. A male voice clicked on the line, and Kate grasped the phone with her hand, wrinkled her brow. Something about the voice was vaguely familiar.

She looked back at the name. Mitch Mathews. Ran it around in her head. Didn’t recognize it. But there was something so familiar in that voice...

Whatever. She’d never met the jerk before. After this wouldn’t talk to him again. She waited for the incessant beep.

“Mr. Mathews,” she began in a smug voice. “This is Kate Alexander at McKellen Publishing. I wanted to take the time to personally thank you for the kind note you left with my secretary today. We really appreciated the pointed and colorful language. Seeing as you had the time to not only track me down but also leave such a lengthy thesis on Queen Charlotte Sound, I must assume you are the expert in this field. From now on I’ll be sure to defer all questions and comments about this and future articles straight to you. One note, however. Jackass is spelled with two s’s, not one. I would have thought they’d teach you that in donkey school. Good day, Mr. Mathews.”

Kate gathered the papers in front of her and pushed to her feet. “I have an appointment this afternoon, Jill. You can forward my calls to my cell.”

“Ah, sure thing. Kate? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

“You just seem” —she glanced at the phone and back— “a little on edge.”

Kate took a calming breath. “I’m fine. I’ll be back later.”

Glancing at her watch, Kate realized she was already behind schedule. She climbed into her Explorer and headed across town. Normally, reader comments didn’t even faze her, but there’d been something in the tone of Mitch Mathews’s note that had really grated on her last nerve.

She found a parking place two blocks from her destination and figured that was a sign her day had to be getting better. It couldn’t get much worse. Her life couldn’t get much worse. As she stood in the building lobby and waited for the elevator, a chill spread over her shoulders and a ripple of anxiety rushed down her spine. She was just nervous. That was normal. If this didn’t pan out, she wasn’t sure where to go next.

The elevator pinged, the doors opened. She drew in another calming breath as she stepped into the law firm lobby, which was quiet but for the click of fingers on a nearby keyboard. The secretary looked up as she approached. Kate tried to smile, but her insides felt like they were on a continuous loop-de-loop roller coaster. There had to be a reason she’d fixated on this lawyer’s name amidst the hundreds listed on the Internet. “I’m here to see Simone Conners.”

“Ms. Conners is fairly busy today,” the secretary said. “Do you have an appointment?”

“Yes. Kate Alexander.”

The young blonde picked up the phone, mumbled into it then glanced back at Kate. “Ms. Conners is expecting you. Go on in.”

“Thank you.”

Kate worked to settle her swirling nerves as she pushed open the double oak doors and stepped into the room. Wide windows ahead looked out over a view of San Francisco. To the right, bookcases lined with legal tomes filled the shelves, and to the left, a grouping of leather couches sat in front of a long conference table covered with books and papers.

But it was Simone Conners who drew Kate’s attention. The petite woman rose from her desk in front of the windows with the whitest face Kate had ever seen. A face that wasn’t the least bit familiar, dammit. “Oh, my God.”

Kate looked behind her just as the door snapped closed. She didn’t see anyone else. Turning back, she stared at the lawyer with chocolate brown hair cut in a stylish bob and bronze-colored eyes that looked like they’d just seen a ghost.

“Oh, my God,” Simone whispered again. “Annie.”

A chill spread over Kate’s skin. “Um, no. I’m Kate Alexander. We have a one o’clock appointment. If this is a bad time, I could—”

“You…” The lawyer closed her eyes, shook her head, then opened them again. “I—I’m sorry. You look like a woman I used to know.”

Excitement mixed with a good dose of fear flooded Kate’s veins. No. It couldn’t be this easy. Could it? She swallowed the lump in her throat. “You…you recognize me?”

“I’m sorry. It’s not possible.” Simone looked down. When she glanced back up, she’d fixed a polite smile to her face. “What can I do for you?”

“Why isn’t it possible?” Too many questions swirled through Kate’s mind. Too many fingers of hope. She tried to keep the desperation out of her voice, but wasn’t sure she succeeded.

Simone sat again, the white, sleeveless blouse showcasing her toned arms, the slim navy slacks expensive and stylish. “The woman I was thinking of died almost five years ago. They say everyone has a twin. I guess I just met hers. Now that I look closer though, you’re not identical. You just gave me a startle, that’s all. I was thinking of her recently, which is why I jumped to conclusions that can’t be real.” She gestured to the chair opposite her desk. “Now, what can I do for you?”

Kate eased into the seat. Nerves bounced all around inside her. “What…what was her name?”

“My friend?” Simone rested her elbow on the armrest of her chair. “Why do you want to know?”

“Just curious.”

Simone considered for a moment, then said, “Annie Harrison.”

Kate rolled the name over in her mind. She’d never heard it before. That hope began to fade. “How did she die?”

Simone tipped her head. “I’m sure you didn’t come all the way down here to discuss my friend, Ms. Alexander.”

Kate ran a hand over her hair, stopping to rub her scar. “Please, just humor me for a moment. How did she die?”

“In a plane crash, just outside San Francisco. Very similar to the one that happened here not long ago.”

A plane crash. No, that wasn’t the same. Kate’s eyes slid shut. Possibilities, scenarios ran through her mind. None made sense, none seemed feasible, but she had to ask. If she didn’t, it would eat away at her. “What’s different about her and me? I mean, you said we weren’t identical. What’s different?”

Simone’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you so interested in my friend, Ms. Alexander?”

Kate focused on the petite lawyer. Tried to remember the woman. Couldn’t. But there was that feeling…an odd sense of déjà vu. The same one she’d felt when she’d seen Simone Conner’s name online. “I didn’t know about your friend when I came in here. And I’m sorry for asking, but…”

“But what?”

Blowing out a shaky breath, Kate straightened. “I came here on the advice of a colleague. I’m having trouble tracking down some information, and he thought a lawyer might be able to apply some legal pressure that could help me find the answers I’m seeking. I found your name online. And…I don’t know…something just told me you were the one I should see.”

When Simone only continued to stare at her speculatively, Kate shifted. “My husband died in that plane crash here a few weeks ago.”

“Oh.” Simone’s face softened. “Oh, I’m so sorry. No wonder you—”

“No, that’s not it. But thank you.” Kate took a deep breath. “After his death, I found some information that brought me here to San Francisco. I was in an accident several years ago and ended up in a coma.” She frowned, shook her head. “Or so I thought. When I was going through my husband’s papers, I found evidence I’d been in a nursing home here in San Francisco for over two years. Ms. Conners, I don’t ever remember being here. I don’t remember anything before waking up from that coma eighteen months ago. Nothing about my background, where I grew up, my family. My husband told me I was injured in a car accident, that I’d been in a coma for four days. Now…now I’m not sure what to believe.”

Simone leaned forward, her brow wrinkling. “Where have you been living?”

“In Houston. My husband was a doctor. A neurosurgeon.” She dug papers out of her bag. “He signed forms as my attending physician while I was here in San Francisco, though. He’d never have been allowed to do that if he was my husband.”

“No, he wouldn’t.” With narrowed eyes, Simone took the forms, scanned the papers.

“The nursing home burned down a year ago. Coincidental, if you ask me. A new one was built in its place, but they claim all the records were destroyed in the fire. I can’t get anyone there to answer my questions. I was hoping maybe you could help me talk to them. I was a patient. I have rights.”

Simone read the forms in her hands, flipped from page to page. “Permanent memory loss,” she mumbled, scanning the evaluation. “And you don’t remember a single thing from the accident?”

“No. Nothing.”

“What about after the accident?”

“I woke up in Houston. My husband was with me. I didn’t remember him, either. It was like starting over.”

Simone continued to read the papers in front of her. “This is pretty unique. It says the portion of your brain that was damaged deals with long-term memories, specifically personal ones, and personality. Do you have a career, Ms. Alexander?”

“Yes. I’m an editor for a geological publication. My doctor in Houston seems to think the part of my brain that was damaged was where personal memories are stored, which is why I’m able to remember things I’ve learned along the way—like the rate of converge of the Juan de Fuca plate—but nothing specific about where I learned it.”

When Simone glanced up in confusion, a weak smile tugged at Kate’s mouth. “Sorry. I forget others aren’t interested in geology like I am. The running joke around the publishing house is that I’m the queen science nerd.”

“Oh, my. Wow.” Simone blew out a long breath and tossed the papers on her desk. With a hand that appeared to be shaking, she swiped at her forehead. “Did you find anything else with these forms?”

“Just this.” Kate fished the picture out of her bag and handed it to her. “I don’t have a clue who that is in the photo, but the eyes…those eyes are so familiar. They’re just like mine.”

Simone’s mouth fell open. “Oh, my God.”

“What?”

“That’s Annie’s daughter.”

* * *

Mitch spent the better part of his afternoon at the lab, testing the rock samples his team had sent down from British Columbia. After several hours, he sat back and rubbed his tired eyes. There was still a lot of research to do, but he felt confident they’d made a good start. He’d have to take a trip up to BC soon, probably in a few weeks, but he trusted his team, and their initial tests so far were concurrent with his.

It was after four when he finally made his way back to his office. He smiled at Christy, his secretary, as he strolled in and tossed a bag of Mrs. Fields chocolate-chip cookies on her desk. “Take off, would ya?”

“You’re sure in a good mood.” She loved Mrs. Fields anything, and he knew it.

“Samples are looking good. Call Charlie and find out when they want me to come up. I’m thinking maybe two weeks from now. Find out what sort of progress they’re making and what their schedule’s looking like. Then head home. You’ve been at it all day.”

“You don’t have to twist my arm.” She followed him into his office and set down the report she’d just finished typing. “Here’s the geochemistry profile on the site.”

“Great.” He flipped through it. “Did I get any messages?”

“You have a few on your voicemail. Mac also stopped by and wants a rundown on the biomarkers. I told him you’d call him tonight or tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Christy. What the hell would I do without you?” With a sheepish grin, he leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on the desk.

“Fall flat on your ass.” She winked and walked out of the room.

Mitch picked up the phone and dialed in his access code. He didn’t close his door, he never did, so when he fished out the baseball he kept in the top drawer of his desk and started tossing it in the air, the rhythmic swoosh and tap didn’t even elicit a response from Christy at her desk.

His eyes slid shut as he listened to his voice mail and continued tossing the ball. It was mostly info about the site, a few messages from the lab about what they’d found earlier that morning.

The phone beeped and moved to the next message. When the husky female voice chimed through the line, he sat straight up in his chair.

The baseball he’d just tossed came down with a crack and hit him in the head. “Dammit,” he muttered, rubbing his skull. But the pain quickly dissipated as his mind zeroed in on the voice. He knew that voice.