7

 

HURRICANE POINT, CALIFORNIA, SIX DAYS LATER, THURSDAY

Singing along to Jason Mraz, who lilted out from the waterproof radio, Gwen took her desultory shower. She wrapped herself in her tattered toweling robe when the phone trilled. Unknown number. She nearly didn’t take it.

“Hello?”

“Dr. Boudain, good morning. It’s Gabriel Messenger. I’m sorry it’s taken us a while to get back to you. We closed a big deal this morning. Now it’s out of the way I can focus on Oracle. We’d like you to come in again. We’ve got some questions for you.”

“Sure. When were you thinking?” asked Gwen, manically twisting her jade ring.

“How soon can you make it?”

She wanted to say now, right now. Prudence prevailed. Don’t be easy, Gwen.

“Tomorrow, round noon?”

“Make it eleven.”

“See you then.”

Gwen hung up, did a major happy dance round her room. “Yessss!” She punched the air. “They’re on the hook, Leo. And tomorrow I am gonna reel them in.”