Tony silenced her with his eyes as he continued to listen in horror. The echoing of an explosion came through the phone. What was it? Was it a gunshot? Tony couldn’t ask. The phone went dead.

Tears threatened Tony’s eyes as he looked at Catherine and said, “Oh my God, I don’t know.” He called Eric and told him to get him to the airport. “Yes, I know my jet isn’t back from California. I don’t give a damn—I’m flying to Palo Alto immediately.” Before he finished with Eric, Roach’s call came through.

Trepidatiously, Tony answered. “Roach, tell me she isn’t dead.”

“Sir, she’s not dead. The perpetrator is.”

Tony exhaled as the cyclone of impotence gave way to relief; however, it was short-lived and rage prevailed. “How in the hell did you let this happen? Tell me what’s going on there!”

Tony listened as Roach replayed the scene. A man, the same man from the picture, was in Claire’s unit. At this moment, neither his identity nor intentions were known; however, he’d accosted Ms. Nichols, who was currently being treated by paramedics. She was unconscious and it appeared as though they were taking her to the Stanford Medical Center. The assailant was shot by the building security guard and died on site. Roach promised to learn more.

“I want answers and I want them yesterday.”

You have to dream before your dreams can come true.

—Abdul Kalam

The entire way to the airport, Tony barked orders. He called Brent and told him to hire someone new: Roach was finished. After his epic fail, Tony didn’t intend to employ him another hour, much less a day. Tony needed people he could depend upon—Phillip Roach was obviously not one of them. Tony wanted information about this assailant: was he working alone? What did he want? Tony also called Baldwin. Though the conversation was short, Harrison confirmed Claire’s location as the Stanford Medical Center and assured Tony that she had a solid support system, including Emily and John, who were on their way.

Tony called the Palo Alto police and the emergency room at the hospital. By the time his company plane left Iowa, he was no closer to learning anything. Repeatedly, he was informed that he had no legal right to Ms. Nichols’ private information. Tony wanted to scream, “Fine! But what about my child—I have the right to know if my child is all right.” The only thing stopping him, keeping him from proclaiming his impending parenthood, was the fear of their answer. How badly had this man hurt her? Would she survive? Had their baby?

When he landed, Brent sent him the contact information on a new investigator, Clay Winters, ex-secret service. Tony immediately contacted him and explained the situation. He emphasized that regardless of his legal rights, he wanted answers and he wanted Claire protected. Clay went to work, while Tony found a small visitor’s lounge a floor away from Claire’s room and set up a home base.

One of Claire’s attending nurses agreed to enlighten Tony when Claire regained consciousness. Tony asked about Claire’s condition, her prognosis—anything! The nurse wouldn’t give any more answers. Apparently, a Do Not Disclose order had been put into place. No information regarding Claire Nichols was to be leaked by staff or the hospital without a hefty fine and promised legal action. The nurse agreed to accept Tony’s money, but refused to risk her job or the hospital’s reputation with anything further.

Answers slowly trickled in regarding the incident. When Tony read that the assailant’s name was Patrick Chester, all of the air left his lungs. He knew the man was familiar; however, it’d been over twenty-five years since he’d last seen him. According to the information, Chester had planned to kidnap Claire and ransom her to Tony. It didn’t make sense. How did Chester know about his connection to Claire? How did he know that the same man who’d been paying him for all of these years was Anthony Rawlings?

As hour after hour passed, Tony’s impotence wore on him. He was so close, yet so far. He didn’t want to think about Claire’s accident or compare the circumstances; however, the similarities screamed for acknowledgement. Almost three years earlier, she’d been in a similar situation and so had he. Tony remembered Dr. Leonard asking him to leave the room. His exact words echoed in his mind: Mr. Rawlings, she is not related to you. We must allow her some privacy. Those words continued to haunt him. Once again, he wasn’t related —yes, that was his doing, and he regretted it more than anything in his life, but it was still the truth.

The question that tumbled through his mind, resurfacing at the most inopportune times was did she lose the baby? When she told him that she was pregnant, Tony didn’t know what to say or do. When he took her to the meadow and explained, it wasn’t truly to say he wanted a child, only that he was unsure—Claire had used the word scared. Truthfully, in the meadow he was unsure; now, he was frightened. Tony didn’t only fear the loss of the child; he told himself repeatedly they would survive as a couple, and if Claire wanted children—fine, they’d try again. What he feared, as hours turned to another day, were his memories of after Claire’s accident and before her breakdown on the front porch. Those weeks preoccupied his thoughts.

As soon as Tony returned from work, he met Catherine in his office for an update on Claire’s condition. Unfortunately, after over two weeks of consciousness, her activities were virtually the same from day to day. She’d eaten two meals, although Catherine mentioned that she’d eaten very little of those two meals. After bathing and dressing, she napped. After lunch and reading, she napped. Catherine assured him that she was now awake and waiting for his arrival.