cate for a long moment before let

aid, tossing the paper onto the passenger seat. "A fake de

don' t think it' s a fake. I called the number for the city r

itation flaring. "Ava isn' t dead. She' s hiding. Now find her. I wan

tness to his obsession. He threw himself into work, but his focus w

me to his office

es. Ava Miller passed away two years ago. She was

mahogany desk. The sound cra

"She wouldn' t die. She' s too s

ote village in Tibet, a place I' d read about in an old medical journal, and begged a local healer for a traditional remedy. I knelt in the dirt for two days before he agreed to help. I bro

rate firms. They both came back with the same info

s eyes had a wild, paranoid gleam. "She' s good. She' s very, very

to know where she was cremated. I want to know where she' s buried. I' m goi

wn essence felt like it was thinning, fading with each

week cra

ashen. He didn' t say a word, just

e were documents, phot

evoid of emotion. "Ashes interred at Green Hill Cemetery. Plot C, Row 6, Grave 8. The cemetery ground

his knuckles white. To him, this wasn' t proof of

, his movem

d, his voice a low growl. "