Although the hospital was only a few miles from Tremaine headquarters, her heart had raced the entire drive over. The damn monitor would have gone crazy.
What had she been thinking, taking Portia’s car? It could be reported stolen at any moment. Not that it mattered now. She’d voluntarily returned. She wanted—no,deserved—answers and this was the only place to get them. This building held the key to her identity and the identity of the bomber. She was sure of it.
Getting into the building might be a challenge given she had no idea what privileges or security the executives might face. She wiped her palms on her pants and then rifled through the glove box and the console.
All she found was a pair of sunglasses. Not very useful, but she placed them on top of her head.
No time like the present.
Knowing this was likely the dumbest thing she’d ever done, and that included many motorcycle tricks she’d tried in her teens, Dizzie pushed the car door open and stepped into the parking garage. It was spacious and well-lit.
Portia’s parking space was near the elevators, so Dizzie headed in that direction. Focused on keeping her stride even, she nearly ran into another person heading the same direction. She stopped abruptly enough that the sunglasses slid over her forehead and onto her face.
Too startled to say anything, Dizzie pushed the glasses up to sit properly.
“I’m very sorry for your loss, ma’am. Mr. Gilmore will be missed,” the woman said.
Her words struck Dizzie like a well-aimed arrow. Did she know Dizzie was an imposter? It seemed very unlikely.
Dizzie studied the other woman from behind her glasses. She looked 100 percent sincere. “Thank you,” she said, her words stiff.
The other woman swallowed hard. “I just wanted you to know.” She looked like she wanted to be anywhere but here. Dizzie completely agreed. They approached the elevator in silence and Dizzie stepped in when the other woman did. “Lobby,” Dizzie said, before the other woman could ask.
Her companion still looked terrified, so the ride was generally a quiet one. The other woman rushed out of the elevator as soon as the doors open.
Dizzie laughed softly. She’d been tempted to do the same.
She strode across the main lobby to the lifts that would take her to the highest levels of the company. This was such a bad idea, but it might be her only chance to get the answers she needed. She couldn’t stop.
The elevator opened the moment she approached and Dizzie slipped in. The door closed swiftly behind her and started to rise before she even pushed a button.
Top floor?The cursor in her ocular implant came alive.
Dizzie jumped. She hadn’t heard anything from the hacker since the warehouse, so she hadn’t expected any assistance once in the building. In the heart of Tremaine headquarters, the blinking letters felt like an old friend. She nodded.
Why here?
Dizzie shrugged. It was too complicated to explain quickly. Plus, you never knew who might be watching.
Only one person could provide the answers she wanted. Phillip Tremaine. Her father, apparently. She cringed.
She’d barely wrapped her head around her role in the bombing. Learning that she was the what—the long-lost daughter of a billionaire? That was crazy.
People told stories about missing heiresses. Made movies and wrote books about them. Surely if the Tremaines were missing a daughter, she would have heard about it. The newsies would have had a field day.
Killian had been adamant about the DNA tests. So if she wasn’t missing—what was she?
Where better to find answers than the home for orphans at the very base of dear daddy’s global empire?
The elevator stopped smoothly at the executive floor. Her stomach dropped.
Good luck
“Thanks.”Pull it together, Dizzie. You got this.
Dizzie straightened her spine and wrapped every last shred of confidence she had around her. She’d talk her way past whatever guards Tremaine had. She’d get her answers.
The doors opened, revealing a sprawling reception area with striking views of Seattle and Puget Sound. The view from Killian’s house had been amazing. This one put his to shame.
