"Amber, I'm in a meeting. I'll call you back." His voice came through hoarse and breathless.
Before I could get a word out, a woman's voice floated through the speaker.
"Come on, let's go get Thai food on the south side. That place is so popular. If we don't hurry, we'll have to wait in line."
I knew that voice. I knew it as well as my own. My adopted sister. The woman who held his heart.
The line went dead.
Every drop of blood in my body turned to ice. I stood in that vast, freezing hospital corridor, phone clutched in my hand, and the world went black.
When I opened my eyes again, I was lying in a hospital bed. My chest felt like someone had pressed a white-hot brand against it, a suffocating, smoldering ache.
Guy's assistant stood at my bedside, his tone careful. "Mrs. James, Mr. James asked me to let you know the funeral will be held this afternoon. He'd like you to get ready."
My pupils contracted. I ripped the IV needle from the back of my hand, grabbed the assistant by his collar, and yanked him toward me. "Where is my daughter? Where is he?"
"Mr. James already took her, ma'am. He said he'd handle the funeral arrangements. He didn't want you to overexert yourself."