Free Bone Cold by Erica Spindler

would make it newsworthy.
    He drew his eyebrows together, reviewing what he had learned from the program. Savannah Grail had indicated that her daughter lived in New Orleans, that she was a suspense novelist, published in hardcover by Cheshire House. She had revealed that her daughter wrote under a pseudonym and fiercely guarded her privacy.
    Ben stood and crossed to his desk. There he found the book that had been left for him the day before. The spine listed the publisher as Cheshire House, the author as Anna North.
    Of course. North had been Savannah Grail’s maidenname, a fact he hadn’t remembered until it had been mentioned on the show just now. Anna was a diminutive of both Anastasia and Savannah. Obviously then, Anna North the novelist was little Harlow Grail, the kidnapped Hollywood princess.
    Ben frowned down at the novel in his hands, puzzled. Which of his patients had left the book for him? Why had they left it?
    He would simply ask, he decided. Starting with the six patients he had seen the day before.

9
    Saturday, January 13
4:00 p.m.
    T he sun finally made its promised appearance and cold, harsh light spilled across Anna’s kitchen table. She sat, staring blindly across the room as the phone screamed to be answered.
    She didn’t make a move toward it and the machine finally picked up. She had turned the recorder’s volume all the way down so she wouldn’t know who was calling. She couldn’t face another person’s surprised disbelief.
    She had already talked to her mother. And father. She had talked to a half-dozen friends. Her agent and editor. They had all been sent a copy of her latest book and a note urging them to tune into E! today at three. One after another they had expressed their disbelief over learning that she was Harlow Grail, the kidnapped Hollywood princess. Again and again she had been asked to explain why she hadn’t told them.
    Some, like her editor, had been delighted by the news. Now, the woman had gushed, they had the perfect promotional hook to send her upcoming book straight ontothe bestseller lists. Her agent, on the other hand, had been furious at her for having kept something so important from him. How could he adequately represent her when he didn’t even know who she was?
    Anna brought a hand to her mouth. Who had done this to her? Why had they done it?
    A knock sounded on her front door, followed by Dalton’s voice. “It’s us,” he called out. “Dalton and Bill.”
    Anna dragged herself to her feet, went to the door and opened it. Her friends stood on the other side, both grinning from ear to ear.
    â€œWe tried to call—”
    â€œFirst the line was busy, busy, busy—”
    â€œThen you didn’t answer.”
    â€œYou saw,” she said. “The show on E!”
    â€œOf course we did, you naughty, naughty girl.” Dalton wagged a finger at her. “And here Bill and I thought we knew you.”
    â€œShe’s an open book,” Bill murmured, moving across the threshold. “That’s what we thought. Then we got your note about the show today.”
    Dalton closed the door behind them. “Cute, Anna. But you could have just told us.”
    Anna couldn’t speak. She couldn’t form the words for the fear choking her. The despair.
    She turned her back to her friends and brought her shaking hands to her mouth. Whoever had done this not only knew where she lived but who all the important people in her life were. Dear God, who could know so much about her?
    â€œAnna?” Dalton murmured. “What’s wrong?”
    â€œI didn’t send you that note,” she managed to say, voice choked with tears. “I wish I had.”
    â€œI don’t understand. If not you, who?”
    â€œI don’t know.” She turned to face her friends once more. “But I think…I’m afraid—”
    Kurt. He’d found her.
    â€œI think I’d better sit