Not angry pale.
Afraid pale.
Kenneth wrote the name down. “Dana.”
I frowned.
Something about the name brushed against memory.
A receptionist? A nurse? A coordinator?
During fertility treatment, there had been so many faces. Kind faces. Tired faces. Efficient faces. People who knew the most intimate details of my body while remaining almost strangers.
“Dana Morales?” I asked suddenly.
Kenneth looked at me. “You know her?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. There was a Dana at the first clinic. She handled scheduling sometimes.” I pressed my fingers to my temple. “Dark hair. Silver glasses. She always wore lavender perfume.”
Melinda nodded quickly. “Yes. Connor met her for coffee once. I thought it was about paperwork.”
Connor laughed again, but it sounded thin. “This is insane.”
Kenneth made another note. “Did this Dana request payment?”
