Chapter Thirty-One
Hana felt physically sick. The blond tennis player was Renton Dobbs. The tennis player was dead. Renton Dobbs was dead. He wasn’t coming home ever again. Who was it who decided the body belonged to Lachlan Reynolds? Obviously they were wrong.
It wasn’t Hana’s place to tell this poor woman her son was dead. It was a job for the cops. Hana’s heart began to pound in her chest, giving her a sensation of light-headedness. Knowing she needed to get out of the woman’s company, she rose shakily to her feet and indicated towards the baby. “I need to get Phoe home. Logan’s waiting for me,” she lied. He didn’t even know where she was. Dora rose in her seat too, looking desperate, wringing her hands together as though furiously washing them under burning hot water. “I’m sorry...ab
