“I’m looking for James Parker,” Emily said, her voice barely steady. The receptionist typed something into the computer, glanced at the monitor, then at Emily. “He was here earlier this morning. He’s already checked out.” Emily’s stomach dropped. “So he did it,” she whispered. “I’m sorry?” the receptionist asked.
“Nothing,” she said quickly. “Do you know when—when he’ll get the results?” “Within twenty-four hours,” the woman replied. “We call the client directly.” Emily nodded, though she barely heard. She turned to leave and froze. James was standing just outside the glass doors, his hands shoved in his jacket pockets, head down.