That poor, mutilated woman wasn’t Ashley. Elise knew it as soon as she saw the irregular birthmark on the back of the woman’s left shoulder—right above a missing patch of skin. She didn’t dare ask why they’d removed that patch. She preferred to believe it had been done for some sort of forensic test. “It’s not her,” she managed to choke out.“You’re sure?” asked the young woman who’d met them.“Yes.”She pulled the sheet back up. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, but thank you for coming.”Elise nodded. “I need to get out of here.”“Thanks, Dr. Foster,” said Trent.His arm at her waist held her steady, guiding her back through the hallways. She never could have found her way without him. She hadn’t been paying enough attention. She still wasn’t. She was trapped in that thick, numbing fog that had settled over her during the drive here. Nothing quite seemed to penetrate except the warmth of Trent’s hand on her arm. He stopped and spoke to a man Elise didn’t know, signed some paperwork, then guided her out into the darkness and tucked her into the passenger’s seat of her rental car.
