Dr. Ryker gave me a smile. "Much better. We removed the tubes. She's still very weak, and her mind is muddled. But all that is to be expected with a head injury such as hers. We'll run more tests over the next day or two. As the swelling goes down, she should continue to improve."

"Does she know where she is?"

"She's aware she's in the hospital. She doesn't remember being shot."

My hopes dimmed at her words. But even if my mom didn't remember the shooting, she should be able to tell me about the rest of her life.

"I spoke to Inspector Greenman," the doctor added. "He's on his way over."

Which meant I probably only had a few minutes to talk to my mother alone. "Thanks for everything. I really need to see her."

"Go ahead," the doctor said. "But take it slow. She can speak, but her throat is sore and dry from the tube. I'm sure you have a lot of questions for her, but don't throw them all out at once."

"Okay." I drew in a deep breath and then opened the door.

As I stepped inside the room, it appeared that my mom's eyes were closed. I felt a wave of disappointment. She'd fallen asleep again. I probably should let her rest, but I couldn't do that. I couldn't go one more second without looking into her eyes, without hearing her voice.

I moved closer to the bed. "Mom," I said.

Her eyes fluttered open.

I caught my breath. They were the same dark-blue purple eyes that I remembered, that I saw in the mirror every time I looked at my own face. My father might not be my father, but this woman was definitely my mother.

"Brynn," she whispered.

I was shocked that she recognized me right away, that she didn't question if I was Dani or Brynn. She saw me. She knew me.

That realization set off a deep, almost agonizing pain of happiness. I hadn't felt like this in twenty years. I was with my mom. Whatever she'd done, she was still my mother, and there was a bond there whether I liked it or not.

"It's me," I said.

"You're so pretty, so grown up."

"It's been a long time. I thought you were dead."

"Your sister didn't tell you I wasn't?"

I drew in a sharp breath at that reminder. "No. She didn't tell me she saw you at our high school graduation until a few days ago. She said she thought she'd just imagined it was you."

"I waved to her on impulse. I shouldn't have done that. I thought she realized it was me, but then she turned away, so maybe she did think I was a ghost. I shouldn't have gone to the graduation. I should have left it alone, but I missed you both so much." Her gaze ran across my face. "You must be angry with me."