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they okay?”
    “We don’t know where they are.” Glen replied softly as he shook his head. “We can track every flight we have in the air—but we’ve lost contact with 880. Can you tell me what you heard?”
    Lauren released her death-grip on the counter and pushed at her temples, trying to maintain control. This couldn’t be happening. She refused to believe that Donovan might be dead, he was easily the bravest and most resilient man she’d ever known. She thought about the man Donovan used to be, and how the world believed he’d perished in a plane crash. The horrible irony was almost more than she could fathom.
    “Dr. McKenna?” Glen urged. “Any information you have might be helpful.”
    “I’m sorry.” Lauren shook away her thoughts as she collected herself. “As I told Captain Tucker, my fiancé is aboard flight 880. He called me on the airborne phone and we were having a conversation. Then, in the background, I heard screaming and all he told me was that there was another airplane. He said they were going to hit.”
    “He’s also a professional pilot,” Tucker said, adding the small detail to Lauren’s story.
    “How long ago was this phone call?” Glen turned toward a bank of clocks that lined one wall.
    “Fifteen minutes ago, maybe a little more,” Lauren replied, as a commotion sounded behind her. She turned and saw a determined-looking man sweep into the room. He was Lauren’s height, no more than five-foot-nine, and looked to be in his mid-fifties. He possessed dark, serious eyes that were locked into a piercing glare. His square jaw was even more prominent due to his closely cropped hair. The man was four steps in front of a long-haired teenager in a baggy coat over a gray uniform of some kind. The young man wore a backwards ball-cap and sported an earring. Though a study in contrasts, Lauren knew from their similar facial features they were father and son.
    “Henry!” Glen shifted his attention away from Lauren. “Glad you made it here so quickly. Matt. Good to see you, too.”
    Henry turned to his son. “Matt, I’ve got work to do. Why don’t you go get something to drink, or go wait in my office?”
    Over Henry’s shoulder Lauren saw the dismissive expression on the teenager’s face. He ignored his father’s direction and stood defiantly, listening in on their conversation.
    Henry looked at Lauren, ran his eyes the length of her body then asked curtly. “Who are you?”
    “I’m Dr. Lauren McKenna,” she said, bristling at his abrupt manner. She glared at him. “Who are you?”
    “I’m Henry Parrish, chief pilot for Wayfarer Airlines, and I want you out of here. I don’t have time for civilians right now.”
    “I’ll leave.” Lauren stepped forward until she was inches from Henry. “But after I do, I’ll go straight to the press and tell them about your missing airplane.”
    Henry shot a furious glance at Glen. “What did you tell her?”
    “I told them,” Lauren continued, her intensity swelling as she spoke, “that I was on the phone with someone on board the flight. He told me there was another airplane coming at them, and then I lost the connection. I’m not going anywhere until I know exactly what’s happened.”
    “Fine, but I want you out of the way and off the phone.” Henry shifted his attention to the uniformed captain to his right. “Tucker, why are you here?”
    “I’m the person Dr. McKenna found in the terminal,” he quickly explained. “I brought her here.”
    “With this weather I doubt you’re going anywhere. I’m putting you in charge of our guest. Right now we have far more questions than answers. Glen, get me the passenger manifest for the flight. I trust we’re using all of our assets trying to locate the airplane?”
    “Here’s the manifest for flight 880.” Glen handed the printout to Henry.
    “Flight 880?” Matt’s attention shot from Glen to his father.
    Lauren watched as the young man dug furiously in his pocket and