Cold Case Affair

Her lips flattened. “And for his birthday, I sent him a ticket to Spain. I met him in Madrid. Gus had a thing for Hemingway—he wanted to see a bullfight.” Tears spilled down her cheeks again. “Damn, I’m so sorry,” she said brushing them away.

“Sorry for what? Caring?”

Her eyes shot up to his.

“Look, I guess I just don’t understand why you didn’t even come back for his memorial service, Muirinn. Or when you first heard he was missing.”

“I didn’t know he was missing!”

“Someone must have told you.”

“I was unreachable, Jett, on assignment in the remote jungles of West Papua—”

“With no cell phone? No satellite connection, nothing?”

“Nothing.” She rubbed her face. “That was the whole point of the assignment, to be inaccessible. For myself, an anthropologist and a photographer to spend some time with one of the world’s last truly isolated tribes. Part of my story was to be about that sense of isolation. Our goal was to feel it.”

“But you were—are—pregnant.”

“And in good health. Women in those tribes have been bearing children in that jungle for centuries. The photographer was also a paramedic. I was not at risk.”

“What if there had been an emergency?”

“That’s the point, Jett. Our society can’t conceive of living without phones, Internet, radios. We don’t know how to cope on our own anymore. We go into a total panic at the mere notion

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