Booker ran his hand over his face, wiping the invisible sweat off.

He can't be sweating. Not in the chilling, air-conditioned room where he had spent the last two hours trying to ask Leona who her mother was.

The smart girl wouldn't say.

She kept repeating the same thing.

“That person is close to you, and maybe when you find her, you'll love her again.”

Booker ran his hand through his hair again as he puffed air slowly, frustration tingling in his features; the corner of his eyes ...