Play Dead by Harlan Coben

never let it affect his cool exterior, was strangely without words.
    'I'll call you as soon as I know something,' she said while a small voice in her head told her that her father didn't need to be informed, that he already knew what the outcome was going to be. But that was silly. She was just overtired and frightened. This whole episode was turning her brain into mush.
    'Okay,' Dr James Ayars replied, defeated, crushed.
    'Is there something else, Dad?'
    'No,' Dr Ayars said mechanically. 'I'm sure everything will work out for the best.'
    Laura listened to his words, puzzled. The best? She suddenly felt very cold.
    'Is Gloria around?'
    'No, your sister's working late again. You should be very proud of her.'
    'I am,' Laura replied. 'When's Mom going to be home?'
    'A few days. Are you sure you don't want me to fly over?'
    'I'm sure. Goodbye, Dad.'
    'Goodbye, Laura. If you need anything . . .'
    'I'll let you know.'
    Laura heard her father replace the receiver.
    She tried not to let the conversation bother her. After all, there was nothing specific in his words, nothing concrete her father had said or done that she could truly call troublesome. And yet, the feeling that something was wrong -- very wrong -- lay like a heavy weight in her stomach. She opened her purse, rumbled through its contents, came up empty.
    God, why did she ever quit smoking?
    Again she glanced out the window, away from the beach and toward the start of the Australian Bush. She remembered once when she and David had decided to slip out of their city-slicker facade and head out into the New England Bush. Growing up in Michigan, David had had some experience with camping out. He enthusiastically billed it as a weekend away from the world. Laura, who had been a content city dweller all of her years, saw it as more of a chance to sleep in the dirt with a lot of bugs.
    'You'll love it,' he insisted.
    'I'll hate it.'
    They drove up to Vermont where they strapped heavy knapsacks onto their backs. They walked through the muggy forest for what seemed like a millennium until, mercifully, they arrived at their secluded camping site. Laura cleaned herself off in the nearby stream, unrolled her sleeping bag, and climbed in.
    Then David began to join her.
    'What do you think you're doing?' she asked. 'I thought you had your own sleeping bag.'
    'I do. But we have to cuddle for warmth.'
    'Body heat?'
    'Exactly.'
    'One problem.'
    'Oh?'
    'The thermometer reads ninety-five degrees.'
    'That warm?'
    She nodded.
    David thought a moment. 'Then I suggest we sleep au naturel.'
    Their lovemaking was fierce, frightening in its intensity, and afterwards, they lay naked in each other's arms.
    'Wow!' David managed, finally beginning to catch his breath.
    'What?'
    'I just love being in touch with nature. I don't know, Laura, these surroundings . . . they make me feel so alive, so one with nature, so . . .'
    'Horny?'
    'Bingo.'
    'I'm becoming a bit of a nature lover myself,' Laura pronounced.
    'I noticed. But you have to be more careful.'
    'Why?'
    'That screaming of yours, woman. You'll scare our furry friends to death.'
    'You love it.'
    'True.'
    'Besides, you were hardly Marcel Marceau.'
    'Moi?'
    'That was some moose call. I kept waiting for the female to emerge from the bushes.'
    'No such luck. I guess you'll have to do.'
    'Vicious, David.' She reached into her crumpled jeans and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
    David groaned. 'Are you going to smoke those?'
    'No. I'm going to feed the animals.'
    'Smoky Bear says people start forest fires.'
    'I'll be careful.'
    'Listen, Laura, I don't mind when you smoke back home -- '
    'Bullshit.'
    'Okay, bullshit. But out here in the wilds, we have to think of our furry friends.'
    'Why do you hate my smoking so much?'
    David shrugged. 'Aside from the fact that it's disgusting, terrible for your health and a habit without one redeeming quality, I guess I just don't like french-kissing an ashtray.'
    'But I have an oral fixation.'
    'I know. It's one of the