And somewhere, someone knew enough about Rebecca Hale to be frightened of the questions Sarah was asking.
Sarah held her daughter tighter.
No one is taking you away from me, she whispered.
Lily clung to her.
Promise?
Sarah kissed the top of her head.
I promise I'll do everything I can.
It was the only promise she could make without lying.
Outside, a motorcycle engine rumbled along Willow Street.
Then another.
The Road Saints had arranged for two members to take turns watching the neighborhood from a respectful distance. They would not enter the property without permission, and they would not confront anyone unless there was an immediate threat.
Jack had insisted on those rules himself.
Sarah had been grateful.
She was also beginning to understand that the danger was larger than a few anonymous notes.
Someone wanted her to stop searching.
And that meant the truth might be much closer than she had imagined.
Frank Delaney invited Sarah to his office on a Monday morning.
The invitation arrived by registered mail, accompanied by a letter offering to discuss her overdue rent and the possibility of "a mutually beneficial resolution."
Sarah read it at the kitchen table.
Jack, who had come by to repair a broken cabinet hinge, frowned when she showed him the letter.
It's a trap.
Probably.
Then don't go.
Sarah looked at him.
I need to know what he wants.
We already know what he wants. He wants you to stop asking questions.
Then I need to find out why.
Jack set down the screwdriver.
Sarah, I understand wanting answers. But you don't owe Frank Delaney an opportunity to frighten you.
She folded the letter.
I'm not going because he invited me. I'm going because I'm tired of being afraid of a man who refuses to explain himself.
Jack studied her.
There was something in her expression that reminded him of Rebecca.
Not the eyes or the shape of her face.
The determination.
Rebecca had possessed a stubborn streak that could turn a minor disagreement into a personal crusade. She had once spent three days trying to convince Jack that a stray cat had deliberately stolen his lunch.
He had never won that argument.
Sarah was beginning to look like her mother.
I'll go with you, he said.
No.
Sarah—
If he sees you, he'll refuse to talk.
That's a risk I'm willing to take.
I'm not.
Jack fell silent.
She stepped closer.
I need to do this myself. If I can't stand in a room with Frank Delaney without someone protecting me, then he's already won.
Jack looked at her for a long moment.
Finally, he nodded.
All right. But you take Walter's number, keep your phone on, and call me the second you feel uncomfortable.
Sarah smiled faintly.
You're worse than my mother.
She was worse than me.
Impossible.
He almost laughed.
Then his expression became serious.
Be careful.
I will.
Delaney Property and Development occupied the top three floors of a glass office building downtown.
Sarah arrived ten minutes early.
The receptionist greeted her with professional warmth and escorted her to a conference room overlooking the city.
Frank entered five minutes later.
He looked exactly as he had at the grocery store: polished, composed, and faintly amused by the world around him.
Mrs. Carter.
Mr. Delaney.
He gestured toward a chair.
Please sit.
Sarah remained standing for a moment.
Then she sat.
Frank placed a folder on the table.
I understand you're having financial difficulties.
Sarah's face tightened.
That's not why I came.
Of course. But it is something we can resolve.
He opened the folder.
Inside were documents relating to her lease, payment history, and the redevelopment of the apartment complex.
I can arrange an extension, he said. "Perhaps even a reduction in the amount owed."
Sarah stared at him.
Why?
Frank smiled.
Because I'm a reasonable man.
No. Why are you offering?
His expression cooled slightly.
Because I prefer to solve problems rather than create them.
Sarah leaned forward.
Then answer my questions.
Frank closed the folder.
About your mother?
Yes.
What would you like to know?
Why did you recognize me at the grocery store?
Your resemblance to Rebecca is striking.
Why did you tell me my grandfather was David Hale when my mother said his name was David Carter?
Frank spread his hands.
People sometimes use different names.
Why did someone threaten me after I started asking questions?
His eyes narrowed.
Threaten you?
Sarah placed a copy of the note on the table.
Frank read it.
Then he shook his head.
Disturbing.
Did you send it?
Certainly not.
Do you know who did?
No.
Sarah watched him carefully.
His voice was smooth. His expression was calm.
But his right hand had tightened around the edge of the folder.
She noticed.
Tell me about Rebecca's baby.
Frank's face went still.
For the first time, the polished mask slipped.
Only for a second.
But Sarah saw it.
Why would you ask me that?
Because I found a hospital record showing that my mother gave birth to a baby girl in 1992.
Frank leaned back.
Your mother never told you?
No.
Then perhaps she had her reasons.
Was the baby adopted?
He said nothing.
Was I adopted?
Frank stared at her.
Sarah's heart hammered.
Mr. Delaney, was I adopted?
He closed the folder.
I think this conversation has gone far enough.
No. It hasn't.
He stood.
Your mother made decisions that affected many people. Some of those decisions were unfortunate. I suggest you let the past remain where it belongs.
Sarah rose too.
Did you know her?
Frank looked at her.
Yes.
Did you love her?
His expression changed.
For a moment, she thought he might answer honestly.
Instead, he said, "That is none of your concern."
Sarah picked up her bag.
Then neither is my family history any of yours.
She walked toward the door.
Frank's voice followed her.
Mrs. Carter.
She stopped but did not turn.