s if he applied enough pressure. The lamp on his father's desk cast a weak golden glow across the locket's surf

. 1

ore the twin

bite. He wasn't looking at me. He was still staring at the locket, his jaw

the truth, or close enough to it. "My

rom behind me, his voice carrying a

ease through me. I turned my head just enough to catch his expression. He was watching me with the kind of intensit

me," I said. It

of names, little mouse. The question is why my father's face is pressed

ing it toward the light, and I caught another glimpse of the image my mother's bright smile, Mr. Pillar's hand

ir Pillar. Not once. She'd only ever spoken of the Pillar family with bitterness and grief

never knew about this photograph until after she was gone. My grandmother gave it to me, a

hat?" Jer

s forced to le

r, his arms crossed over his chest. Up close, the cut above his eyebrow looked fresh, still faintly red at the edges. H

ing," he s

is gaze. "I'm omitting.

fell, I saw something flicker behind his dark eyes. Interest.

ks," he said. "What was your mo

n't k

t us to be

n my chest. "I have no idea what my mother was to your father. I only know what she told me before she d

trated our home, our family's private space, to wha

id. "The same truth you'r

chain, the silver links pooled in his palm like a leash. The gesture was deliberate, possessive. He

letters. "Eleanor Delaware. But that

" I asked, though the question

way I'd read the security rotations, picking apart every micro-expression, e

s study would be weeping by now, begging for her job, her visa, her life. But I'd spent three years learning to bury my emotions beneath

said, which was true. I'd rehearsed dozens of scenarios, dozens of ways this confrontation could go.

just short of touching me, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body. His gaze dro

g like a weapon," he obse

hift and leave," I said. "Un

t change, but I caught the subtle shift in his posture the way he leaned back against the desk, set

in one minute. If the guard found the study door locked from the inside, there would be q

t to get more information, the

reckless one, but a

and my mother. I want the locket back. Let me go now, before the security sweep finds us al

s narrowed.

for months: a theory that the blackmailer who'd driven my mother to her grave was still alive, still powerful, and still connected to

kmailing your father," I said. "T

dy locking up. Jerry, by contrast, went utterly still a predator deciding whe

ard me, and this time, there was nothing controlled about the way he look

every police officer, every private investigator, and every contact I have in this city hunting you down. And wh

ning. "I'll walk you out. Make sure you

nodded, straightened my apron, and followed him out of the study, leaving Jerry alone with

hat connected the mansion's kitchens to the staff quarters. He stopped in the shad

accusatory. "Most people who lie to my brother

ost people

uniform before snapping back to my face. "You're not. Whi

he flecks of gold in his dark irises, close e

point me, li

nto the shadows of the corridor

locket was gone. Jerry had it. But I still had the truth, or part

ft the door slightly ajar, and through that narrow gap, Jerry had watched me go and then

or De

er's handwriting, were thr

t no

n cold that sealed my fate. Because in that photograph, taken a decade after the

otograph, in his father's

n

hat didn't add up. Anne was twenty-four. The photograph was da

ame dark hair. The same

de his chest tighten with a feeling he couldn't name s

photograph had h