Three soft taps.
Not frantic.
Not official.
Familiar.
My heart climbed into my throat.
A woman’s voice floated through the door.
“Lena? It’s me.”
Mara.
Relief and dread collided inside me so violently I nearly sobbed.
Adrian raised the gun.
“Don’t open it,” he said.
But Eva stirred in my arms, making a tiny sound.
And from the other side of the door, Mara laughed softly.
“Oh,” she said. “So he finally knows.”
The room went silent.
Adrian’s face became something I had never seen before.
Not anger.
Recognition.
“Mara,” he said through the door, voice deadly calm. “Who are you working for?”
For a long moment, there was no answer.
Then she spoke again, and the warmth was gone from her voice.
“You still don’t understand, do you, Adrian?”
My fingers tightened around Eva.
The door opened an inch.
A phone slid across the floor.
Its screen glowed with a live video.
On it was a man tied to a chair, blood on his temple, eyes swollen nearly shut.
Henderson.
Adrian’s attorney.
A distorted voice came through the speaker.
“Congratulations, Mr. Whitmore. You have a daughter.”
Adrian did not move.
The voice continued.
“You took something from us years ago. Now we are taking something from you.”
My stomach dropped.
On the phone screen, Henderson lifted his head with effort.
“Adrian,” he rasped. “It wasn’t Mara.”
A shadow shifted behind him.
Then another face leaned into view.
A face I knew.
A face framed in silver hair and a white coat.
Dr. Sloane.
But Dr. Sloane was standing beside my bed.
I looked at her.
So did Adrian.
