“I know.”
“You told me nobody from her old life had contacted us.”
Stan said nothing.
Harper stepped closer.
“You told me that.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
Stan looked toward the window.
“From him.”
A soft mechanical sound came from outside.
The Maybach’s rear door opened fully.
Cole glanced toward it.
“My employer is done waiting.”
A man stepped from the car.
Adrian Vale was not what Harper expected.
No bodyguard wall.
No theatrical umbrella.
No expensive overcoat thrown dramatically over his shoulders.
He walked through the rain alone.
He looked to be in his early forties, lean rather than imposing, dressed in a dark suit under a black wool coat.
Rain darkened his hair at the temples.
His expression was controlled, but when his eyes found the photograph in Harper’s hand, something changed.
Recognition.
Then anger.
Not at Harper.
At Stan.
The bell jingled again as Adrian entered.
Stan stood so quickly the stool scraped backward.
“Mr.
Vale.”
Adrian ignored him.
He stopped several feet from Harper.
“You have Claire’s eyes.”
Harper hated how intimate the sentence felt coming from a stranger.
“You called my workplace at two in the morning and started giving orders.”
A faint line appeared between Adrian’s eyebrows.
“Yes.”
“I hung up on you.”
“I noticed.”
Cole coughed once into his fist.
It might have been the closest he came to laughing.
Harper held up the photograph.
“Why do you have this?”
“Because I was there when it was taken.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“No.” Adrian looked at Stan.
“The answer is considerably less pleasant.”
Stan stepped forward.
“Adrian, whatever you think—”
“Don’t call me Adrian.”
The quiet in his voice silenced the room.
Adrian removed his wet coat and handed it to Cole without looking away from Stan.
Then he nodded toward the cream envelope.
“There are two more items inside.”
Harper reached in.
The first was a brass key.
