Chapter 2 - THE MAN WHO CAME BACK FROM THE GRAVE
My brother had been dead for six years.
Yet there he stood outside the home where my missing son had been hiding, surrounded by armed men who looked ready to kill anyone who tried to leave.
And my son was terrified of him.
“That’s the man,” Lucas whispered again.
I turned from the rain-streaked window.
Lucas stood beside Grace's kitchen table, clutching the silver bracelet around his wrist. His face had gone pale, and his breathing was coming too fast.
I wanted to pull him into my arms.
Instead, I lowered myself to one knee.
“Lucas, listen to me. Nobody is taking you anywhere.”
His eyes moved toward the black onyx ring I had dropped onto the carpet.
“You have one, too.”
“Yes.”
“Are you with him?”
The question struck harder than any bullet ever had.
“No, son.”
He flinched at the word.
I swallowed.
“No, Luke. I'm not with him.”
Behind us, Sophie tugged on Grace's sleeve.
“Mommy, why are those cars here?”
Grace gathered her daughter into her arms.
“Stay close to me, sweetheart.”
Outside, the tall man lowered his umbrella.
Adrian Cross.
My younger brother.
The boy who had followed me everywhere when we were children. The man who had stood beside me at my wedding. The uncle who had once bought Lucas a ridiculous red bicycle because he couldn't bear to hear the child cry.
Six years earlier, Adrian's car had been discovered at the bottom of a quarry.
His watch had been recovered.
His blood had been identified.
We buried an empty coffin.
I had stood beside that grave and promised our mother I would find whoever killed him.
Now Adrian was standing twenty feet away.
And Lucas remembered him at the scene of his disappearance.
“Damian!”
His voice carried through the rain.
“I know you're inside.”
I watched him raise both hands.
“I came to talk.”
Eight vehicles. Armed security. A house surrounded in the middle of the night.
My brother had a strange understanding of conversation.
I turned to Grace.
“Is there another way out?”
She shook her head.
“Back door opens onto a fenced yard. There’s a service gate, but it's chained.”
Lucas spoke quietly.
“The garage has a little window.”
We all looked at him.
He pointed down the hallway.
“Mom says it's too small for grown-ups.”
Grace's expression changed.
Not because of the window.
Because Lucas had called her Mom.
I saw the pain cross her face as she realized I had heard it.
For six years, I had searched for my son.
For six years, another woman had tucked him into bed.
And I couldn't decide whether I wanted to thank her or scream at her.
“Don't move,” I told them.
Then I opened the front door.
Rain hit my face immediately.
Adrian stood at the edge of the driveway.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
He looked older.
There was gray at his temples, and a thin scar ran beneath his left ear.
But it was him.
“Hello, Damian.”
I stared at him.
“Tell your men to lower their weapons.”
“They won't hurt anyone.”
“Then they don't need guns.”
Adrian glanced toward the nearest SUV.
“Put them away.”
The men obeyed.
“You buried me,” he said.
“I buried a coffin.”
His expression tightened.
“I didn't have a choice.”
“Neither did I when I buried my son.”
Adrian looked past me toward the house.
Something moved behind his eyes.
Regret, perhaps.
Or calculation.
“Lucas is alive,” he said.
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
My fists tightened.
“All these years?”
“Yes.”
I crossed the driveway before he could move and slammed him against the hood of the nearest SUV.
Two guards stepped forward.
Adrian raised a hand.
“Stay back.”
I held him by the collar.
“I watched your mother stop eating after your funeral. I listened to your father pray over an empty grave. I spent six years chasing photographs of strangers' children.”
My voice broke.
“And you knew where my son was?”
Adrian didn't fight back.
“I knew he survived.”
“That's not what I asked.”
“I didn't know where Grace had taken him until four months ago.”
I loosened my grip.
Four months.
He had found Lucas four months earlier.
And still hadn't told me.
“Why?”
Adrian looked toward the living-room window.
“Because the people who wanted him gone still have access to your house.”
The rain suddenly seemed colder.
“What people?”
He reached into his coat.
I stepped back.
Slowly, he produced a small photograph.
It showed Lucas at seven years old, sitting in the back seat of a black car.
Beside him was a woman wearing a cream-colored coat.
My wife.
Evelyn.
My wife had died of a stroke eleven months after Lucas disappeared.
For five years, I had carried the guilt of believing grief had killed her.
I snatched the photograph.
“Where did you get this?”
“From the investigation I was conducting before I disappeared.”
“Evelyn was searching for Lucas.”
Adrian shook his head.
“She was meeting someone.”
I studied the photograph.
It had been taken inside the parking garage beneath Cross Tower.
In the lower corner, a timestamp identified the morning Lucas vanished.
7:42 a.m.
Less than two hours before his burned vehicle was discovered.
Evelyn had told me she'd been home all morning.
“Who was she meeting?”
Adrian hesitated.
“That's why I came.”
A sound behind me interrupted him.
The front door opened.
Lucas stood there.
Grace was reaching for him, but he had already stepped onto the porch.
“Luke,” I said gently, “go back inside.”
He didn't move.
His gaze remained fixed on Adrian.
“You had a watch.”
Adrian froze.
Lucas rubbed the bracelet on his wrist.
“A gold watch,” he continued. “It made a noise.”
For the first time, my brother looked frightened.
“What kind of noise?” Adrian asked.
Lucas swallowed.
“Three little bells.”
Adrian slowly lowered his arm.
I looked at his wrist.
No watch.
“What's he talking about?”
Adrian didn't answer.
Lucas backed toward Grace.
“You said the fire was an accident.”
Silence.
“You told me to hide.”
My brother closed his eyes.
Then he said something that changed the meaning of everything I thought I knew.
“I was trying to save you, Lucas.”
Lucas shook his head.
“No.”
His little voice cracked.
“You left somebody in the car.”
I felt my stomach twist.
“Who?”
Lucas looked at me.
“The lady in the white coat.”
Evelyn.
My dead wife.
Adrian grabbed my arm.
“Damian, don't listen to him until I explain.”
But Lucas was already crying.
“She was screaming when the fire started.”
I stared at my brother.
“You left Evelyn in that car?”
Adrian's expression collapsed.
“No.”
“Then who was it?”
He glanced at the photograph in my hand.
“Your wife wasn't the woman who died in that fire.”
I could barely hear him.
“What?”
Adrian spoke so softly that I almost missed the words.
“The woman in that car was named Rebecca Hale.”
May you like
He swallowed.
“And she was Lucas's biological mother.”
