“Yes.”
“But?”
She swallowed.
“But sometimes I thought he was scared.”
The words unsettled me.
“Of me?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
“I don’t know.”
She looked toward the closed door.
“The last time Daniel came to the apartment, I asked him why he was doing this.”
“What did he say?”
“He said, ‘Because Luke will open the wrong door.'”
I stared at her.
“That means nothing.”
“It meant something to him.”
My phone rang.
Marco.
I answered.
“Tell me.”
“We have a problem.”
“Daniel?”
“No.”
His voice was different.
Controlled.
Too controlled.
“I’m at Elena’s apartment.”
“Did you find the vitamins?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“They’re standard prenatal vitamins.”
I exhaled.
“Then what’s the problem?”
“There’s someone here.”
My body went cold.
“Who?”
A pause.
Then Marco said a name I had not heard in years.
“Your mother.”
I gripped the phone.
My mother lived in Paris.
Or Rome.
Or occasionally Geneva, depending on which version of her life she happened to be presenting.
Vivienne Mercer had left New York eleven months after my father’s death.
She returned only for Christmas.
Sometimes.
“Put her on.”
“She’s asking for you.”
“Then put her on.”
There was movement on the other end.
A door closed.
Then my mother’s voice reached me.
“Luke.”
She sounded exactly the same.
Elegant.
Detached.
As if we were speaking about dinner reservations.
“What are you doing in Elena’s apartment?”
“Looking for something.”
“What?”
“I would rather not discuss it over the telephone.”
I looked at Elena.
She was watching me.
“Did you know Elena was pregnant?”
My mother’s silence answered first.
“Yes,” she said.
A strange pressure formed behind my eyes.
“How long?”
“Several weeks.”
“And you didn’t tell me.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Daniel asked me not to.”
Elena closed her eyes.
I lowered my voice.
“Mother, listen carefully. Elena is in the hospital.”
Another silence.
This one was different.
“Is the baby all right?”
“Why is that your first question?”
“Luke.”
“Why is that your first question?”
My mother’s breathing became audible.
“The baby is a Mercer.”
“So is Elena.”
“No,” my mother said softly. “That is exactly the problem.”
I stopped breathing.
Across the room, Elena opened her eyes.
“What does that mean?”
“Not on the telephone.”
“I’m not interested in your rules tonight.”
“You should be.”
“Mother—”
“Did Samuel ever tell you why he chose Elena?”
I frowned.
“My father didn’t choose my wife.”
“Didn’t he?”
I looked at Elena.
She was shaking her head.
“What are you talking about?”
My mother’s voice dropped.
“Come to the apartment.”
“I’m not leaving Elena.”
“Then bring Marco to you and put him on speaker. But there is something you need to see.”
“What?”
“I found what Daniel was looking for.”
The line went quiet.
“Mother?”
“A photograph.”
I almost laughed from frustration.
“A photograph of what?”
“Not what.”
Her next words seemed to arrive from very far away.
“Who.”
Before I could answer, the hospital door opened.
Marco stepped inside.
I stared at him.
Then at the phone still pressed to my ear.
“How did you get here?”
Marco stopped.
“Luke?”
My mother’s voice remained on the phone.
“Marco is with you?”
“Yes.”
The fear in her voice was immediate.
“Then who is in Elena’s apartment with me?”
My blood turned cold.
Marco moved toward me.
“Give me the phone.”
Before I could, my mother whispered something.
I barely heard it.
“Luke… the man here said his name was Marco Reyes.”
The call disconnected.
For one second, nobody moved.
Then Marco took out his own phone and dialed.
No answer.
He tried again.
Elena pushed herself higher in the bed.
“What is it?”
I did not answer.
Marco walked toward the window.
“Caleb,” he said when someone finally picked up. “I need eyes on Ross’s apartment immediately.”
He listened.
His face changed.
“What do you mean no one is there?”
I crossed the room.
“Give me that.”
Marco raised a hand.
“Caleb, when?”
Another pause.
“You’re sure?”
The call ended.
“What?” I demanded.
Marco looked at me.
“Caleb checked the building ten minutes ago.”
“And?”
“Elena’s apartment is empty.”
I stared at my phone.
I called my mother.
Straight to voicemail.
Again.
Voicemail.
“Track her number,” I said.
Marco did not argue.
Elena’s face had gone white.
I returned to her bedside.
“It’s all right.”
She almost smiled.
