ignition.
Then a dark sedan pulled up directly in front of the house.
Adrian froze.
The driver’s door opened.
Arthur Bellamy stepped out.
For several seconds, Adrian thought he must be mistaken.
But there was no mistaking Arthur’s tall, narrow frame, his charcoal overcoat, or the old leather briefcase he had carried for at least twenty years.
Arthur opened an umbrella.
Then he walked directly to Marissa’s front door.
Adrian stared through the windshield.
He had spoken to Arthur less than three hours earlier.
Arthur had claimed he could not meet.
Yet here he was.
At Marissa Keane’s home.
Arthur knocked.
The door opened almost immediately.
Marissa appeared.
She did not look surprised to see him.
That was the moment Adrian understood that whatever connected his family to Daniel Keane had not ended four years ago.
It was still happening.
—
Adrian did not approach the house.
Every instinct urged him
