I read the message three times.

DO NOT GO HOME.

Miles stared at the words.

“Dad wrote that.”

It wasn't a question.

“Yes.”

My voice barely came out.

He looked toward the parking garage.

“Then why wouldn't he talk to us?”

“I don't know.”

“Why did he run?”

“I don't know.”

“Why is he Daniel?”

“I don't know.”

Every answer made me feel worse.

I had spent three years believing the worst thing that could happen to us had already happened.

I had been wrong.

I pulled out my phone and called my sister, Rachel.

She lived forty minutes from our house and was the only person I trusted enough to involve without explanation.

When she answered, I told her Miles and I needed somewhere to stay.

“Of course.”

She paused.

“Laura, what happened?”

“I can't explain yet.”

“Are you in danger?”

I looked again at Grant's handwriting.

“I don't know.”

We took a cab directly to Rachel's apartment.

Miles barely spoke during the ride.

He kept staring out the window.

I knew what he was thinking because I was thinking the same thing.

Grant had seen us.

Grant had heard his son call him Dad.

And Grant had walked away.

Rachel opened the door wearing sweatpants and a college sweatshirt.

One look at my face erased every question she had been preparing to ask.

She let us inside.

Miles went directly to the guest room.

I waited until the door closed.

Then I handed Rachel the receipt.

She read it.

Her face changed.

“What is this?”

“I saw Grant.”

She stared at me.

“No.”

“On the plane.”

“Laura.”

“I saw him.”

She shook her head slowly.

“You saw someone who looked like him.”

“He knew me.”

Rachel's lips parted.

“He looked directly at me, and he knew exactly who I was.”

I told her everything.

Miles seeing him near the front.

The scar.

The nervous movement at his ring finger.

The woman.

The name Daniel.

The way Grant reacted when Miles called him Dad.

Rachel sat down heavily.

“Oh my God.”

Before I could answer, my phone vibrated.

Unknown number.

A message appeared.

Did you go home?

My hands began shaking.

I typed back.

Grant?

The answer came almost immediately.

Do not use my name.

I stared at the screen.

Then another message appeared.

Turn off location services.

Remove the battery if you can.

Don't contact police yet.

Rachel read over my shoulder.

“What the hell is happening?”

I typed another question.

Why are you alive?

No response.

Why did you leave us?

Nothing.

Why did you run from Miles?

The typing indicator appeared.

Then disappeared.

Then appeared again.

Finally, one message arrived.

Because the people watching me have photographs of him.

I felt the blood drain from my face.

Another message arrived.

Photos taken this morning.