Mallerie stared at the name until the letters blurred.

Elaine Mercer.

She remembered the woman clearly now.

Not because Elaine had been particularly kind or cruel.

Because grief had preserved every person from that room.

Elaine had been there when Mallerie woke after sedation.

She had stood beside the bed.

She had lowered her voice.

There had been complications, she'd said.

They had done everything possible.

Mallerie’s baby hadn't survived.

“Where is she?” Gideon asked.

“I don't know.”

“You never contacted her?”

“I could barely get out of bed.”

Mallerie sat slowly.

“I believed her.”

Gideon looked at the photograph.

“Someone expected us to find this.”

“Or expected the man downstairs to destroy it.”

Gideon turned toward his security chief, Adrian Cole.

“Find Elaine Mercer.”

Adrian nodded.

“And get everything available from St. Catherine.”

Mallerie immediately said, “Legally.”

Gideon glanced at her.

“Legally.”

Adrian left.

Owen was asleep in a portable crib near the sofa.

Mallerie watched his chest rise.

Gideon noticed.

“You can stay.”

“For tonight?”

“As long as necessary.”

She looked at him.

“I have an apartment.”

“And someone tried to take Owen while he was in your arms.”

“That's why I'm staying tonight.”

Gideon accepted the distinction.

It was nearly two in the morning when Mallerie finally asked the question she had been avoiding.

“Why were you given a baby?”

Gideon sat opposite her.

His answer took time.

“My wife, Isabel, died two years ago.”

Mallerie's anger softened.

“We had tried to have children. It wasn't possible.”

He looked toward Owen.

“After she died, I stopped thinking about becoming a father.”

“Then?”

“An attorney I had known professionally contacted me last year. He said a newborn needed immediate private placement.”

“Private placement?”

“I asked questions.”

“Not enough.”

“No.”

The word carried no defensiveness.

That surprised her.

“He showed me documents. Told me the mother had signed confidential relinquishment papers.”

“I never signed anything.”

“I know that now.”

“Did you ever meet her?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I was told she refused contact.”

Mallerie looked away.

For ten months, she had blamed herself for surviving the delivery.

Now another possibility was taking shape.

Someone hadn't merely lied.

Someone had built two separate realities.

One for her.

One for Gideon.

At three-thirty, Adrian returned.

He placed a tablet on the table.

“Elaine Mercer disappeared eight months ago.”

Mallerie straightened.

“Disappeared?”

“She quit St. Catherine without notice. Closed her apartment. No forwarding address.”

Gideon asked, “Family?”

“One sister in Vermont. Says she hasn't heard from Elaine in months.”

“Anything else?”

Adrian hesitated.

“St. Catherine has a problem.”

He opened a document.

“The electronic record for Mallerie Reed's delivery was modified twice.”

“When?”

“November twentieth.”

Mallerie felt cold.

The day Owen had been given to Gideon.

“And?”

“Three weeks later.”

“By whom?”

“The system shows administrative credentials belonging to Dr. Nathaniel Cross.”

Mallerie knew that name too.

Her obstetrician.

Gideon looked at her.

“He delivered your baby?”

“Yes.”

Adrian continued.

“Cross resigned four months later.”

“Where is he?”

“Nobody seems to know.”

Mallerie laughed once.

It contained no humor.

“A nurse disappears. A doctor disappears. My child supposedly dies, but there's no body I ever saw.”

Gideon leaned forward.

“Did you have a funeral?”

“No.”

That answer had haunted her.

“The hospital told me they could handle arrangements because I was recovering. I signed forms.”

“Do you have copies?”

“At home.”

Gideon stood.

“We'll get them tomorrow.”

“No. Tonight.”

“Mallerie.”

“Ten months, Gideon.”

He stopped.

She looked at Owen.

“I've already lost ten months.”

Forty minutes later, they entered her small apartment with two security personnel waiting discreetly outside.

Mallerie went directly to her bedroom.

She opened the bottom drawer of her dresser.

The envelope was exactly where she had left it.

Death certificate.

Hospital paperwork.

A condolence card.

She spread everything across the bed.

Gideon remained near the doorway until she motioned him closer.

“This.”

She handed him the certificate.

He read it.

Then read it again.

“What?”

“The physician signature.”

“Nathaniel Cross.”

“No.”

Gideon pointed.

“The printed name says Cross.”

“Yes.”

“But the signature doesn't.”

Mallerie stared.

“How can you know?”

Gideon took a document from his phone.

“I've seen his signature tonight.”

Adrian had sent Cross's resignation form.

They compared them.

Different.

Completely different.

Mallerie sat down.

“My son's death certificate was forged.”

Gideon crouched in front of her.

“We don't know that yet.”

“Yes, we do.”

“We know the signature is inconsistent.”

“Don't protect me from this.”

“I'm not.”

“Then say it.”

Gideon held her gaze.

“The certificate may have been forged.”

Mallerie nodded.

That was enough.

Her phone vibrated.

Unknown number.

She almost ignored it.

Then a message appeared.

YOU SHOULD HAVE LEFT THE CHILD ALONE.

Gideon saw her face.

“What?”

She showed him.

Another message arrived.

THE FIRST LIE KEPT YOU SAFE.

Then a photograph loaded.

Mallerie stopped breathing.

It had been taken inside her apartment.

Recently.

It showed the drawer containing the death certificate.

Gideon stood.

“Everyone out.”

“What?”

“Now.”

His voice changed.

Security moved immediately.

Mallerie grabbed the documents.

Owen was already downstairs with Adrian.

Gideon took her toward the hall.

Then Mallerie noticed something.

Her closet door.

It was open.

She always closed it.

“Gideon.”

He turned.

The closet was empty.

But a small white envelope rested on the floor.

Mallerie picked it up before anyone could stop her.

Inside was a hospital identification bracelet.

NEWBORN MALE REED.

11/17.

Her fingers shook.

There was dried adhesive where another label had been removed.

She turned it over.

Someone had written an address on the back.

Gideon recognized it before she did.

“What is that?”

He looked at her.

“My attorney's house.”

The lights in the apartment suddenly went out.

From somewhere beyond the bedroom came the quiet sound of the front door opening.

Someone had just entered.