At the station, Mara placed a copy of the bank record in front of Naomi.

The signature looked like hers, down to the small break in the letter N.

“I never signed this.”

“Who had access to your papers?” Mara asked.

“My husband, Peter.

Our accountant.

Maybe Caleb’s school.”

“Peter died six years ago?”

Naomi nodded.

“Still blaming himself.”

The interview-room door opened.

Victor entered with a lawyer and a tall young man in a gray jacket.

Naomi stopped breathing.

The young man had Peter’s dark eyes.

A pale crescent-shaped scar curved above his left eyebrow—the scar Caleb had gotten falling from his bicycle.

“Caleb?”

He stiffened.

“My name is Cole Hale.”

Naomi rose so quickly that her chair tipped over.

“You used to sleep with a green blanket tucked under your chin.

You called cinnamon toast ‘snow bread.’”

“Stop.”

“You have a birthmark behind your right shoulder.”

“Stop!”

Victor put a hand on his arm.

“You don’t owe her anything.”

Naomi moved closer.

“I looked for you every day.”

Cole pulled a folded receipt from his pocket and threw it onto the table.

“Then explain that.”

It was a copy of the same deposit slip.

“Victor told me you sold me,” he said.

“He said you needed money and Peter wanted me gone.”

“No mother sells her child.”

“You signed the paper.”

“I signed nothing.”

“You took twenty-five thousand dollars!”

Naomi reached toward him.

“Caleb, please.”

He stepped back as though her hand burned.

“Don’t call me that.”

Her legs folded beneath her.

Mara caught one arm, but it was Eli who ran forward and wrapped both arms around her shoulders.

“She helped me,” the boy said.

“Don’t make her cry.”

Cole stared at Eli.

“Why was he with you, Victor?”

Victor’s fingers tightened around his briefcase.

“His mother asked me to collect him.”

“She didn’t,” Eli said.

Victor’s lawyer raised his voice.

“My client has not been charged.

The guardianship document is valid until a court says otherwise.”

Mara faced him.

“We’re verifying it.”

“While you do, you have no lawful reason to hold Mr.

Hale.”

Victor adjusted his sleeve.

“Come on, Cole.”

Naomi wiped her face and stood.

“If you walk out with him, ask why he kept your necklace hidden for fourteen years.”

Cole touched his throat.

“He said you threw it away,” Naomi continued.

“But it was in Eli’s backpack with a letter addressed to me.”

Victor stepped between them.

“She’s confusing you.”

“Let him read the letter.”

“It’s forged.”

“Then why were you afraid I’d open it?”

Victor turned to his lawyer.

“We’re leaving.”

Mara blocked the door.

“Cole, we need a DNA sample.”

“I don’t consent.”

Naomi’s voice cracked.

“You don’t have to believe me.

Just give yourself the chance to know.”

Cole looked at her for a long moment.

“If the test says you’re my mother, it won’t erase what you did.”

“And if it says I’m your mother, it will prove Victor lied about who you were.”

Victor grabbed Cole’s elbow.

“Enough.”

Cole pulled free.

As he passed Naomi, something dropped from his hand beside her shoe.

Victor never looked back.

Naomi waited until the door closed, then bent down.

It was a brass motel key stamped with the number 17.

A strip of paper had been wrapped around it.

In hurried handwriting, Cole had written: COME ALONE.

HE WATCHES EVERYONE.