“Of course, of course.” The woman appeared flustered. “I apologize. It's just that, that little girl looks so much like my Elena did at that age. The resemblance is uncanny. My son… his daughter was taken from us when she was a baby.” The woman shook her head. “I'm sorry. We were given bad information. He thought she might be… Well, when I saw her… and she looks so much like my daughter…”

“I've raised Betsy since she was born right here in Conroy.” Maria could not stop yet another lie from rolling off her tongue. “You know how it is sometimes with your children. They don't always make the wisest decisions. My daughter was too young when she had this baby, and it fell to me to care for her. Not that I am complaining, of course. I love her dearly.” That part was true. As for the rest, well, she would have to be first in line for confession before the next Mass. She patted the woman on the arm and added, “Perhaps someday you will find the child you are looking for. This child, however, she is ours.”

The woman nodded, and turned to walk away. “May God be with you and your family.”

“And with you and yours.” Maria returned the blessing and watched the stranger walk past the church. When she reached the corner, Maria whispered, “Except for your murdering, drug dealing son.”

The woman walked briskly around the block to the waiting car and got into the backseat. She waved a crisp “get moving” gesture at the driver and immediately opened her bag and took out her phone. She speed-dialed a number and sat back against the leather, which was icy cold thanks to the air conditioning that ran the entire time she was out of the car.

She did not bother with a greeting when the call was answered.

“You have idiots working for you,” she snapped in Spanish.

“What are you-,” her son began but she cut him off.

“Whoever told you this child is yours is a moron.”

“You found her?”

“I found a child, not your child.”

“I had it checked out. The daughter of this Emme Caldwell is-”

“I'm telling you this is a different child. I met this child's grandmother, Anthony. I spoke with the child herself. I asked her. Her name is not Chloe.”

“Maybe she was lying.”

“Her name was written on her school paper. I saw it. Anthony, it isn't her.”

“Perhaps you were looking at the wrong child,” he persisted.

“I was looking in the wrong place” she snapped at him again. “This is not the one you're looking for.”

“My people-”

“Are fools. I'm coming home, Anthony, and I'm not happy about having spent the last twenty-four hours in this nowhere town on this wild bird chase.”

“Wild goose.”

“What?”

“The English expression is ‘wild goose chase.’”

“Whatever. The bottom line is, someone gave you bad information. I hope you did not pay the reward money to this man.”

“Fool me once,” he muttered under his breath.

“What did you say?”

“I said, I'm sorry for having wasted your time, mi madre. It won't happen again. As for the informant, you can rest assured he will get exactly what's coming to him…”

Mariah Stewart is the bestselling author of ten novels and three novellas. A RITA finalist for romantic suspense, she is the recipient of the Award of Excellence for contemporary romance, a RIO (Reviewers International) Award honoring excellence in women's fiction, a Reviewers Choice Award from Romantic Times magazine, and a two-time recipient of the Golden Leaf Award for contemporary romance. A native of Hightstown, New Jersey, she lives in a Philadelphia suburb with her husband, two teenage daughters, and two rambunctious golden retrievers in a century old Victorian country home where she's neglecting her garden and working on her next book.