She moved aside. “Good morning, Miss Sterling. Clementine has been waiting for you.”

I stepped inside. “How’s everything going with her?”

“Very well. Thank you for asking.”

I had the oddest feeling that I was like a stranger to her. Of course she didn’t know me, but still, she knew I was a part of Clementine’s life. When I’d first met her, I thought she would be ideal for Clementine, but maybe my state of mind wasn’t exactly in top shape then because today she seemed cool, aloof. It was as if she didn’t like me for some reason.

“Mommy!” Clementine called, barreling toward me at toddling speed with her juice cup in her hand.

“Don’t run,” Mrs. R warned, but her smile told me it was concern in her voice and not the need for obedience I’d heard in my father’s voice every day of my young life.

I dumped everything in my hands and bent down with my arms extended. When Clementine reached me, I scooped her up and kissed her. “Good morning, silly girl. How are you today?”

Her hands clasped my cheeks and she opened her mouth for another kiss. Open-mouthed kisses were her thing. She breathed on me and she smelled of Cheerios and orange juice. A scent I had grown to cherish.

I held her tightly, the wave of love I felt for her as powerful as blood. She might not have been mine, but I felt like she was. “Look, I have a new friend to join your others.” I set her down and handed her the stuffed elephant.

She giggled and threw her arms around the soft fur. “Rosie,” she beamed.

My heart leapt at how much she loved her new Rosie.

“Mrs. Sterling, would you like me to prepare her breakfast now?” Mrs. R asked.

Still in the foyer, I glanced around at how tidy everything was. In the family room, all the toys were in the toy chest, the board books were placed neatly on the shelf, and Clementine’s stuffed animals were nowhere in sight. “Oh, no, we do that together, but thank you. Did Traci come?”

She tidied her bun. “She came Monday and will come again tomorrow.”

“Oh, it’s just everything is so neat.”

Mrs. R’s eyes lit up. “Yes, Clementine and I did some straightening up of her things yesterday. They were in quite a disarray.”

Panic set in and I didn’t know how to stop it. “She has to be allowed to play,” I found myself saying, knowing I was being ridiculous.

“Mommy,” Clementine said again, but when my eyes darted down to hers she wasn’t looking at me. She was looking at Mrs. R.

A twinge of jealousy struck and it was followed by unreasonable disappointment.

Mrs. R bent to Clementine’s level. “Now sweetie, we discussed this. I’m Nanny and,” she pointed to me, “this is Aunt Elle.”

Clementine was oblivious to the entire conversation as she pretended to give Rosie some juice, but I could see in that moment that Mrs. R truly cared for her and that my tension was tainting my view of the situation.

“How about I bring Rosie upstairs to your room to join your other friends in our tea party and you go make breakfast with your aunt.”

She was correct. I was her aunt, not her mother.

I plastered a smile on my face and took Clementine’s hand. “Come on, let’s get those pancakes going.”

Mrs. R gently took my arm. “I hope you don’t mind that I’m trying to make the situation clear for her. We were in the park yesterday and she was calling every woman there ‘Mommy.’ I’m certain she misses her own mother and with no one constant woman in her life, she sees everyone as her mommy.”

The sucker punch came out of nowhere, but I knew it wasn’t intended to hurt me. Clementine did have a parade of women in her life. Nannies, housekeepers, Michael’s sister, me, but none were here all the time. “No, not at all. You did the right thing.”

Clementine and I went into the kitchen while Mrs. R left us alone and went upstairs. As always, I enjoyed my time with her. We made the batter, cooked the pancakes in the shape of princess tiaras, and then ate them with lots of syrup.

I shoved my own issues aside. Mrs. R was good for her. She was stable and reliable and could see what I had failed to see.

“How was it?” she asked Clementine as she entered the kitchen.

“De . . . lick . . . is,” she said, rubbing her tummy.

My heart fluttered. She was cute beyond words.

“If you don’t mind, Miss Sterling, I’m going to take her for a walk before the rain starts. It looks like it might just storm all day.”

I was washing the frying pan. “Please, call me Elle, and that’s a great idea. I’ll just finish up here and be off. I have to get to work by ten.”

“You can leave those. I’ll clean them up later.”

I pushed the hair from my face. “I’m almost done.”

“Okay, then, we’ll be off.”

I wiped my hands on a towel. “Give me a kiss, silly girl.”

In her shiny patent leather shoes she came over to me. “Bye, bye.”

I gave her a big squeeze and kissed her. “I love you and I’ll see you this weekend.”

She gave me that open-mouthed kiss and then took Mrs. R’s extended hand.

As soon as I heard the door close, I ran into Michael’s office.

Sightless eyes were watching me, or that’s how I felt as I plugged the thumb drive into Michael’s computer and a series of letters and numbers flashed before me. The bar at the bottom moved at a snail’s pace. I dug my fingernails into my palms as it inched ever farther toward one hundred.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

I glanced around and noticed the bouquet of roses on Michael’s desk.

“That’s it,” I thought, and ran toward the tile that hid the keypad.

With shaky fingers I tried to move it. Nothing happened. I tried to turn it. Nothing happened. Had he relocated it?

Feeling defeated, I pushed in as I went to shove away and the tile popped open. I entered 7673—the numbers that corresponded to Rose, Michael’s mother’s name. The dead woman whose pictures were everywhere. The mother he had obviously loved.

I couldn’t believe it, but the bookcase to the left of the fireplace slowly started to open. My heart was racing and I bit my bottom lip in an attempt to steady my shaking body.

Anticipation clogged my throat. I wanted to run inside and see what all the fuss was about, but I was cautious and I waited for it to fully open. My eyes glanced back to the computer screen and the bar read 100 percent. Torn between the safe room and the computer program, I decided to eject the thumb drive first.

Once I did, I turned back and the door was still fully opened. I shoved the thumb drive in my pocket and wondered how long I should wait to see if it closed on its own. I should have asked Miles. I patted my pockets for my phone but it was in my purse, which was out in the foyer, and there was no way I could leave Michael’s office with the door to the safe room, panic room, or whatever you want to call it the way it was.

It remained fully open. I stared at it. It hadn’t closed by now and I knew it wasn’t going to. I was certain of that. I saw a large five-prong handle on the inside and knew it was there for someone to pull it shut and lock the door quickly by turning it.

Bracing myself, I took a tentative step forward . . . nervous but filled with hope that going inside would lead me closer to the truth.

One step.

Two.

Three.

And I was inside.

It was smaller than I had imagined. Twelve by twelve at the most. The air smelled musty and dry like the basement. But it was neat and clean. The walls were a deep blue. There were three clocks across the one directly opposite me. Each was labeled—Tokyo, London, and Washington. Under them was a desk that stretched the entire length of the room. Two monitors were located on each end of the desk. To my right was a couch sandwiched between open shelves with bottles of water, cans of fruit, and first aid supplies. There was another couch sandwiched between cabinets.