I nodded, trusting his instincts. “I don’t suppose you got a name?”

“Howard, if that’s his real name.”

“Howard?” I asked, a little disappointed. I expected something exotic and Italian like Alberto or Ceasario. But Howard?

“Howard Berkowitz.”

“Now you’re just teasing me.”

He grinned. “Nope. That’s what he goes by.”

“Okay, I’ll look this over. In the meantime, I need you to grab Howard and bring him here.”

He chuckled softly. “I’m sorry, Ms. Davidson, but I don’t kidnap people.”

“I don’t mean kidnap. ‘Kidnap’ is such a strong word. I mean coax. Encourage. Maybe roofie him.”

“Well, again, I can’t do that. I have a better idea.”

“There can’t possibly be a better idea,” I said, deflating. And here I was, thinking his ethics were on the same level as mine: practically nonexistent.

“How about we tell your uncle, the APD detective, so he can at least bring the guy in and question him.”

I toed a rock at my feet. “That might work, but I won’t be able to be there.”

“You don’t trust your uncle to get to the truth?”

Not when I could tell if he were lying instantly, but I wasn’t about to tell Alaniz that. “No, I do. I guess I’ll have to. But we have to get this information to my uncle without him knowing I was involved.”

“I think I can handle that.”

“Perfect.” At least it was a step in the right direction. I scanned the area to make sure they hadn’t sent out a search party for me. So far, so good. “Okay, what about that other thing we talked about?”

“Which one?” he asked, his voice full of amusement.

I had him working on several cases for me at once. “The brother thing.”

“Ah.” He flipped through his notepad.

This was the tricky part. The part Reyes didn’t want me looking into. The part where Mr. Alaniz’s fears for my safety could actually come to fruition. Reyes would never hurt me, but I couldn’t say the same for any unfortunate passerby should my husband find out I’d been delving into his past.

5

SOME DAYS I LOOK BACK ON MY LIFE

AND I’M EXTREMELY IMPRESSED I’M STILL ALIVE.

—T-SHIRT

When Reyes, aka Rey’aziel, had decided to be born on earth to be with me, he chose a wonderful couple to raise him. Or that’s the story I got. But he was kidnapped as an infant. I thought he’d been kidnapped by Earl Walker, the monster who raised him. I didn’t find out until just before being banished to the convent that Earl didn’t abduct him. A couple in Albuquerque, the Fosters, did. They’d abducted him from a rest stop in North Carolina.

How Earl Walker got ahold of him was a little less clear. Perhaps the Fosters feared they were about to get caught and sold him to Earl, and now they had another son. I’d asked Mr. Alaniz to find out two things: One, was the man the Fosters claimed as their son really their son, or had they abducted him as well? And, two, who was the couple that Reyes had been abducted from, the one he’d originally chosen to be his family?

The latter boiled down to one thing: That couple still lost a child thirty years ago. Their hearts were still broken, their dreams shattered, and I wanted them to know that their son had grown into a wonderful and honorable man.

Because I knew the time frame and the area where Reyes had been abducted—a rest stop in North Carolina about thirty years ago—it wasn’t difficult for Alaniz to find his birth parents. But if he knew I’d sought them out, Reyes would be livid. He told me so, made me promise not to look for them, but after becoming pregnant with Beep, after knowing that bond that exists between a parent and a child, I couldn’t let them go to their graves wondering whether their son was alive or dead. If he was happy. If he’d suffered.

They didn’t need to know that he had indeed suffered. Beyond belief. But I felt they did need to know that he was alive and healthy and happy … for now, anyway. Hopefully he wouldn’t find out what I’d done, and he would remain happy for a very long time to come. My meddling was a grave violation of his wishes, but I couldn’t imagine losing Beep. I couldn’t imagine her vanishing without a trace and me not knowing what ever became of her. No parent should ever have to go through that, and if it meant risking my husband’s wrath, so be it. At least I would sleep better at night with them knowing what a wonderful man their son had become.

So, I devised a plan once Mr. Alaniz found out who Reyes’s birth parents were. I wrote a letter as though it were coming from a neutral private investigator, and he would send it anonymously. I didn’t tell them Reyes’s name or where he lived or what he’d gone through. I’d told them only the essentials, just enough to bring them closure and allow them to move on with their lives.

Or that was the hope.

“I’m fairly certain, judging from the Fosters’ son’s coloring and age, he is one of three children that went missing around the time the Fosters adopted him.”

“So, he’d supposedly been adopted by the Fosters. Are you sure he wasn’t?”

“The adoption agency is out of business, but from what I could find out, they were in business only a few months and facilitated three adoptions.”

“Three?”

“Exactly. But I have to admit, he seems … okay. Are you sure you want to open that can of worms?”

“Are you kidding? I love worms. And if they abducted him, his birth parents have the right to know. He has the right to know. Wait, do you think he knows?”

“I doubt it. According to his records, he was only a few weeks old.”

“Okay, well, we have to decide how to handle this. What about the other thing?”

Writing that letter, the one where I told Reyes’s birth parents their son was alive and well, that they could rest easy, knowing he’d grown up an honorable man, was a lot harder than I’d expected. I couldn’t find anything about how to tell the grieving parents of a missing child that their son was A-OK in any of Emily Post’s books.

Then there was the tiny hiccup in which Reyes had forbidden me from contacting them, so I didn’t. I had nothing to do with sending that letter. Mr. Alaniz did. Of course, I failed to mention to Mr. Alaniz Reyes’s habit of severing spines before he did it. My love muffin would never in a million years find out anyway. A good thing, because if he did, the power of his anger could destroy this side of the world. Thankfully, I covered my tracks beautifully.

“Well, funny you should mention them.”

“Them?” I asked.

He cleared his throat. Studied another envelope in his hands. Glanced over his shoulder.

“Mr. Alaniz?”

“Um, your husband’s birth parents.”

“Did you send the letter?”

“Yes. Yes, I did.” His sudden discomfort had me a little worried.

“And?”

“They’re here.”

“Who’s here?”

“Your husband’s birth parents.”

It took a long moment for his words to sink in. When they did, a shock similar to being taken from a sauna and thrown into a frozen lake slapped across my body, my nerve endings firing all engines as I gaped at him.

He scratched his head in a nervous gesture. “They … my assistant—”

“Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“—put a return address on the letter you wrote.”

“No.”

“Yes. And—”

“No.”

“Well, yes, she did.”

“No.” The ground tilted beneath my feet. “Please no.”

“Ms. Davidson, they threatened to call the FBI—”

Everything around me blurred, and for the first time in months, I almost passed out. Only no one had hit me or drugged me or run over me with their car. This was au naturel. This was a boiling combination of dread and alarm and stark raving terror.

“—if I didn’t explain what was happening. How I knew about their son. I knew you wouldn’t want that, so I thought you could explain and—”

The edges of my vision darkened. He was going to kill me.