Page 37

The doorbell rings. Charlotte twitches in her seat at the kitchen table to look over her shoulder toward the foyer.

I hold up a finger. “Stay here,” I tell her as I stand up. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”

She nods and goes right back to filling in the tree with bright green leaves. I run a hand through her hair as I pass, feeling the soft, perfect strands and trying to remember if my hair was this nice when I was her age. I seem to remember multiple occasions of my mother trying to tame my wild, curly mane.

I reach the front door and look through the side window to see who it is.

My heart jolts.

I spin away from the window, but he’s already seen me.

“Ann— er, Detective?”

I back away from the door, keeping one eye on it as I reach for the gun in my ankle holster.

“Detective?” I hear again. “Look, I know you’re there. Can we⁠—”

I throw open the door and step outside with my gun leading the way.

Milo throws up his hands, his fingertips still marked with ink from the station. “Whoa—!” he says. “That’s a huge gun. All right, then.”

“What do you want?” I ask.

“I just want to talk to you.”

“How do you know where I live?”

He stares at the gun between us. “You’re in the phone book. I looked you up. It wasn’t that difficult…”

“Why?”

“Anna…”

“Detective.”

“Detective Anna…” He slowly lowers his hands. “I had something to say, and it didn’t feel right over the phone.”

I stand firm. “Say it, then.”

“Okay, but first… can you, just…” He raises a finger and sets it on top of my gun, slowly guiding it out of his face. I let it lower, but I keep a tight grip on it. “There we go,” he says, breathing out.

I close the door behind me, protecting my child. “What do you want?” I ask again.

Milo pauses, quietly shifting on his toes before speaking. “Would you believe me if I said I was sorry?” he asks.

“No,” I answer. “Why would I? You lie for a living.”

“So do lawyers,” he says. “And yet, you chose one to father your child.”

I squint with annoyance. “Okay, you’re sorry for committing fraud. Good. Anything else?”

He shakes his head. “You misunderstand. I’m not sorry I did it. I’m sorry for how you feel about it.”

“Excuse me?”

“I did what I had to do to stay alive,” he says. “I had just gotten out of jail. I had nothing. I needed money. My fertility was the only thing of value I had but I was scared they wouldn’t let me donate with my criminal record, so I…” he hesitates, “I swiped my brother’s identity and signed up as him.”

“Your brother?”