Not yet.
Something deeper and more cautious.
Trust.
Which terrified him more.
Two weeks after the attack, Adrian found Thomas Hale.
Alive.
Sixty-eight years old.
Living in Oregon under his real name.
Claire stared at the photograph Adrian placed before her.
Gray hair.
Thin face.
Brown eyes.
She searched for herself in him.
Nothing obvious.
“Does he know?”
“We haven’t contacted him.”
“Why?”
“Because I waited for you.”
Claire looked up.
Adrian shrugged.
“You complained.”
She almost smiled.
“What do we know?”
“Thomas Hale studied architecture at Northwestern.”
“His father worked for one of my father’s construction companies.”
“Rachel met him at a university fundraiser.”
Claire’s chest tightened.
“The boyfriend.”
“Probably.”
“Why did they run?”
Adrian hesitated.
“Thomas’s father died two months before Rachel disappeared.”
“How?”
“Officially, robbery.”
“And unofficially?”
“No proof.”
Claire looked at Adrian.
“You think your father did something.”
“I think my father was capable of frightening Rachel enough to run.”
That was different.
Careful.
Claire noticed Adrian had started doing what she demanded.
Separating fact from suspicion.
“What happened to Thomas?”
“He left the Midwest six months after you were born.”
Claire stared.
“He abandoned us.”
“Maybe.”
She hated the word.
“Can we call him?”
“Yes.”
Claire waited.
Adrian looked confused.
“What?”
“You call people.”
He almost laughed.
“You want me to call your possible father?”
“I’m injured.”
“You are using that shamelessly.”
“Yes.”
Adrian dialed.
Thomas answered after four rings.
“Hello?”
Adrian looked at Claire.
Then spoke.
“Thomas Hale?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Adrian Bellini.”
Silence.
Complete silence.
Then breathing.
Thomas whispered:
“No.”
Claire went cold.
Adrian said:
“I’m with Claire Bennett.”
The line disconnected.
Claire stared.
“He knows.”
Adrian called again.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Claire grabbed the phone.
Sent a text.
My name is Claire. Rachel Bennett was my mother. I am not asking you for anything. I only need the truth.
Three minutes passed.
Five.
Ten.
Then the phone rang.
Claire answered herself.
“Hello?”
A man started crying.
Not speaking.
Crying.
Claire closed her eyes.
“Thomas?”
“Yes.”
“Are you my father?”
A long pause.
“Yes.”