Evelyn Lorne was not what Mara expected. She was small, silver-haired, and wearing yellow gardening gloves when they arrived, as if she had decided burglars were best handled after repotting basil.
“They were looking for the chapel ledgers,” Evelyn said, making tea no one drank. “I moved them last week.”
Adrian closed his eyes. “Mother.”
“Oh, don’t use that tone. You make millions frightening executives. I can frighten one man in a bad coat.”
Mara almost smiled.
Evelyn placed a cardboard box on the table. Inside were sign-in sheets, prayer requests, and a small digital recorder taped beneath a hymn book.
“Dr. Rook came to me the night before he died,” Evelyn said. “He wasn’t suicidal. He was terrified. He said the verdict in his inquiry had already been purchased.”
Mara’s pulse thudded. “What verdict?”
“The hospital ethics panel. If they ruled he was unstable, his testimony would be discredited. He recorded someone threatening him.”
Adrian played the file.
A man’s voice filled the kitchen: smooth, educated, amused. “You can be a martyr, Doctor, or you can be a father. Choose carefully.”
Then Rook’s voice, shaking with fury: “If my son is touched, I’ll name you in open court.”
Mara looked at Leo, who had been coloring at the far end of the table. His pencil stopped.
“Dr. Rook had a son?” Mara asked.
Evelyn nodded. “Hidden. For safety. The nurse helped arrange it.”
Leo whispered, “Mum said my real dad was brave.”
Silence swallowed the room.
Adrian crouched slowly. “Leo, did your mother ever tell you Dr. Rook was your father?”
Leo’s eyes filled, but he shook his head. “She said truth waits until children are tall enough to carry it.”
Mara turned away, throat burning. Her professional instincts screamed: new motive, heir, leverage, public scandal. Her heart heard only a child losing one parent and nearly losing another.
Evelyn touched Mara’s arm. “You protect him like a mother would.”
“I’m not a mother.”
“No,” Evelyn said gently. “But instinct doesn’t wait for permission.”
Before Mara could answer, glass shattered in the living room.
Adrian pulled Leo behind him. Mara grabbed the ledger box. A canister rolled across the floor, hissing smoke.
“Back door!” Adrian shouted.
They ran through Evelyn’s garden into the storm drain behind the property. A masked figure vaulted the fence after them. On his wrist flashed silver.
A watch.
Black bird.
Mara’s body moved before thought. She threw the ledger box to Adrian, seized a garden rake, and swung. The metal teeth caught the attacker’s sleeve. He stumbled, mask slipping just enough for her to see his jawline and a scar beneath his ear.
Then he fled into traffic.
Adrian grabbed Mara’s shoulders. “Are you hurt?”
She could feel his hands shaking.
“No.”
“You could’ve been killed.”
“So could Leo.”
His expression broke open—anger, fear, admiration, something far more dangerous.
“Mara,” he said, voice rough, “I hired you because you were the best analyst I’d ever seen. I kept you at a distance because every time you looked at me, I forgot how to be careful.”
Rain ran down his face. Or maybe it wasn’t rain.
“This is a terrible time for a confession,” Mara said.
“I know.”
“It’s unprofessional.”
“Extremely.”
“We may be hunted by a murderer.”
“Almost certainly.”
She kissed him anyway—brief, fierce, terrified. Then Leo shouted from the drain entrance, “Um, are we still escaping?”
Mara pulled back. “Yes. Absolutely. Escaping now.”
But the kiss had changed the case. Because now Mara had something to lose.
