The Stranger Beneath My Hair

“Moonbeam!””

The voice followed me through the broken doorway and up the staircase.

I ran so fast that my shoes slipped on the dusty steps. Behind me, Adrian shouted my name, while Daniel called for medical assistance.

I barely heard them.

There was only the woman at the window.

The woman with my eyes.

The woman who had supposedly died ten years ago.

I reached the second-floor landing and stopped outside a half-open door.

My hand hovered over the handle.

I was terrified.

Not of a gun or a stranger or the men who had spent ten years hunting me.

I was terrified that I'd open the door and find nobody there.

That the voice would disappear, and I'd be left with another photograph, another memory, another promise that turned out to be a lie.

“Mom?”” I whispered.

The door creaked inward.

A woman stood beside the window, one hand pressed against the wall for support.

Her hair was streaked with silver. A deep scar crossed her left temple, disappearing into the strands beside her ear. She wore a dark coat over a simple dress, and her face was thinner than the face I'd imagined in my nightmares.

But her eyes were unmistakable.

Blue.

Bright.

Wet with tears.

She lifted a trembling hand toward me.

“Isabella?””

My knees weakened.

For ten years, I'd told myself I had no family.

It was easier than imagining people who might be searching for me.

Easier than wondering whether my mother had died calling my name.

Now she stood three feet away.

Alive.

I took one step toward her.

Then another.

“Are you really my mother?””

She nodded, tears sliding down her cheeks.

“Yes, sweetheart.””

I stared at her face, desperately searching for the missing memories.

A smile.

A familiar expression.

The shape of her mouth when she spoke.

Nothing came.

I could remember the smell of her perfume and the warmth of her hands, but her face remained a stranger's.

I wanted to fall into her arms.

Instead, I whispered, “Why didn't you come for me?””

Her expression crumpled.

“Oh, my darling.””

“Why did I sleep on the street? Why did I have to dig through garbage? Why didn't you find me?””

She reached toward me.

I stepped back.

“Don't.””

Her hand fell.

For several seconds, neither of us spoke.

Then she said, “Because I believed you were dead.””

I stared at her.

“What?””

“The night of the fire, Thomas told me he'd taken you to safety. Hours later, I learned the safe house had been attacked. Two bodies were found inside. One belonged to the woman who was supposed to protect you.””

Her voice broke.

“They told me you were the other body.””

I shook my head.

“But I wasn't.””

“No. You weren't.””

She pressed a hand against her mouth.

“I searched for you for years. I went to the police. I contacted private investigators.

I paid people to check hospitals and shelters. Every lead ended in nothing.””

I looked at her.

“Then why did you stop?””

“I didn't.””

She moved toward the window.

“After the fire, Vincent's men watched every person connected to the Whitmore family. They killed one of my investigators. They burned down the house where I was hiding. They threatened everyone who helped me.””

She turned back to me.

“I had to disappear to survive.””

“And you never thought to look for me in New York?””

“I did.””

Her voice became desperate.

“I walked through shelters. I visited churches. I went to every place I could reach without being followed.

But I didn't know what name you were using. I didn't know what you looked like anymore.””

She swallowed.

“Then, three months ago, someone sent me a photograph of a young woman with impossibly long hair. They told me she was my daughter.””

My breath caught.

“The photographs Adrian received?””

She nodded.

“I sent them.””

I stared at her.

“You were watching me?””

“I was trying to find you without leading Vincent to you.””

“By sending photographs to a mafia boss?””

Her expression changed.

“Adrian was the only person I knew who had the resources to protect you.””

I thought of the blood in the alley.

The black sedan.

The way Adrian had looked at me when he saw the birthmark behind my ear.

“You knew he would recognize me.””

“I hoped he would.””

A bitter laugh escaped me.

“So everyone knew who I was except me.””

My mother closed her eyes.

“I am so sorry.””

I wanted to forgive her.

I wanted to believe that every terrible thing I'd endured had been the result of circumstances beyond her control.

But I couldn't ignore the years I'd spent believing I was worthless.

I couldn't erase the nights I'd curled beneath cardboard, trying to keep my fingers from freezing.

“Did you ever think I might be alive and hungry?”” I asked.

She looked at me.

“Every single day.””

“Did you ever wonder whether I was afraid?””

“Every night.””

“Then why didn't you come?””

She began to cry.

“Because I was afraid that if I found you, I would bring the people who destroyed our family straight to your door.””

I stared at her for a long moment.

Then I noticed the gold necklace around my neck.

My mother's gaze followed mine.

She made a small, broken sound.

“You found it.””

I touched the crescent pendant.

“You hid something inside it.””

She nodded.

“The names of everyone who betrayed your father.””

“Adrian found a ledger.””

“That's not the original ledger.””

My stomach tightened.

“What do you mean?””

She moved toward an old writing desk and opened a hidden compartment beneath the top drawer.

Inside lay a small black book.

Its cover was worn, and the edges had begun to crumble.

She lifted it carefully.

“This is the book your father wanted you to find.””

I stared at it.

“The witness.””

She nodded.

“Richard knew the men who controlled the organization would destroy any financial records they could find. So he created a second record, written in his own hand. It contains the names of everyone who ordered the fire, everyone who helped conceal the crime, and everyone who was paid to make sure you disappeared.””

I looked at the book.

“Then why didn't you give it to the police?””

“Because the police were part of it.””

She opened the cover.

The first page contained a list of names.

Vincent Moretti.

Thomas Vale.

Several judges.

Two police commanders.

And a name that made my blood turn cold.

Adrian Kane.

I stared at it.

“No.””

My mother closed the book.

“Isabella—”

“No. Adrian saved my life.””

“I know.””

“He protected me.””

“I know.””

“Then why is his name in your father's book?””

She looked toward the doorway.

“Because he was there the night of the fire.””

I shook my head.

“You said he tried to save me.””

“He did.””

“Then what did he do?””

My mother didn't answer.

A shout came from downstairs.

Daniel's voice.

Then Adrian's.

I turned toward the door.

My mother grabbed my wrist.

“Don't let him take the book.””

I stared at her.

“What?””

“Please, Isabella. You don't understand what he did.””

The words struck harder than any weapon.

I pulled my hand away.

“You don't know him.””

“I know his father.””

“You don't know Adrian.””

My mother stepped closer.

“Then ask him why your father died.””

Before I could respond, Adrian appeared in the doorway.

His shirt was stained with blood from his shoulder, and his face was pale with exhaustion. His gun was lowered, but his eyes immediately moved to the black book in my mother's hands.

For several seconds, nobody spoke.

Then Adrian whispered, “Eleanor.””

My mother's expression hardened.

“Adrian.””

“You're alive.””

“So are you.””

He looked at me.

“Wren, step away from the book.””

I stared at him.

“Why?””

“Because we don't know who else is in this house.””

My mother clutched the book to her chest.

“He wants it.””

Adrian's jaw tightened.

“I'm trying to keep both of you alive.””

“By hiding the truth?”” I demanded.

He looked at me.

“What did she tell you?””

“That your name is in the original ledger.””

His expression changed.

For one terrible moment, I thought he might deny it.

Instead, he closed his eyes.

“Yes.””

I felt something inside me crack.

“Why?””

Adrian stepped into the room.

“Because I was there the night your father died.””

My mother raised the book.

“And because he helped the man who ordered it.””

Adrian's gaze snapped toward her.

“That's not what happened.””

“Then tell her the truth.””

He looked at me.

I could see the pain in his face.

The guilt.

The fear.

And something else.

Something that made my stomach turn.

“I was ordered to take Richard Whitmore out of the house,” Adrian said quietly.

“I believed he was going to be killed if he stayed. I thought I was helping him escape.””

“And?”” I whispered.

“And when I returned, the house was burning. Your mother was missing. You were gone. And Richard was dead.””

I stared at him.

“Who killed my father?””

Adrian swallowed.

“I never saw his face.””

My mother laughed bitterly.

“Of course you didn't.””

She opened the book again and turned to a page near the back.

A single entry had been marked with red ink.

*Authorization: A. Kane. Target: Richard Whitmore.*

I looked at Adrian.

He didn't move.

He didn't deny it.

And in that silence, I understood that whatever had happened ten years ago, the man who had saved my life had been connected to the night my family was destroyed.

A crash sounded downstairs.

Daniel shouted, “Boss! We have company!””

Adrian drew his weapon.

My mother shoved the black book into my hands.

“Take it.””

“What about you?””

“Go!””

The windows shattered.

Gunfire erupted from the hallway.

Adrian grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward the back staircase.

I looked over my shoulder.

My mother was still standing beside the desk.