Chương 1
"The rabbit split open in Emma’s hands before Daniel Rourke could wrench it away.
The sound was ugly and small, cloth surrendering along a rotten seam. Two narrow hospital bracelets struck the gravel beneath the oak. A folded letter slid between Marcus Blackwell’s polished shoes. A faded photograph spun once in the late-afternoon light, and Marcus caught it against his palm before the wind could carry it beneath the bench.
Nobody moved.
One second earlier, Daniel had been doing what Marcus paid him to do: placing his body between Lily and a thin, filthy child who had rushed through the security line clutching something bulky beneath her dress. Now the tall guard stood with both hands open, his sunglasses reflecting the pale scraps scattered at his feet.
Lily crouched before anyone could stop her. She picked up one bracelet with both hands and rubbed gravel from the cracked plastic.
“Daddy…” Her voice thinned. “She has our name.”
Marcus did not answer.
In the photograph, Grace held two newborn girls against her hospital gown.
Her hair was damp, her face exhausted, her green eyes fixed on the camera with a fierce, frightened happiness he had never seen in the photographs left to him. One infant wore a knitted white cap. The other had a bare head and a bruise-dark mark near her temple. Grace’s arms curled around both children as if the person taking the picture might try to remove one.
Marcus’s lungs stopped working.
The girl in front of him hugged the torn rabbit to her narrow chest. Dirty lace hung from her shoulders. Silver tape wrapped one cracked boot. Beneath tangled dark-brown hair, her face carried Lily’s heart-shaped cheeks, Lily’s small nose, Lily’s stubborn chin.
But her eyes belonged to Grace.
Emma locked those terrified green eyes on Marcus.
“My mother said you were my father—and that one of your daughters had to disappear.”
The words reached beyond the oak tree.
A cyclist slowed near the iron fence. A woman pushing a stroller turned her head. Somewhere by the lagoon, a dog barked twice. The vintage lamp beside the bench had not yet come on, but its long shadow divided Marcus from the child.
His fingers tightened around the photograph.
Daniel shifted first. “Mr. Blackwell—”
“Don’t touch her.”
Marcus’s voice was low enough that the guard stopped before his shoe completed its turn.
Emma swayed.
Marcus saw the movement in her knees, the delayed blink, the grayness beneath the dirt on her face. He dropped into a crouch, slower than he had ever lowered himself before an armed man.
“Emma.”
Her grip tightened on the rabbit.
“How do you know my name?”
She looked at Lily’s hands.
The bracelet Lily held read EMMA BLACKWELL in faded blue type.
The second bracelet lay near Marcus’s shoe. He picked it up. LILY BLACKWELL.
His thumb crossed the tiny printed date.
Seven years earlier, during three hours he remembered only as alarms, blood, and men lying to him, he had been told there was one surviving child.
He looked again at the photograph.
Grace had held two.
Emma’s lips parted. No sound came. Her body folded suddenly, not dramatically, but as if the bones inside her had been removed.
Marcus caught her before her face struck the gravel.
The rabbit remained trapped between them.
“Bring the car,” he said.
Daniel touched the microphone hidden at his cuff.
“No hospital motorcade,” Marcus added. “No sirens. Call Dr. Chen and tell him to meet us at the house.”
A younger guard stepped toward Lily.
“She stays with me,” Marcus said.
Lily had not taken her eyes from Emma. “Is she dead?”
“No.”
“You don’t know.”
Marcus placed two fingers against the side of Emma’s neck. Her pulse fluttered so quickly it seemed to recoil from him.
“She’s breathing.”
Lily nodded, although he had not answered her question.
Daniel bent to collect the letter.
Marcus’s head snapped toward him.
The guard froze again.
“I’ll take it.”
Daniel straightened. A muscle moved in his cheek. “Yes, sir.”
Marcus slid the folded paper into his jacket without opening it. He lifted Emma. She weighed less than Lily had at five. The old rabbit hung between her wrists, one damaged ear brushing his watch.
The black SUV rolled across the service lane and stopped beside the curb. Daniel opened the rear door.
Marcus carried Emma toward it.
Lily followed, still holding the bracelet. After four steps, she turned and stared back at the gravel as though something else might have fallen from the rabbit—another child, another name, another piece of her life.
“Lily.”
She looked at Marcus.
“Get in.”
She obeyed, but she sat as far from him as the back seat allowed.
The SUV pulled away from Lincoln Park beneath warm branches and moved into Chicago traffic. Two security vehicles boxed them in. Daniel occupied the front passenger seat, speaking quietly into his phone. He had removed his sunglasses, which made him look older and less certain.
Marcus held Emma across his lap. Her eyelids trembled. Dust marked the hollows beneath them.
Lily watched the torn rabbit.
“Was that Mommy?” she asked.
Marcus looked down at the photograph.
“Yes.”
“With two babies?”
“Yes.”
“Which one is me?”
He could not tell.
Lily turned the bracelet over. “Then which one is her?”
“I don’t know.”
“You always know.”
Daniel’s eyes lifted briefly to the mirror.
Marcus said, “Not this time.”
The honesty frightened Lily more than any lie could have. She pressed herself against the door and watched buildings pass through the tinted window.
Emma made a sound in her throat.
Marcus looked down.
Her eyes remained closed. “Don’t let him take it.”
“No one’s taking the rabbit.”
“The man tried.”
“He won’t again.”
Daniel did not turn around.
Emma’s cracked lips moved. “Mama said not to trust men who promise fast.”
Marcus glanced at the letter inside his jacket.
“I’m not asking you to trust me.”
May you like
Her breathing eased by a fraction.
The Blackwell residence stood behind limestone walls on a quiet street west of the lake, legally owned by a holding company and protected by enough cameras to make casual visitors reconsider their intentions. Marcus had purchased it after Lily’s birth because Grace had once paused outside the property and said the windows looked like a place where children could grow up without being watched.
