His expression darkened.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

He met her gaze, an emotional struggle on his face. “What happened?” she asked again, her chest tightening.

“My grandfather pulling strings,” he said, spitting out the words.

“What does he want you to do?” she whispered. The anger on his face alarmed her. Maybe giving him a ride wasn’t her brightest move. Her mind spun. Could she make an excuse to leave? Tell him to find another friend to come get him? Why hadn’t she listened to Dr. Peres? Her mouth went dry. “Maybe someone else should be driving you,” she said slowly.

He looked stunned, his anger evaporating. “You can’t?” His expression changed 180 degrees.

Guilt wracked her. “Uh… yeah, it’s okay. It looked like you needed to address something with your grandfather and maybe that’d go easier if I wasn’t here. You know?” Please tell me someone else can come get you.

“There’s just some stuff I need to drop off at his place. I didn’t want to do it today, but he’s insisting. It’s not like I have to talk with him. Just drop the stuff and go.” He raised a brow at her. “Is that okay?”

“Oh… I guess. But this is the one who lives on the way to the beach? How far?” Trinity tried to remember how much gas was in Katy’s old car.

“It’s not too bad from here. I’ll give you some gas money.”

Again he hadn’t directly answered her question. Since she’d picked him up on the west end of Hillsboro, it meant they were on a straight shot to the coast.

“You think that’d be okay?” he asked.

“Of course,” Trinity said. He smiled at her, and she felt her breath catch. His anger was gone. Why had she been so scared for that split second? And he seemed to want to spend the day with her. She wasn’t going to let that pass by. Katy hadn’t asked how long she’d be gone when she left this morning. Katy trusted her with her old second car.

He stood and flung the backpack that he’d refused to leave in the car over his shoulder. Odd clanking sounded in the bag. Jason reached behind him to pat the sides of the bag, checking for openings. His fingers found an open zipper and yanked it closed, covering Trinity’s brief view of a camera’s lens cap.

Victoria sat silently in Seth’s passenger seat. Possibilities raced through her mind. She’d envisioned knocking on the door and falling into her happy mother’s arms, as her mother sobbed about the baby who’d been taken from her. She’d thought of driving by and never going back. What if the address was fake? What if it was a prank? What if the woman hated her?

She was nauseous.

Seth squeezed her hand. He’d held her hand the entire time in the car, making her worry as he merged onto the freeway. “We’ll just take a look. Maybe knock on the door. Don’t get your hopes up about anything,” he reminded her.

Victoria nodded. He’d said the same thing a half-dozen times. He was as nervous as she was.

“You’re sighing,” Seth stated.

“I know. I can’t help it. I swear every nerve I have is on edge.”

“Lack of sleep and the possibility of seeing your birth mother will do that to anyone.”

The GPS announced they’d arrived at their destination. Seth parked across the street at the curb and turned off the car.

Victoria studied the small home. They were in an old neighborhood in southeast Portland. The lots were close together and the homes looked incredibly tiny. And run-down. Even she could tell the home needed a new roof. A chain-link fence bordered the yard, keeping trespassers from stepping foot in the straggly grass.

Her heart sank. This was no childhood dream home.

The home’s door opened and a woman stepped out. Victoria held her breath. The woman headed for the mailbox unit on their side of the street, letters in her hand. She was tall and too thin, and a cigarette dangled from her side of the mouth. Her black hair was heavily streaked with gray. Victoria heard Seth draw in a breath.

“Holy cow,” he breathed.

Victoria could see it. The woman’s carriage was identical to hers. She put her hand on the car handle and pulled, before she could talk herself out of it. She stepped out of the car, ignoring Seth’s whispers to stop. She moved toward the woman, a light drizzle of rain dusting her face.

“Excuse me,” she said to the woman as she locked her mail slot with a key.

The woman turned, eyeing her suspiciously. “Yes?”

She had brown eyes like Victoria, but her face was heavily lined. An obvious smoker. Michael had said the woman was in her fifties; this woman appeared to be in her late sixties. Life had beaten her down. “Are you Isabel Favero?”

The woman stared. “Who wants to know?”

Victoria’s mind blanked. What should she say? Your possible daughter? She couldn’t speak. Seth appeared beside her and greeted the woman.

“I’m Seth Rutledge. I’m a pathologist at the medical examiner’s office. You must have seen from the news that we’re dealing with the recent murders of those teen girls and reevaluating the remains from the old killings decades before, right?” He took Victoria’s hand again.

“What about it?” Isabel said rudely. She crossed one arm over her chest and fiddled with her cigarette.

“We’ve managed to identify one of the older sets of remains,” Seth said quickly. “Are you familiar with the name Lucia Cavallo? She used to live in your house.”