“She likes her coffee black. And Violet was hanging with a bad crowd at her old school.”

“And here I thought you’d be a good addition to the private investigation practice I want to open.”

“You said I’d be in charge of the computer side.”

“But you need some basic curiosity about people. Where are your instincts for asking questions?”

“I’m not nosy.” Annoyance shot up his spine. “You don’t know what it was like up there, she and her daughter were in a crisis. I wasn’t about to ask their life history.”

“Well, I did. As soon as you gave me her name, I had people digging.”

“What? Why?”

“Because two people are dead and you’re involved.”

“I’m not—”

“Not directly involved, but I wanted to know who’d thrust themselves upon your mercy.”

Curiosity swirled in his brain. “You found out something,” he stated.

“When Gianna was eight, her parents were killed in a car wreck. Gianna was with them when their car went off a cliff and down a hundred-foot drop. That little girl crawled out of the wreck and all the way back up to the road. Then she walked over two miles in the pitch dark in the middle of the night until she found a house.”

Chris couldn’t speak.

Michael nodded. “Yeah, that’s how I felt. I remembered the story once I was reminded of it this morning. Her story was all over the national news. She survived when everyone else died.”

Like me.

“Hard to miss some of the parallels to your past. A lot of the same elements.”

Memories poked at his brain and he fought them back. Day after day of imprisonment in that bunker below the dirt. The faces of the other children he’d believed had been set free but who had been murdered instead. Pushing through the dark forest, half dragging the real Chris Jacobs, terrified neither of them would survive. The sight of the farmhouse where he’d finally found safety.

“Chris!”

“What?”

“Jesus Christ. You look like you’re about to faint.”

He turned away from his brother as his vision started to narrow. He braced his hands on the hall table and breathed deep.

Michael’s hand gripped his shoulder.

He flinched but didn’t pull away. It’s Michael.

“I’m sorry, Chris. I didn’t realized it’d hit you like that. I’d hoped it’d be better by now.”

“This is better.” He forced a laugh. “A few years ago you’d be stepping over my pool of vomit and have a black eye for touching me.”

Michael let go.

“No. Don’t.”

Michael put his hand back and gripped harder. “You’ve come a long way. I can see it. Jamie does, too. And you’re raising Brian to be an amazing kid.”

The mention of his son’s name nearly made his knees buckle in longing and sheer terror because the boy was out of his sight. Panic shot through him. Is Brian okay? Sweat started under his arms and the air in the house suddenly grew thin. He met Michael’s gaze.

“Have you heard from Cecelia today?” Chris asked.

Understanding crossed Michael’s face and he pulled out his phone. “No. Need to talk to Brian?”

“Yes.”

Chris counted the seconds between his breaths, trying to calm his heart, while Michael called their mother, his phone at his ear. The moment went on too long, and he felt sweat run down his side.

“Mom? No, everything’s okay. Chris needs to talk to Brian.”

Michael handed the phone to Chris. He held his breath until he heard the sleepy voice of his son.

Chris moved to the family room and sat heavily on the couch. The abrupt absence of stress left a stabbing pain in his left temple as he listened to his son talk about the Tower of Terror ride. He made encouraging comments, not fully listening to the excited chatter.

Brian’s fine.

He listened for a few more minutes, ended the call, and noticed Michael was staring at him with hawklike intensity. Chris closed his eyes and sank back in the cushions.

He didn’t have the energy to tell his brother to knock it off.

“So Chris’s name is actually Daniel Brody. And Michael Brody is his real brother,” Violet said slowly, trying to make sense of the confusing story Jamie had just shared. “And your brother—the real Chris Jacobs—died when he was a young teen.”

Jamie nodded.

“But back then you hadn’t seen your brother for two years and Chris—our Chris—assumed your brother’s identity after he escaped from their kidnapper.”

“I know. It’s hard to believe,” said Jamie. “I look back now and I’m still stunned.”

“How long was he in the hospital after he was found?” her mom asked.

“Months. He looked like a walking skeleton when he returned. For a while the doctors weren’t sure he’d survive.”

“He was held and tortured for two years?” Violet whispered, remembering the scars on the side of his neck.

“It’s amazing that he had the presence of mind to keep up the charade after he escaped,” Gianna said. “He must have been terrified the kidnapper would come after him and the Brody family.”

Violet thought about the quiet man she’d spent the last days with. What is it like to have someone want you dead? “No one figured it out for all that time?”