Chapter 1
“Somewhere you’ll finally stop visiting.”
Milo’s fingers tightened around my jacket.
That was the only reason I remained still.
Not the guests.
Not the engagement.
My son.
I looked at Verena.
“Where?”
She lifted her chin.
“You heard me.”
“Yes.”
My voice dropped.
“I heard resentment. I asked for a location.”
Her expression shifted.
Good.
The conservatory had gone silent enough that I could hear Milo breathing beside me.
Six years old.
His mother had been dead for three.
He still kissed the urn goodnight on her birthday.
Sometimes talked to it when he thought I wasn’t listening.
I never corrected him.
Grief does not need efficiency.
“Daddy.”
I crouched.
“Yes?”
“Mommy’s gone again.”
That nearly broke me.
Again.
Not dead again.
Gone again.
Different.
I placed one hand behind his neck.
“We’ll find her.”
Verena laughed softly.
“Alden, listen to yourself.”
I stood.
“I am.”
She looked toward the guests.
A mistake.
She still cared how the room saw her.
I no longer did.
“Did you move the ashes yourself?”
No answer.
“Did someone help you?”
Her fingers tightened around the tablecloth.
There.
Someone.
Then Milo whispered:
“She had boxes.”
I looked down.
“What boxes?”
“Green ones.”
Verena went pale.
Interesting.
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
Milo pointed toward the rear service doors.
“She told Mr. Harlan not to let me downstairs.”
Harlan.
Estate manager.
Twenty-two years with Kestrel.
Not easily manipulated.
Unless he thought an order came from me.
I turned toward my security chief.
“Find Harlan.”
Verena moved suddenly.
“Alden, don’t make this bigger.”
I looked at her.
“You emptied my wife’s urn before announcing our engagement.”
Then I glanced at the flowers she had stuffed inside it.
“You already made it bigger.”
Milo tugged my sleeve.
“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“Verena said Mommy needed a new house.”
My eyes returned to her.
Not thrown away.
Moved.
Packaged.
Planned.
May you like
And apparently my son had heard enough to know there was more than one box.
The ashes were only part of what Verena had removed.
