Chapter 12 - THE CHILD WHO NEVER DIEDThere was no body.
That was Evelyn’s first correction.
Vincent Cross had not literally buried a child.
He had buried the child’s identity.
In 1998, one of Vincent’s longtime employees died in what police called a highway accident.
His wife died beside him.
Their six-year-old son survived.
Vincent arranged for the boy to disappear into a new identity.
“Why?” I asked.
Evelyn sat across from us in our kitchen.
“Because his parents had seen something.”
“What?”
“I never knew.”
Dorian stared at her.
“You knew Dad erased a child?”
“I knew he relocated him.”
“That isn’t better.”
“No.”
Evelyn’s hands trembled.
“Your father told me the boy would be killed if anyone knew he survived.”
“What was his name?” I asked.
She hesitated.
“Gabriel Voss.”
The surname hit me.
“Eric Voss.”
Dorian looked at me.
Eric had been the contractor accused of cutting my brake line.
The man Caleb believed Victor later killed.
Dorian immediately made calls.
By evening, Agent Naomi Reed was sitting at our dining table again.
She had left the Cross investigation months earlier.
Apparently we were difficult people to retire from.
She placed two photographs beside each other.
Eric Voss.
Gabriel Voss.
Same eyes.
Same ears.
Same unusual scar beside the eyebrow.
“They’re the same person,” Reed said.
My skin prickled.
“Then Victor’s assassin was the child Vincent saved?”
“Apparently.”
“Why would he work for Victor?”
Dorian answered.
“Because Victor probably told him Vincent killed his parents.”
Reed nodded.
“And we don’t know whether that was true.”
The letter suddenly made sense differently.
Someone wasn’t threatening Elena.
Someone was trying to make us investigate.
“Gabriel could still be alive,” I said.
Reed nodded.
Dorian looked unconvinced.
“Then why photograph my daughter?”
“To make sure you listened.”
His jaw tightened.
“That was a mistake.”
That evening, forensic analysis produced something unexpected.
The photograph of Elena had not been taken last night.
Metadata had been manipulated.
But the shadows gave it away.
The maple outside her window had leaves.
It was currently winter.
The picture was months old.
Then I noticed Elena’s blanket.
“That blanket disappeared when she was six months old.”
Dorian looked at me.
The photograph had been taken before Victor Kane’s arrest.
Which meant the person who had photographed Elena had waited nearly a year to use it.
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And suddenly this wasn’t a new threat.
It was an unfinished one.
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