Ellie smiled warmly and sighed—a happy sigh, as though she’d just opened a wonderful, thoughtful gift.

“I thought I’d never see this again.”

“Who’s the kid?” Sebastian’s tone was casual, but his eyes were cold, and he was very still, the way a dog was as it decided whether or not to attack.

“This,” Ellie said, “is my brother. My twin brother, actually.”

“You always carry a picture of him inside your shoe?”

Ellie shrugged. “Depends.”

“Depends? On what?”

“On what I’m wearing that day. That day I was wearing a dress, no pockets, so I had to improvise.”

“Why not your purse?”

“Because someone might get nosy and decide to take a look in my purse, find this, and start asking all sorts of questions that are none of their business.” Ellie’s tone was firm but not combative. She wanted to come across as confident and calm, not angry. People caught in a lie lashed out in anger. People who had nothing to hide met questions head-on, didn’t act or speak defensively.

Ellie placed the picture on the table. She turned slightly in her chair so she could face him, her arms open as she said, “Cat’s out of the bag, so please, ask away.”

“First time I’m hearing you have a brother.”

“Had,” Ellie said.

“What happened?”

“He was a carrier, I’m told, and he was abducted shortly after I was born.” Telling part of the truth, she’d reasoned, could sometimes be the best kind of lie.

Sebastian’s gaze narrowed in thought; then his eyes widened, and his features smoothed out.

“Never knew him—never knew about him, either, until my mother was dying,” Ellie said. “She was prepared to take that secret to her grave—would have, too, if I hadn’t stumbled across this picture while gathering some stuff from her safe. Even then, she wouldn’t tell me much.”

“What’s his name?”

“I have no idea.”

“You don’t know your own brother’s name?”

“Maybe I’m not being clear. Sorry—late night. Thank you for that, by the way. The dinner, and the hotel.”

Sebastian said nothing, didn’t nod or look like he’d heard her. Ellie felt and looked relaxed as she blended fact with fiction. It’s not a lie if you one hundred percent believe it, Roland had told her.

“So,” she said. “My mother. She refused to tell me my brother’s name—his real name—saying no good would come of it. That’s when I found out that my name wasn’t my real name.”

“What is it? Your real name.”

“That’s the thing. I have no idea. Seems my mother changed it not once but several times, in order to protect me—to protect us. We moved around a lot before settling in Las Vegas. As for my brother, she never reported his abduction to the police. Why? you ask. I asked her the same question. She told me it was because the people who took my brother were cops. There were four of them, she said, and they came into the house and went at her pretty bad. My mother was a fighter. Anyway, they thought she was dead. She heard two of them talking, and she told me she recognized their voices—local cops who were heavily involved in the neighborhood. That’s why she didn’t report it, why we packed up the next day and moved.”