“For being so honest and generous. Some wives might have wanted to keep the house or the money from its sale. I’m so glad I married you.”

She sniffled. “Come home, honey. We love you and miss you.”

“I will, as soon as I can. Love you, too. Kiss the kids.”

He ended the call and toed off his shoes.

The detectives really had been nice. He wondered if they would be tomorrow, once they realized what he hadn’t given them.

Wearily, he dug into his pocket for Wes’s cell phone and placed it on the nightstand. He wasn’t sure why he’d kept it, other than it was the one thing he had left that was truly his brother’s. Wes had made Laurel’s graduation photo his wallpaper, and the only other photos he’d kept were of Grant’s kids.

He’d loved them. Wes had truly loved them.

Dani Novak was right. Wes had wanted to spare them the pain—and possible incarceration—associated with his mission of vengeance.

Raguel, the angel of vengeance. Wesley had assumed the role knowing he might not survive it, so he’d left the trail of bread crumbs.

Numbly, Grant held up the phone, breathing a small sigh of relief when it recognized his face. He hadn’t been sure if it would work again. Grant had looked in the mirror and thought that he’d aged twenty years since yesterday, so surely the phone would detect it.

But it hadn’t. He was now staring at Wesley’s wallpaper again, Wesley and Laurel smiling for the camera.

How had Wesley known that Laurel was dead? How had he known where to start looking? How had he found Richard Fischer and the Lady of the River?

The answers were somewhere, of that Grant was certain. Wes had left him a trail to follow, every step of the way. And as he blinked away tears, bringing the photo of Wes and Laurel back into focus, he knew where to find the answers.

He swiped the phone’s screen, bypassing the normal apps. Wes never bothered with Facebook or Twitter or any other social media. He didn’t play games.

He had, however, kept safes with the information he wanted Grant to find. And there, on the last page of his phone screen, was a vault app, meant to hide important, personal things from prying eyes.

Grant tapped the app’s icon and a second later, a password screen popped up. He put in Laurel’s birthday, just like he had for the other safes. And it opened—to a journaling app. Heart heavy, he tapped it.

The first entry read: Nita Rubio. There was a phone number with an area code that Grant didn’t recognize. He swiped to the next page, finding it blank. As were the next and the next. The name and phone number were the only entry.