"Brynn Landry." I frowned, wondering if I should just believe what he was telling me. "Do you have an ID?"

"Do you?" he countered.

"Yes."

"All right. Let's do it." He pulled out his wallet and handed me his license. The name matched his face, but the address was not downstairs.

"It says you live in New York," I pointed out.

"I was in New York City until last month. I haven't changed my driver's license yet."

"Or maybe you're just making all this up, and you don't really live downstairs."

"How else would I have a key?"

"You might have stolen it."

"I didn't. Let's see your ID."

I set down the violin and pulled my wallet out of my bag, handing over my license.

"Carmel. That's a few hours from here, isn't it?" he asked, as he handed the license back.

"Yes. I drove here as soon as the hospital called to tell me my mother had been shot."

"That must have been upsetting."

"Yes, but that's a massive understatement. I thought my mom was dead years ago."

Surprise ran through his gaze. "What? Why?"

"Because that's what I was told. Here's the deal. My mother's name was Kim Landry. She was married and had two daughters. Twenty years ago, she went to visit a friend in New Orleans when a hurricane hit the city. She was supposed to have died in that storm. We had a funeral for her. My father remarried. We moved on. When the nurse called me today, I believed it was a mistake, but it wasn't. Laura Hawthorne is my mother. She was alive all this time, living under another name, and I never knew."

"That's crazy," he murmured.

"It feels that way to me, too."

"How did the nurse know to call you?"

"Apparently, before my mother lost consciousness, she told the nurse my number was in her phone and that she wanted her to tell me she was sorry. Whatever that means," I added, unable to hide the bitter note in my voice. I suddenly felt overwhelmed by emotion. I stumbled to the couch and sat down.

Kade set down the bat and took the chair across from me, his gaze intent on my face. "Try to take some deep breaths," he advised.

"My chest is so tight."

"I know. Give it a shot. In and out, slow and easy."

I took his advice and felt a little better.

"The color is coming back into your face," he said approvingly. "I thought you were going to pass out for a minute there."

"Me, too." I drew in another breath. "Do you know anything about what happened today? Where my mother was shot? If she had enemies? Do you know anything about her? Or is she just your landlord?" The questions poured out of me.

"Slow down. I'll tell you what I know, which, unfortunately, isn't much."

"Start with today, with the shooting."