Kade nodded, digging his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "I can relate to that feeling. I talked to my mother again," he said, surprising me with his words. His gaze moved from the view to me, and there was an unhappy light in his eyes.

"What did she say?"

"She wasn't completely honest with me on the phone yesterday. After she sent the money back to the foundation, she got a call from a woman who said that she'd received the money but wanted to make sure that we would be all right without it. My mother told the woman that she'd taken the money for too long, but that it had been a lifesaver, and she was grateful. It had helped her pay for me to go to college."

"You went to college?" I asked, surprised by that.

"For two years. It wasn't for me. But that's not the point."

"Was the woman's name Laura?"

"My mother thought the woman's name was Claire."

"Claire? That's a new one. Unless it wasn't my mother who called her."

"I feel certain it was Laura. My mom told her I was an artist. She mentioned that I had an upcoming show in Seattle."

"And then my mother went to your show. Why? Why was she so interested in you?" I asked.

"I don't know. I asked my mother flat out if I was adopted. I told her she had to tell me the truth. She said I was not adopted. I was her son. She didn't know why the woman was so interested in me, but she thought it might have had something to do with the way my father died."

"The way he died? How did he die?" I had assumed it was an accident or an illness that had taken Kade's father.

"He was killed."

"You didn't say that before."

"It's not a secret," Kade said with a frown. "I wasn't trying to hide anything."

"What exactly happened?"

"My father was a security guard. That night, he worked a party at a mansion on Long Island, the home of a very wealthy man who was a real-estate investor and well-known art collector. All was well during the party, but afterward, my father was making one last sweep through the home when he interrupted a robbery in progress. He was shot, and he died in that house in the middle of the night. A house manager found him the next morning."

Kade's voice was stoic, but I could feel the fire burning within him. Now I knew where the rage and dark nightmares came from.

"I'm so sorry, Kade."

"I don't remember anyone telling me he was dead," Kade continued. "I'm sure my mom said something to me, but I was only four. It bothers me that I don't remember that night. That there was a specific point where my life went from good to bad."