Sofas and a lush chair upholstered in deep green faced one another across a rug woven in muted colors. The warmth spread from the center of the room, along the rich woods that composed tables and chairs and frames. She moved a chair near the windows. He followed.

“It’s time, Erin.” The words were hushed, too low to reach beyond their bodies. “Time to tell me everything.”

Her edgy frame shuddered once. She couldn’t pretend not to understand. After two years of hiding, of running, the past had found her.

Gabriel murmured, “Let me help you, Erin. Help us stop him.” He touched her then, tipped dry, anguished eyes up to his own. With precious care, he stroked the furrowed brow, swept his thumbs along the proud cheekbones. Soothing, calming, he waited for her to relax. He waited for her to believe in him. That he would not abandon her to her past. Shifting his hold, he captured her cold hands. “Talk to me, Erin. Trust me.”

It wasn’t trust, she thought, that would make her tell him. It was fate. And like the condemned, she accepted her fate, that it had become entwined with his, with the innocent residents of New Orleans. There was no escaping what she’d done, no building a future with it hanging over her, a bloodied Sword of Damocles. “His name was Dr. Nathan Rhodes,” she began faintly. “I met him when I was fifteen.”

Unable to stand still, to feel the contempt that would surely seep into her skin, she pulled away. She would tell him the whole story and accept her punishment. Otherwise, she was no better than the man they chased.

“My father was a writer and my mother was a scientist. A neuropsychologist. As they describe it, I was an unexpected addition. I was born when they were already in their forties. When I was two, I demonstrated an unusual aptitude for language. By the time I was five, I could read in several different ones. My parents taught me themselves and brought in the top minds in every field to train me. Most of my childhood was spent in hotel rooms or in university laboratories, being tested.”

Gabriel could imagine the child she’d been. Isolated, shy. “What about friends?”

“I had one. Sebastian. His mother, Mrs. Cain, traveled with us, took care of me.”

“Did you ever attend school?”

“There was no reason to.” She stared wistfully out of narrow windows. How many hotel windows had she stood at and pined for other children to play with, for her best and only friend, Sebastian? Shaking off the self-pity, she continued. “I had tutors, and we were always traveling.” She turned and lifted her hands in entreaty. “Don’t misunderstand. Mom and Dad weren’t ogres. They did their best with me. But I was too … different. They’d never expected children, and definitely not me.”