Lily stepped back, leaning against her grandmother's bed, reaching behind to touch her grandmother's hand. They were together in this. She and Maeve, protecting Rose. Lily felt strong enough to face whatever would come—but she needed her grandmother's presence to give her courage.

“Detectives Christine Dunne and Lance Sheridan, meet Lily Malone.”

“We were told this was Mara Jameson.”

“Was being the operative word,” Patrick said. He glanced at Lily. “You're gonna get really sick of this Mara business, aren't you?”

“Yep,” she said.

“Well, I'll let you explain,” Patrick said, looking stoic as he stepped back.

He hadn't mentioned Rose. That was all Lily cared about. She gave him a grateful but guarded glance, and turned to face the two detectives. They both looked suspicious but curious; the woman was about thirty-five, with short blond hair and wide green eyes. Lily turned slightly, facing her directly.

“I told the doctor,” Lily said, “that I think someone tried to kill my grandmother.”

“That's why we're here,” Detective Dunne said.

“One reason, anyway,” Patrick said. Then, when the two detectives shot him a glance, he shrugged. “Call it what it is. You came to solve my case. As of this minute, it's officially on the books—you've found Mara Jameson. Congratulations.”

The male detective, Lance Sheridan, smiled and nodded. But Christine Dunne never took her eyes off Lily, and Lily didn't look away. Lily felt that she was being studied and read, that all her answers would be filtered through the impressions Detective Dunne was filing away right now.

“Where have you been?” Detective Sheridan asked.

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Patrick Murphy faded back against the white hospital wall and listened to the two detectives put Lily through her paces. She ran through the story, or some version of the story, the one that Patrick already knew.

Nine years ago, pregnant with Edward Hunter's child, she escaped from him. She had lived with domestic violence. She couldn't stand the idea of bringing a child into that home—she refused. No, she didn't “stage” a disappearance—she just disappeared. Did anyone help her? No. Where did she go? Not prepared to answer that question. Where is the baby? He was born dead.

“He?” Patrick couldn't help himself.

“Yes.” Lily was still and solemn. He gazed over at her, watching her stare back unblinking. The pulse throbbing in her throat was the only giveaway. She had pale skin, so striking against her jet black hair, cut sharply at shoulder length. Her cornflower blue eyes were pained and vulnerable as she made her case to the detectives about the carbon monoxide.

He almost snorted. Lily Malone was about as vulnerable as a ninja sword dancer. This woman was strength personified. Patrick's pride was still smarting from the way she'd outfoxed him every step of the way. He had to hand it to her.