“Not in the slightest,” said Rachel. “And now all I do is beat myself up because I feel like if I’d gone ahead and told my father, maybe he could’ve said something to make her try and fight back.”

“Sounds to me like you mother’s mind was pretty made up.”

“That was Allison Grant in a nutshell. She didn’t often take a stand, but when she did, she was an immovable object.”

Frankel nodded. “And look what it’s done to you and your dad.”

“At least we’re speaking to each other.” She offered up a slight smile. “I probably have you to thank for that.”

“So maybe it’s time to tell him the truth,” suggested Frankel.

“And break the last promise I ever made her? Not to mention run the risk of him hating me forever because I didn’t tell him the truth before this?” She vehemently shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“Your father could never hate you, Rachel. In fact, I’m pretty sure you’re the only thing he still really cares about in this world.”

“Even more reason I’m not willing to take that chance—especially now with things so much better between us.”

Frankel chewed on this a moment, then uttered one word. “Stubborn.”

“Like mother, like daughter.”

He shook his head. “I hate you carrying this burden.”

“Imagine what it feels like in my shoes.”

Frankel finally offered up a smile. “Might be a little tight.”

She returned a similar grin. “Might be interesting to give it a try.”

He took her in his arms and hugged her. Then whispered in her ear. “Just tell me what I can do for you, Rachel.”

She stayed in his arms for a moment before she finally whispered back.

“Just hold me tight and keep wishing me Merry Christmas.”

So that’s exactly what he did.

They ended up taking a walk in Hyde Park.

Even though the snow continued to fall, it felt warmer, certainly more than the sleet-ridden streets that dominated Manhattan at this time of year. Despite it being Christmas morning, they found a vendor selling hot chocolate—a no-brainer for Frankel, the self-confessed chocoholic.

They sipped them side-by-side in a white-covered grove and even took time to build a small snowman. But when the snow began to fall a bit harder, they decided to head back to the hotel.

As they exited the park, they spotted a crowd of Londoners huddled on a street corner around a newsstand. The proprietor had a stack of newspapers beside him that was dwindling rapidly.

Even before he saw the headline, Frankel got a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach, convinced that while he had been on a literal walk in the park, a thief somewhere in London had become the Commandment Killer’s eighth victim.

So both he and Rachel were shocked when they finally had a copy of the Mail in hand.