“Oh, wow.” Rosa stares at me, mouth open. “You think that nice doctor is somehow connected to this George?”

“I know she is. I looked up George Cobakis last night, and she came up in search results. She’s his wife. A local newspaper wrote about a fundraiser for veterans and their families, and they had their picture in there as a couple who’s done a lot for that organization. He’s apparently a journalist, a foreign correspondent. I can’t imagine how his name ended up on that list.”

“Shit.” Rosa looks both horrified and fascinated. “So what are you going to do?”

“What can I do?” The question has been tormenting me ever since I learned of the connection. Before, the names on that list were just that: names. But now one of those names has a face attached to it. A photo of a smiling dark-haired man standing next to his smart, pretty wife.

A wife whom I’d met.

A woman who’ll be a widow if Julian’s former security consultant gets his revenge.

“Have you spoken to your husband about this?” Rosa asks. “Does he know?”

“No, not yet.” Nor am I sure that I want Julian to know. A few weeks ago, I told Rosa about the list I sent to Peter, but I didn’t tell her that I did it against Julian’s wishes. That part—and what happened after we learned of my pregnancy—is too private to share. “I’m guessing Julian will say there’s nothing to be done now that the list is in Peter’s hands,” I say, trying to imagine my husband’s reaction.

“And he’ll probably be right.” Rosa gives me a steady look. “It’s unfortunate that we met the woman and all, but if her husband was somehow involved in what happened to Peter’s family, I don’t see how we can interfere.”

“Right.” I take another deep breath, trying to let go of the anxiety I’ve been feeling since yesterday. “We can’t. We shouldn’t.”

Even though I gave Peter that list.

Even though whatever’s going to happen will be my fault once again.

“This is not your problem, Nora,” Rosa says, intuiting my concern. “Peter would’ve learned about those names one way or another. He was too determined for it not to happen. You’re not responsible for what he’s going to do to those people—Peter is.”

“Of course,” I murmur, attempting a smile. “Of course, I know that.”

And as Rosa resumes sorting through the laundry, I change the topic to our newest guard recruits.

40

Julian

After wrapping up the conversation with my accountant, I get up and stretch, feeling the loosening of tension in my muscles. Immediately, my thoughts turn to Nora, and I pull up her location on my phone. I do that at least five times a day now, the habit as deeply ingrained as brushing my teeth in the morning.

She’s in the house, which is exactly where I expected her to be. Satisfied, I put the phone away and close my laptop, determined to be done for the evening. Between all the paperwork for a new shell corporation and the interviews I’ve been conducting with potential guard replacements, I’ve been working upward of twelve hours a day. Once, that wouldn’t have mattered—business was all I had to live for—but now work is an unwelcome distraction.