Page 42 of Wishing Stone

“Don’t cross that line, Hale,” I warned, cutting him off mid-sentence. Hale had never married or had children. I didn’t expect him to understand what I’d felt each and every time Krystina lost a baby. It was the driving force behind my need to protect her from harm. “The only thing you need to worry about are the protocols to keep her safe. Nothing more.”

“Fair enough,” Hale said, but I heard the skepticism in his tone, and it was goddamned irritating.

“Anything else?” I queried.

“Yeah, two more things. Do you remember the background check we ran on Krystina when you first met?”

“I do, yes.”

“When you became serious with her, I branched out to look into other members of her family as well. It was for your protection, sir.”

I hadn’t realized he’d done that, but when I thought about it, I would’ve expected nothing less from him. If Hale was nothing else, he was thorough.

“Okay. Why are you bringing this up now?” I asked.

“I’ve kept tabs on Krystina’s biological father.”

“Her biological father? Do you know who he is? I don’t think Krystina even knows his name. If she does, she’s never mentioned it.”

“His name is Michael Ketry. I’m bringing this up because he recently moved to the city. His apartment is within walking distance of Cornerstone Tower. It may be nothing, but I find it a little suspect. I’m going to keep an eye on him.”

Standing, I crossed the room to the mini bar in my office. It was barely two in the afternoon, but I felt unusually unsettled about what I’d just heard. I may have committed to not drinking alcohol around Krystina while we were trying to get pregnant, but that rule didn’t apply when she wasn’t here. Taking a tumbler off the shelf, I poured myself a shot of Glenmorangie Grand Vintage Single Malt Whisky.

Looking down at my glass, I swirled the brown liquor for a moment. Raising the tumbler to my lips, I took a sip and contemplated what Hale’s news could mean. As he said, it could be nothing, but it could be everything.

“Keep a close watch on this, Hale. I want to know about any developments.”

“That goes without question,” he assured.

I walked over to the windows. I looked out at the Manhattan skyline and tried to recall what Krystina had told me about her biological father. It wasn’t much. She’d referred to him as her sperm donor in passing and said he left when she was just a baby. If he kept tabs on her and found out she was married to me—which was highly likely considering the press’s obsession with every move my wife made—he may end up being like every other vulture out there trying to come after my money. While he would never get a cent from me, the upset it could bring was something I didn’t want my wife to have to deal with.

“Don’t mention this to Krystina, Hale. I don’t know why, but I feel this would upset her. His relocation to the city could be harmless. No need to worry her unless there’s something more concrete.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Alright then. What’s the last thing you were calling about?”

“It’s probably nothing to worry over, but a silent alarm was tripped at Stone’s Hope about ten minutes ago. The police are on their way to check things out. They said they’ll call me when they get there.”

I thought about the building’s layout and the state-of-the-art alarm system.

“Which alarm was triggered?”

“The conference room. Someone might have just bumped it during one of the group therapy sessions. It’s happened before, but I figured you should know. I’m on my way to the medical supply store on 3rdAvenue, picking up the items the nursing staff wanted for your mother. Assuming traffic is light, I could be at the shelter in about twenty minutes if you want me to check it out.”

“No. It’s like you said—probably nothing. Keep me updated. I don’t have any meetings for the next hour, so you can call my cell directly with any developments. No need to bother Laura.”

“Will do.”

I ended the connection but paused rather than dial Justine as planned before Hale called. Something didn’t feel right, and instinct had me dialing Krystina’s cell instead. At the very least, she would want to know there might be something amiss at the shelter.

After the fifth ring, it went to voicemail. Assuming she was just busy wrapping up her holiday ad deadlines, I left her a message.

“Angel, it’s me. Call me when you get this.”

After punching the end call button, I began to drum my fingers on the desktop. The seconds ticked by, each one seeming longer than the last. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong—very wrong.

I redialed Krystina’s cell, but there was still no answer. My sense of dread grew, so I quickly dialed the landline to the house. The only reason we even had the landline was so that I could get a hold of Vivian. She refused to have a cell phone and, for the first time, I was thankful for my housekeeper’s aversion to technology.

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