Page 119 of Blind Prophet

“Hi.” I falter, unprepared.

“You look familiar. How do I know you?” She peers down the line of houses. “Are you a neighbor?” She asks, but then shakes her head. “No, you wouldn’t be. You’re not nearly old enough.”

“Ah, I might be familiar because I was married to your son.”

I watch her microexpressions carefully. The slight widening of her eyes and the infinitesimal pause before responding tell me more than her words will.

With notable caution, she asks, “Who do you think I am?”

CHAPTER28

DORIAN

What the hell is she doing?

I double-check her location.

Our trackers ping her location with military-grade precision. A quick check through Zenith’s DMV integration confirms the vehicle registration, one of countless data streams we process daily.

This is the license plate registered with the California Department of Motor Vehicles in her name. But what is this place? A fifty-five-plus neighborhood? She said her parents are still in Connecticut. Does she have a relative who lives in California? Or is this somehow work-related?

Geoffrey Cromwell

Why are you in California? Did something happen?

The message notification fades from my screen.

When I left to follow Caroline, I didn’t take any steps to hide my travel, but it’s annoying that Geoffrey has the information. He probably called Jay. And now that I know he’s my half-brother, he may feel justified in inquiring.

Are there other half-siblings with NDAs swearing them to secrecy? I’d bank on it.

Dammit, Dad.

The small new construction home piques my curiosity more than Geoffrey’s nosiness. The man has always been too interested in my affairs for my taste. Now, at least I understand why.

A woman pushing a dog in a stroller waves at me, and I wave back. She’s probably wondering why I’m sitting in a parked car.

This isn’t Caroline’s home address. An hour away from Santa Barbara, it wouldn’t be the address of someone she’s dating, would it? She said she’s not dating anyone.

How annoyed will she be to learn I followed her here? When she drove away, I spiraled into a free fall. It felt like I was watching her leave all over again. I packed a duffel, jumped into my SUV, and drove to a small private airport where I store my plane in an on-site hangar. By my estimation, I tailed her by an hour. Seven years ago, I watched her leave and did nothing. I’m not repeating that mistake.

Besides, Nick’s warning repeatedly flashes like a red stock alert. If she’s safest with me, and she wants to be in California, then I’ll come to her.

I enter the address into Google, but there’s no owner associated with the information that populates the screen.

I call my assistant.

“Mr. Moore.”

“Jay, pull up the title owner for this address.”

I recite the address to him on the phone.

“Just give me a second.”

Clicks sound through the receiver.

“By the way, did Geoffrey Cromwell call you today?”

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