Page 120 of Blind Prophet

“No, sir.”

Interesting. How did he know I left Colorado?

“Okay. I have it. The property is owned by Aurora Skye Calloway. Closed on the property about three months ago.”

I stare at the house, my mind eerily quiet.

“Mr. Moore, do you need anything else?”

“No, thank you, Jay.”

What the hell is she doing at my mother’s home? This isn’t research. She landed and came straight here.

Why?

I won’t find out unless I ask. I could wait to see if she tells me what she’s doing, but we’re past games.

The late-morning sun glints off the roofs of the homes on the west side of the street, casting a golden glow, while a young Hispanic teen pushes a lawn mower two houses down. These yards are postage-stamp size, but it’s surprising to see so much grass. I thought with all the water restrictions, there wouldn’t be so much green.

Not that any of that matters. I exit the car and stand on the sidewalk. What to do now?

I’ve no memory of Aurora Calloway and no wish to meet her. I’ve explained this to Caroline more than once.

Did Caroline know I’d follow her? Is this her way of winning an old argument? Of forcing my hand?

No. I shake my head, having a conversation with myself on the sidewalk.

If Caroline is here, it’s with my best interest at heart. She’s never worked against me, only with me.

The door opens. A woman with long, straight steel-gray hair and a colorful, patterned skirt and Birkenstocks steps onto the front stoop. She hugs someone inside the house. Blonde hair comes into view. My peripheral vision blurs as I home in on the two women.

Caroline steps outside. She stops and holds a hand over her eyes as if confirming that the sun isn’t playing tricks on her.

Yes, Caroline, I’m here. Why are you?

Caroline holds Aurora’s hand, saying something to her that I can’t hear. She steps off the porch, and I sense Caroline approaching, but my sight remains locked on my mother, standing still in the doorway.

I don’t know what I expected Aurora Calloway to look like, but bohemian hippy isn’t it.

“Dorian,” Caroline says. “You followed me.”

My gaze remains locked on Aurora. The tank top she’s wearing reveals lean arms one would expect from an active lifestyle. Casting aside her hair color, she appears younger than her sixty-some years. Like all of my father’s wives, she’s undeniably attractive. I’d accuse her of being as vacuous as his other wives, except she’d look more at home at a pro-choice rally than Neiman Marcus.

The world sees me as a business titan, a man who can buy anything or anyone. But standing here, I feel like that abandoned kid again. The difference is now I understand power; real power isn’t about money, it’s about control. And this situation—my mother, Caroline’s presence—none of it is under my control.

“She goes by Rory.” Caroline touches my arm, and I flinch. “Would you like to meet her?”

“Are you friends with her?”

How long has this been going on? Anger unexpectedly stirs, and I clench my hands, seeking control.

Caroline’s rapid blinks and wide eyes tell me she didn’t expect my anger. Neither did I. But it’s here.

“Your mother knows your father’s history. I came here to?—”

“To what? Meet the woman I said I never wanted to meet?”

“To learn more about your father’s background. To find out if you have more siblings. How often he used to travel out of the country, because we don’t have the records from back then. To learn if there are any missing pieces of the puzzle that we should be aware of.”

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