Amelia’s father.
The room fades at the edges.
Sophie’s hand slides from my neck to my shoulder.
No one talks.
For once, not even Derby has something smart to say.
I stare at my father’s young face until grief and anger knot so tight I can’t tell one from the other.
The photo proves Caroline Bell got close.
It proves my father knew her.
It doesn’t prove Amelia is blood.
But it makes sending her back into the dark impossible.
The dead man has done it again.
Reached up.
Grabbed hold.
Left me to decide what kind of man I’m going to be with what he abandoned.
I pick up the photograph.
The paper feels thin.
The weight doesn’t.
“Wake Whiskey’s contacts,” I say, voice rough. “Quietly. I want confirmation on Caroline Bell, Lonerock, Paducah, and Vale.”
Whiskey nods.
I look at Derby. “You’re on Amelia and the kid tonight.”
He don’t joke.
He don’t complain.
He only says, “Yeah.”
Then I look up the stairs.
My sister is asleep in my clubhouse.
Maybe.
Probably.
God help anyone who tries to take her before I know for sure.
Sophie steps closer, her voice low enough only I hear.
“You believe her now?”