Chapter 2 - Caleb Price
Roman’s entire body became still.
Not tense.
Still.
The distinction frightened me more.
“What was his last name?”
“Price.”
Roman studied Lily.
Her light-brown curls.
Her small nose.
Her stubborn little mouth.
Then her clenched fist.
“My brother’s name was Caleb Callahan.”
I stopped breathing.
“That’s impossible.”
“Why?”
“Because Caleb Price fixed engines.”
Roman’s eyes remained on Lily.
“My brother could rebuild an engine blindfolded.”
I stared at him.
The Caleb I had loved wore grease beneath his fingernails and bought coffee from the cheapest diner in Pilsen. He hated expensive restaurants. He drove an old pickup with a heater that only worked when kicked beneath the dashboard.
He had never mentioned a brother named Roman.
He had never mentioned Callahan.
When I told him I was pregnant, Caleb cried.
Two weeks later, he vanished.
His apartment had been emptied.
His phone disconnected.
His garage manager claimed he had quit.
For eighteen months, I had hated him for abandoning us.
Roman gently transferred Lily into my arms.
Then he stood.
“Stay here.”
He crossed to a painting and removed it.
Behind it was a wall safe.
“What are you doing?”
“Finding out whether my brother lied to you.”
He entered a code.
“Or whether someone lied to both of us.”
The safe opened.
Inside were cash bundles, two pistols, several drives, and a sealed black folder.
CALLAHAN — CALEB.
Roman carried it to the desk.
Before he could break the seal, someone tried the office door.
Locked.
“Roman?”
A man’s voice.
Roman’s jaw tightened.
“Who is that?” I whispered.
“My uncle.”
Vincent Callahan entered seconds later.
Silver hair.
Charcoal suit.
Controlled smile.
Then he saw Lily.
The smile disappeared.
His eyes moved from her to me.
Then to the black folder.
“What is that child doing here?”
Roman didn’t answer.
Vincent stared at Lily again.
For half a second, something flashed across his face.
Recognition.
Fear.
Roman saw it too.
“She says Lily’s father was Caleb Price.”
Vincent’s right hand twitched.
“Caleb is dead.”
Roman slowly stood.
“You told me he was dead.”
Silence.
Roman tore open the folder.
The first photograph showed a younger man beside a black sedan.
I grabbed the desk.
“That’s him.”
Caleb.
My Caleb.
Same crooked smile.
Same scar above his eyebrow.
Same silver watch I had given him.
Roman turned the photograph over.
A date was stamped across the back.
Six weeks earlier.
My knees nearly failed.
Below the date was the name of a private recovery facility.
And an authorization signature.
Vincent Callahan.
Roman lifted his eyes.
His uncle had gone white.
Roman pressed the intercom.
“Lock every exit.”
Vincent’s expression hardened.
“Roman, think carefully.”
“I am.”
Then Lily woke in my arms.
She looked at Vincent.
Raised one tiny hand.
And whispered:
May you like
“Papa.”
Nobody moved.
