Claudia suspected her mother had said a whole lot more—the divorce from Wes had been in no small part because of her affair with Mac and Thorne’s subsequent birth—but she kept her thoughts to herself. Mac had done his own penance for getting mixed up with her mother and even for all the pain Livia had caused, Claudia knew with everything she was that he’d never trade his son, Thorne. Or the rest of them.
That fierce devotion had only increased—if it was even possible—when Wes had come back last month to exact his misplaced vengeance against Mac. Yet one more by-product of her mother’s hurtful choices.
“Mr. Mackenzie. Did Livia ever say anything to you about that time?” Hawk asked.
After sharing his suspicions about the Krupids’ daughter and her mother’s subsequent actions, Hawk had quieted as Mac recounted what he remembered of that time. It had only been the bombshell about her mother’s time in Europe—her extended time—that had made Claudia finally begin to see the possibilities in Hawk’s suspicions.
For all the gleaming temptation she’d felt at the idea of not being Livia Colton’s daughter, the increasing proof points were something else entirely.
Life just got real, as her brother River was fond of saying.
Very real, she amended.
Anxious to do something, she got up and went to the fridge, pulling out the canister of coffee that sat perpetually full on the bottom shelf. She washed out the dregs from the morning’s brew and started them on a fresh pot. Coffee might not solve the world’s problems, but she’d always suspected that armed with it she was a hell of a lot more prepared to handle what came her way.
The twin expressions of gratitude as she brought mugs, the sugar bowl and a fresh bottle of cream to the table only reinforced the thought.
“That’s my girl.” Mac patted her arm, his touch real and comforting as they both tried to process the truth.
“Tell me about this family, Mr. Huntley. The Krupids, you say?”
Once again, Claudia was struck by the innate kindness in Hawk’s voice and his deep respect for Mac. For all his deliberate purpose in pushing toward a conversation and a quick resolution, he seemed well aware of the tornado he’d unleashed into their lives.
“The Krupids are good people. Quiet people who’ve worked to make a life for themselves here in America.”
Mac stilled from where he doctored his coffee. “Why do you think this?”
“For starters, they were hesitant to come to me. They’ve never given up hope of finding their daughter, but they’d been scammed a few times in the past.”
“Too damned many people who are too quick to prey on others’ misery,” Mac said, his voice quiet.
“Yes, sir. That’s been my experience, as well.” Hawk finished stirring the cream into his mug and continued on. “Even with all their disillusionment, they’d saved more money and were determined to try once more to find some comfort in the loss of Annalise.”
“So why did you take on the case?” Mac asked. “Apart from it being your job. I suppose you have a choice on what cases you take on?”
“Yes, I do. And there was something about the photo of Annalise that captivated me. Something about her parents’ grief, as well. I work cold cases as a personal mission and I knew the moment I heard this one I needed to do something.”
Cold cases?
Was that what she was?
The thought struck with swift, heavy punches, the blows slamming into her with steady force. She’d spent her life as a Colton, yet there was a possibility to someone else—to an entirely different family—she was a mystery to be solved.
A well of pain and sadness that had never been filled.
Whatever had carried her through the morning—the vague sense of unreality at Hawk’s suspicions juxtaposed against the strange reality that had always been her life as a child of Livia Colton—vanished like smoke.
And all that remained was the very real and mounting evidence that her entire life had been a lie.
* * *
Claudia excused herself from the table and headed down the small hallway that speared off the kitchen. Hawk knew she needed space and Mac seemed to sense the same, as both men remained in their seats. Her footsteps faded as quiet filled the kitchen. Hawk took in the hard set of Mac’s features and his hunched shoulders and for the first moment since taking the case, felt shame. What had he done to this family?
He knew the pain of having your world destroyed, ripped away from you with nowhere to land. An unopened parachute of emotion that laid you out flat, killing the life you had and the world as you knew it.
And now he’d done that to these good people.
Whatever he may have imagined in his mind—or fabricated after reading the Everything’s Blogger site—he had to reframe and rethink. The Coltons he had met were good people. And Mac Mackenzie was one of them.
“I’ve brought this on all of you.”
That dark, enigmatic gaze stayed on his, not giving an inch. “Yes, you did.”
“I’m sorry for that. More sorry than I can say.”
That direct stare softened, but didn’t lose any of its power. “Were you serious about what you said? About the Krupids being good people who were given a bad deal.”
“Serious about every word. They just want closure and some sense of relief.”
Something Hawk understood with every fiber of his being.
“I believe you. You strike me as an honest man. The way you talked about that family. The way you look at my daughter.” Mac waved a finger. “And make no mistake about it, that woman is my daughter as sure as if she were born to me.”
“I know it, sir. I can see that.”
“Then answer me something. Why is this case so important to you? There’s a fire in you. I saw it outside when you recounted the story of this young woman’s life. This poor Annalise.”
“I want to make it right.”
“Why? Lots better ways to make a living than hunting down trails that have gone cold. In fact, I’d imagine it’s the worst sort of job for an honest PI trying to make a living.”
“You’re right. And I do take the hot ones that close faster, too.”
“So tell me why. I’ll grant you, the Krupid family deserves answers. I even understand they deserve those answers, whether or not it hurts my family in the process. But you owe me the truth.”
Whatever he was—whatever had brought him to this moment—depended on his honesty. And his willingness to open up. Claudia Colton deserved that.
And so did the people who loved her.
Hawk knew it as surely as he knew he’d been living like a ghost for the past four years. Knew it equally as surely as the fact that he’d felt some sense—some stirring, really—the moment he’d seen Claudia’s photo on that damnable blog post.
“I lost my wife four years ago. She was kidnapped and murdered, then abandoned in a field in a big suburb outside of Houston.”
The words were scratchy—raw—and rarely spoken, but it didn’t make them any less true.
“No one should have to live with that or lose their loved one that way. There’s a sadness in me for your wife, Mr. Huntley. For you, too. A true, deep sadness.”
“Thank you.” He believed Mac, saw the sincerity in the quiet, grooved lines of the man’s face. “I’ve never found who did it. I was on the force at the time and the police worked long and hard, but every lead they pursued went cold.