“I’m grasping at straws. She doesn’t have any brothers or sisters. Said so herself. The only way it wouldn’t be hers is if it belonged to her sibling. Those are the facts.”
“I couldn’t find any record of Tara’s mother giving birth to another child.”
Tara’s mother? What about her father? Harder to track if he’d had any other children, but there were ways.
“Let’s try another tack.”
“What’s that?”
“Half-brothers or sisters on her father’s side.”
“Give me a few hours, and I’ll see what I can dig up. In the meantime, try not to say anything to her that you can’t take back.”
Tackle ended the call before I could tell him it was way too late for that.
The next morning, I re-wrapped the painting to return it to Agent Casavetti’s office. The door to the bedroom where Tara was sleeping hadn’t opened, and I doubted it would until after she was sure I’d left.
I thought about doing so without saying anything, but Tackle’s words replayed in my head. Instead of walking out the front door, I ran back upstairs.
“Tara?” I called out, knocking.
“What do you want, Knox?”
“I need to talk to you before I leave.” I tried the knob, but the door was locked.
“Hang on,” she said, opening it seconds later.
“Hi.” I wanted to reach out, pull her into my arms, and tell her I knew it had to be a mistake, that I’d been wrong last night. I even wanted to pretend none of it had happened. There hadn’t been a hair. Or even a painting recovered. That there hadn’t been a DNA match.
Her eyes were swollen from crying, and she looked like she hadn’t gotten any more sleep than I had. Behind her, I saw her bags were packed.
“I have to go into Florence, but when I get back, I’ll talk with Pia about you staying in the villa.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m going home. Back to America.”
I leaned against the doorjamb. “When did this come about?”
“I called Quinn last night. She’s making the arrangements with her dad today. I’m sure you’ll hear something directly from him.”
I turned to walk away but looked back at her. “Tara, can you tell me I’m wrong? Can you give me any explanation for why your hair was found in the painting?”
Her deep blue eyes flooded with tears, and she turned away from me. “I cannot.”
Once in the car, I checked the time. It was one in the morning in California. I’d likely hear from Doc later, after he made arrangements for Tara to travel back to the States. If he’d let me, I wanted to go with her. Even if she didn’t want me around, I’d be there. I’d stay quietly by her side, through whatever she faced. There was a good chance that if she gave up her father, she’d get a deal and not have to serve jail time. I had no doubt Doc would work hard on her behalf to see to it that it went down exactly that way.
Memories of my dad flashed in my mind. “Even if it seems insurmountable, we will always be there for you, Knox. We will always do everything in our power to help you get through whatever obstacles you face.”
I hated leaving Tara right now. So much that I thought about racing back upstairs, repeating my promise to help her, and taking her with me to Florence, just so I could have her in my sight.
I couldn’t do that, though. She didn’t trust me, not that she had reason to. Even if I swore I wasn’t taking her into custody, she wouldn’t buy it.
I started the engine, telling myself that the faster I got to Florence, the sooner I’d be back.
I was about to walk out of my meeting with Agent Casavetti when both of our cell phones rang. At the same time, someone ran toward us in the hallway.