Found
Aria
The photograph sat on Caden’s screen and neither of us said anything for a moment.
An old man in Florida. Alive. The doctor who had signed a false certificate eleven years ago, found within hours by someone who clearly had resources and motivation, and the message underneath made my stomach twist.
He wants to talk. But not for free.
“Who sent this,” I said.
Caden’s jaw was tight. “I don’t know the number. But I have a guess.”
“Romano.”
“Romano’s people. He’s not done.” Caden set the phone down and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand, and for the first time since I’d met him he looked something other than composed. He looked tired in a way that went past sleep, the kind of tired that comes from carrying something for eleven years and finding out today it was heavier
