Marcus sat across from me, his phone in one hand and the photograph in the other. He had barely spoken since we left Chicago. That worried me more than any warning could have.
“What did you find?” I asked.
He looked at me through the dim light inside the car.
“Her address is in Cambridge. A small brownstone on Fairmont Street. She works three days a week at a family resource center near the river.”
“And the man?”
“Julian Hart. Thirty-eight. Pediatrician at St. Vincent’s Children’s Clinic.”
I stared at the rain.
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