Page 54 of The Secrets We Share

“I’ve got this. I know it might not seem like it after, well, after that panic attack, but I can handle this.”

“I know you can.” His lips press into my forehead, instilling confidence deep within me.

“I’ll have James meet us there. He won’t get involved unless he’s needed.”

Hopping up from his lap, I spin around, hand held out to help him off the floor. “Great, we’ll leave in ten.”

The traffic creates a steady hum,twisted in the slap of footsteps against the sidewalk. We stand out of the flow of foot traffic, scoping out the four-story apartment building across the street. There’s nothing special about it; it’s a nondescript building squished between two others just the same.

“You’re sure this is the one?” I ask Harkin.

He’s leaning against the building with me, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. “It’s what all our intel led to. It also houses the camera I was able to hack, which unveiled your mom. James sent his guy here to stake out the place and confirm it was her. That’s where the other photos came from.”

My fingers trace the edges of the knife tucked into my pocket. The familiar shape steadies my nerves. I kick off the wall and step onto the road, looking for traffic before darting across to the other side, Harkin close on my heels.

“It’s the door to the left.”

When I reach for the handle and pull it, nothing happens. The dumb thing is locked. I should have expected it, but my brain’s focused on stepping over the threshold.

Meanwhile, Harkin’s got his fingers on the call board, pressing each button to page the entire building. Many ignore the call, but when someone answers, he quickly responds.

“I’ve got a food delivery. Can you buzz me in?”

The person on the other end must be expecting something or doesn’t care about letting random people into the building. A half-dead buzzing sound comes, then the click of the front door unlatching. I quickly reach for the handle again, and this time, the door pulls free, and we step inside.

It’s marginally nicer than the apartment building I was living in. I freeze when the door latches again behind us, realizing I have no clue where to go from here.

“Now what?” I ask Harkin, hoping there’s still something he’s been leaving out.

He nods down the entrance-level hallway. It’s short, only going back enough for one or two apartments. “We start down here and make our way up. I told you I couldn’t locate him in the building, but with some dumb luck, maybe your mom opens the door to one of these.”

“You think New Yorkers are going to open their doors to a couple of strangers on their doorstep.”

Pulling a badge from his inside jacket pocket, he holds it up for me to infer his plan.

“Impersonating a police officer?”

“Look closer.”

The badge is a random crest, but the title ofInspectoris big enough for anyone to read through the peephole. “I don’t think that’s any better.”

“Desperate times, sweetness. Do you have a better idea?”

I think about it and I’m sure if I’d had the forethought, I could have come up with something. But it’s too late. We’re already standing in the hallway, wasting precious time.

“Fine,” I agree and knock on the first door.

When we hit the third-floor landing, the wind’s gone from my sails. It’s two in the afternoon in the middle of the week. Most of the knocks went unanswered, but the few people we managed to pull to the door were annoyed by the interruption to their day. When we showed my mother’s picture, they all quickly shut the door in our faces. It’s the only reason I’ve kept going.

“She has to be here,” I whisper under my breath, knocking on the first door in the hallway.

It’s the same as all the rest until we reach the second to last door. This time, when we get someone to come to the door, a stout older woman looks us up and down.

“There’s no soliciting in this building.” Her thick Irish accent sparks a glimmer of hope in my chest.

“We’re not selling anything. I’m just looking for the woman in this picture.”

I pull the photo I’ve been carrying around all day to show her. She takes it into her sun-speckled, saggy hands. Her gaze darts from the photo, over its edge, up to me. Her eyes squint as if scrutinizing me and drawing a decision.

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