Finally, after wearing a layer or two off my oriental rug, the notification on my phone pings showing the email has arrived.
I stride through the large penthouse down to my office and dive into my chair, tugging it up to the desk. Then grip the mouse and click...open.
Dear Mr. Stone,
Blah blah blah official stuff, blah, blah. The results show that there is a zero percent probability of being a blood relative.
Thank fuck!
The breath I’d been holding for weeks releases from my body in one loud sigh.
“Fucking hell.” I flop back against the leather of my chair.
Aurora is not my sister.
I let that sink in and feel the guilt and fear of burning in hell fall away.
“Deals off, sorry guys.” I glance skyward.
Then my mind drifts to Aurora. She’ll be waiting for me to call. Confused about why I left her so quickly while she was grieving her mother.
The door is still open to gain her trust and her mother’s information
I grab my phone.
It’s the end of the day. Aurora will be home soon. I message Durran and tell him to bring the car around and tell him we are heading to Hell’s Kitchen.
FORTY MINUTES LATER, because traffic, I’m standing outside Aurora’s apartment waiting for her to answer.
I knock a third time.
“Aurora.” I call out. “It’s Parker.”
A door across the hall opens. “Buddy, she moved out days ago.”
What?
“Moved out to where?”
“I don’t know,” the guy wearing pajama pants and holding a bowl of something in his hands says. “Do I look like her mother?”
Then he slams the door.
I glance around the hall, waiting for someone else to open their door who might have information.
Aurora has moved out...oh, wait a minute. This is perfect.
I know exactly where she is.
At least, I think so.
I walk back to the elevators, then freeze. I go back to her door, try the handle and it opens.
Thank fuck. I really didn’t want to hurt my shoulder.
Stepping in, I see remnants of her life and a pile of canvases leaning against the wall. The one she had hung is gone, but I hadn’t seen these.
I don’t know what made me think of it, but I did. Aurora wouldn’t have had the funds to hire movers, and I figured that her paintings wouldn’t have fit in a cab.