Three little girls in Central Park recognized the tattoo on my arm—when they said their last name, a seven-year secret I was never meant to uncover came to light

”

I stood up from the bench, unsettled by the fear in her expression.

“They didn’t do anything wrong. I only asked—”

“We need to go.”

Her tone was firm, but there was a tremor underneath it.

As she led the girls away, the one called Maeve glanced back at me. Gray eyes, bright, thoughtful.

I’d seen those eyes before.

A black SUV waited at the curb, windows continue reading …