“Daniel is on his way up to the house.”

I reached into my apron pocket and felt the rough edge of the paper I had just hidden.

I pulled it out and held it toward him, the white sheet trembling slightly between my fingers.

“You need to see this,” I said.

He took the paper, his eyes scanning the hurried handwriting under the dim nursery light.

His gaze locked on the telephone number written inside the blue ink envelope flap.

“Where did you find this, Grace?”

“In the hidden panel behind the diaper changing table,” I said.

“Claire must have left it there before she went to the hospital.”

Ethan looked from the paper to the silent hallway outside the nursery door.

The headlights of a car swept across the heavy curtains, painting bright white lines across the ceiling.

We heard the front door open downstairs, followed by heavy footsteps on the marble stairs.

“Hide the paper,” Ethan muttered, his face hardening as he turned toward the doorway.

Daniel Pierce stepped into the room, wearing a tailored wool coat damp from the cold Chicago rain.