He shook his head as if he were arguing with a teenager. “You just do what you want.”

Without hesitating, she said with pride, “I do what is right.”

He settled her on the gurney, pulled off her flip-flops, and covered her feet with a white cotton blanket. He kissed her on the forehead, his fingers gently brushing the butterfly bandage.

“I thought you were at the crime scene.”

“I was. I received a call from the forensic lab. The DNA results are in.”

He handed her the printouts and sat silently as she read them.

She looked up. “Our theory was right. Marissa and PJ share the same father as Macy and I.”

“Yes, you do. Look at the DNA results of Kathy Saunders compared to PJ.”

She flipped the page and read and then reread the results. “It’s a match.”

“Yeah.”

“I need to see PJ now.”

“You’re hardly in shape to do much.”

“I’m fine. And I need to know who would hurt those girls. I need to know what he might know or what Margaret might know.”

“Faith, you can’t.”

She shook her head. “Like you said, I don’t listen. So one way or another, Captain, I am going to the Slater house tonight, with or without a change of clothes.”

Hayden drove Faith to the gates of the Slater home. He was not happy about this scenario or the fact that she had insisted on going inside alone. “I’m giving you twenty minutes, and if you’re not out, I’m coming in.”

She touched the small wire that ran up her shirt to a tiny microphone. “I can handle PJ and Margaret. As far as we know, they both might not know the entire truth.”

“You don’t know who you’re dealing with. That’s why I’m here.” He kissed her on the lips, got out of the car, and moved to Brogan’s SUV, which was parked behind them.

She slid to the driver’s side, pulled up in front of the tall brick house next to the circular driveway, and put the car in park. The light from the dashboard illuminated the sharp angles on Hayden’s face.

“You’re sure about this?” he said.

“Very.” She straightened her sweater and smoothed her hands over her jeans, clothes Nancy had brought from her locker at the medical examiner’s office. She got out of the car, climbed the front steps, and rang the bell. Even though Hayden didn’t want her taking this chance, she had to. There was too much at stake now for her to simply sit on the sidelines.

She heard heels inside the house clicking against the floor she knew was white marble. The door opened to a petite blonde dressed in Chanel, who smiled the instant she saw Faith.

“Faith, how are you?” Margaret’s smile faded when she saw the bandage on her head. “Is everything all right?”

“I need to see PJ, Margaret. I have some questions for both of you.”

“Sure, of course. Come inside. PJ is in his study. I just opened a bottle of wine. Would you like a glass?”

“No, thank you.”

The older woman frowned. “You’re scaring me, Faith.”

Faith didn’t have the energy to allay her worries as they walked along the tiled foyer with glistening chandeliers overhead.

“You know where the study is, Faith. I can’t let you visit without coffee or something. I’ll be right back.”

Faith was almost glad to have Margaret out of the room while she had this conversation with PJ. She made her way to the study and past the portrait of Margaret holding PJ when he was less than a year old.

This house had belonged to Margaret and Peter, and PJ had moved out almost a decade ago. But after Peter’s death on the first of April, PJ had moved back home to be close to his mother, who he knew was having a hard time being alone.

Faith had always loved this house. It had been a second home to her growing up and most especially after her own mother died. When Peter had died, she’d also returned to the house for almost a week so that she could help Margaret.

She knocked on PJ’s office door. He glanced up from a stack of papers and rose immediately. “Faith, what brings you here on a Friday evening? Mom and I have had dinner, but we can certainly have the cook warm you up something.”

She hugged him, savoring the familiar scent of tobacco she remembered on his father. “You’ve found your father’s cigars.”

“Guilty. I inherited his taste for Cubans. Mother is not thrilled, but she turns a blind eye.”

Genetics was a powerful thing. She closed his study door. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

His grin faded. “Sounds serious.”

“It is.”

He offered her a seat on the leather settee, and when she sat, he took the chair adjacent to it. “What is going on?”

She shook her head, trying to make sense of it all.

“Did you hear about that FBI agent who was killed?”

“Was she killed? Mother heard at the hospital that she might have survived.”

Hayden had said keeping a lid on Macy’s status wouldn’t last forever. Faith moved closer to the edge of the settee. “She’s alive.”

“That’s good to know. What does that have to do with us?”

She reached for her cell and found the picture Macy had emailed her. “A picture is worth a thousand words.”

He studied the image and then looked back at her. “This is you.”

“No. It’s Macy Crow,” Faith said softly.

“Faith, this is you.”

“DNA just confirmed we are identical twins,” she said.

“There are two of you?” PJ pressed his fingers to his temple, rubbing them as his father had done when faced with a dilemma.

“I’m as blown away as you are.” She watched him closely, searching for any tells that would hint to lies. He was so much like his father, and she knew behind the easy smiles was a cunning, keen mind. “Have you found anything regarding my adoption?”

“Nothing more than the entries in your father’s datebook. What did you say the FBI agent’s name was?”

“Macy Crow.”

“Crow?”

“Do you know the name?” she asked.

“Captain Hayden asked me about Jack Crow. I had human resources look through the old personnel records, and we did use Crow for a few odd jobs in the mideighties. He was referred to us by Danny Garnet.”

“Do you know what kind of cases Crow was working?”

“Divorce cases mostly. He did surveillance and took pictures that we could use in court. He quit after six months. According to his exit interview, he said it wasn’t the kind of work he wanted to be doing.”

“Have you seen Crow in recent years?” Faith asked.

“I wouldn’t know the man if he walked in the room and shook my hand. And I’m still not sure how all this relates to me.”

As tempted as she was to tell him about the graves in the country, she hesitated. “Slater and McIntyre, specifically your father, represented three women between 1987 and 1990. Their crimes were petty, and soon after they were dismissed, they vanished.”

“I can’t help you. I wasn’t born.”

“But you could pull their client records, couldn’t you?”

“As I told the Rangers, I can, but I won’t. Attorney-client privilege.”

“For your own sake, you should.” She pulled the DNA printouts from her purse and handed him the first.

He read the results, and though he was young, he was proving himself to be a very savvy defense attorney who could pick up technical details quickly.

She pulled out the second sheet of paper. “Marissa Lewis lives in San Antonio and is adopted like me. As it turns out, we are half sisters.”

PJ frowned, and this time when he read the report, he made no comment.

She studied the last sheet before extending it to him. “I also have a half brother.”

He raised his chin but hesitated before he took the paper. This sheet he didn’t read as he had the others.

“You are my half brother,” she said. “According to a DNA test, we share the same father.” The quick DNA test had proved they were half siblings, and PJ’s DNA was not a match to Josie’s. Faith pictured Peter Slater, the portly man with a thick shock of gray hair and a smile that could light up a room.

“I never consented to giving a sample of my DNA.”

She would save this argument for the courts later. Now she just wanted him to hear the truth. “The three girls I mentioned were found in graves out in the country. They’d all been held against their will, and the Rangers believe they were forced to give birth to children before they were killed.”

He set the paper down and shook his head. “No. That’s not correct. My father might have had affairs, but he would never do anything so horrific. He wouldn’t.”

“We are already in the process of testing the mtDNA of these women against mine, Marissa’s, and yours. It’s not as quick a process, but mtDNA will prove or disprove if we are their offspring.”

He stood and shoved his hands in his pockets.

The door to the study opened, and Margaret appeared with a tea cart filled with cups, a fresh pot of coffee, and cookies. “What is going on in here? You two look so serious.”

“It’s nothing, Mother,” PJ said.

Margaret filled a cup and handed it to Faith and then filled another and handed it to PJ. “Faith, my son is overprotective. He thinks I’m fragile china and can’t handle hard news.”

“Margaret,” Faith said. Peter had always protected Margaret, and she’d been happy to live in his shadow and to dedicate herself to him and their son. “It brings me no pleasure to deliver this news.”

“I know, dear. You would never hurt anyone,” she said. She drank her coffee and watched as Faith took a sip of her own.

There was a sharpness in Margaret’s gaze that rivaled the intensity of her late husband’s and son’s. “Maybe I can help this along. Is this about the police officer at the hospital?” Margaret asked. “I know you’ve been visiting her.”