"I want to make that go away."

"How?"

"That's why I'm hiring you."

"Damn, I was hoping this was a personal call."

She knew he was serious but trying to sound lighthearted.

"Well, you've seen the pictures. You know I'm with someone." She felt confident he'd kept his distance at the funeral because of Tucker.

"Not the kind of guy I ever pictured you with."

"Yeah, I know who you pictured me with." She smiled for the first time today, at him, and at the memories, most of which were good. "I need you to put your skills to work for me." She paused, closed her eyes, and mustered her strength. "I need your help, Dan."

She could hear his gears grinding and could envision the long-awaited satisfaction on his clean-shaven face, the delight in his brown eyes as he no doubt celebrated the fact she finally needed him for something.

"You want me to redirect the stories away from you? Dig up some dirt and aim it at your dickhead brother, is that it?"

They'd known each other a long time. Long enough that Dan Walsh had heard all about Parker James. But Parker wasn't the only one she had in her sights.

"That's part of it."

"What's the other part?"

"I need you to work your contacts on a cold case. I need it to get some airtime, copy space, any kind of coverage you can manage. The more, the better. I can supply you with information that should warm it up real fast. But I need you to be very careful who you talk to. Only use people you know you can trust, or it won't go anywhere; it'll only get buried deeper."

"Who is it?" he asked.

She remained silent as she considered the skeletons waiting in the plastic containers she'd left behind. The secrets and lies that'd been locked away by money and corruption. The horror that had always been within reach ... watching her, waiting to strike.

The heartache of the past had come full circle.

"Kat? Are you still there?" Dan asked.

"Rose Kelley." The whispered words hurt. "Queens. Jackson Heights."

"Okay. Who is she?" Kat didn't answer right away, too busy mulling over the possibilities, the strategy. "Kat, you can trust me. You're my client now. This stays between you and me. Christ, it would anyway, you have to know that. I'd never do anything that would hurt you."

She sat up straighter, rolled out the tension in her neck and shoulders. "I do trust you, Dan. That's why I called you."

"Then tell me what I'm doing here. Who is she?"

Kat thought carefully before answering, remembering her father's words, both spoken and written. His pleas to be careful, to be smart, to use the information as a shield and not a weapon. However, in the end, she trusted her own instincts more than his safety directives. Even beyond the grave, Henry James wanted to control the situation. And above all, he wanted to keep the tarnish off his family name.

She felt no such loyalty.

She had no such weakness.

"Kat ...?"

Decision made. The secret rolled off her tongue and slid past her lips with the cool conviction of a woman expecting justice. "Rose Kelley was my mother."

The door stood ajar as Kat neared her apartment. She inched it open and spotted Tucker on the sofa, his elbows pressed to his knees, hands clasped, knuckles tapping at his chin. His focus was directed at the floor. She'd texted to let him know she was on her way. She hated to admit it, but she'd kind of hoped he'd be asleep. It was already after midnight and she felt hollowed out. She didn't want to have this conversation yet. On the cab ride home, a part of her had even twisted with a bit of guilt over the fact that Dan had been the first person to hear the news, not Tucker. But it had to be done. She had to get him started right away.

Upon the click of the door closing, Tucker lifted his eyes to hers. Then he rose, approaching with a mix of doubt and anxiety on his tired face.

"Where the hell have you been, Kat?" She stood speechless, put off by his accusatory tone and the way he towered above her without her heels to lessen the disparity. His head cocked slightly. "You left before six o'clock this morning. Never did tell me where you were goin'. I get two text messages from you all damned day. That's it? With everything that's been going on, you don't think you should've checked in a little more? Let me know you were okay. You didn't have the time to even call?"

She skirted around him and chucked her bag on a chair. This had always been the part of relationships she'd sucked at. And she had a long track record to prove it-the whole couple paradigm, the we and us instead of I and me. The accountability had always tripped her up. The fact she'd texted him at all today had been a monumental improvement on her part.

"Really? You're just gonna walk away." His voice raised in ratcheting annoyance.

"I need to take a shower, Tucker." She didn't look back. "I need to wash this day off me."

She shut herself in the bathroom, stripped, and stepped into the shower without even letting the water warm up. The ice-cold spray pricked like needle points, scattering the jangle of noise and the cluster of images in her head, shoving them into the shadows and freeing her mind for a much needed moment of peace. The fresh reboot was precisely what she'd needed to focus on the here and now, to consider Tucker's words and acknowledge his right to be heard. To figure out how to give him what he needed, what he deserved, and what she wanted too. She knew how to be a partner in business. Now she needed to be a partner in this relationship.

The knowledge of the rocky road ahead, the confrontations and lawsuits to come, the loss of family-past and present, and the uncertainty of her future, all expanded in one overwhelming, heavy instant of panic and then contracted to a singular point.

She could get through all of this mess. She would get through all of it. And she wouldn't have to carry the burden alone. She had an anchor in the storm. And he'd already held tight in rough waters like these on his own, a long time ago.

Stronger together, his words echoed in her memory ...

Kat startled, heart skipped, when the shower curtain ripped open, metal hooks screeching across the curved rod, a gush of cool air colliding with the blanket of steam cocooning her. Tucker's eyes, cloudy with disappointment and set with determination, bore into hers. She faced him, hands clenched at her sides as she swallowed the knee-jerk reaction to yank back control of the flimsy divider and order him out.

"You're not single anymore, Kat. Stop actin' like you are." His bellow reverberated in the small tiled room.

Outrage burned at her cheeks. "I wondered when you'd start sounding like all the others. What else is on your list of things I need to change?" Her palms itched to push him out and to lock the door this time.

His amused chuckle caught her off guard, crumbled her wall of self-righteous indignation. Then his expression turned serious, jaw clenched.

"You wanna compare me to all the others, darlin'? Knock yourself out, because you and I both know I'd end up on top every damn time. Hell, I'm in a league all my own." He inched closer, never taking his guileless eyes off hers, those eyes that saw everything, no matter where she hid it. "And unlike all the others, I don't give up. And you don't get to walk away from me, sweetheart. Not. Me. You've shut me out ever since your father died. I know how tough that is, but it's more than that and we both know it."

When she didn't respond, his attention drifted above to the steamy spray of water, then trailed down the wall. "You take your shower." His focus lifted back to her. "Then you're telling me everything." Pronouncement made, he pulled the curtain closed and shut the door behind him.

Kat towel-dried her hair and slipped on her pajama shorts and tee. Tucker leaned against the kitchen counter, his back to her, arms crossed, head hanging. He'd made her coffee; she smelled the roasted brew before she'd even opened the bathroom door. Then his head tipped back, revealing the bottle at his lips. He emptied the liquid and tossed the glass in the recycle bin.

She headed toward him and he dragged his long legs back out of her path so she could pass. Her eyes flicked to the bin with all the empty beer bottles, evidence he'd had a pretty shitty day too. She grabbed a mug, poured her caffeine fix, and scolded herself for the way she'd behaved earlier. Both of them were under tremendous pressure. She needed to remind herself of that, often.

She took a straight shot tonight. Nothing to soften or sweeten it. Just bitter and black. In no time, the sludge in her brain melted away and she was back in business.

"Thank you for the coffee." Her apologetic face turned to meet his. "And I am sorry about earlier. The way I behaved, the things I said." Her eyes darted to the empty beer bottles. "We both had bad days."

He gripped her free hand and quietly led her into the living room where he angled himself in the corner of the sofa and waited for her to take her place wedged next to him. She pulled a velvety throw from the ottoman and covered them both. His arms tightened around her and she nestled against his neck. This was the best she'd felt all day.

"You want to tell me why you filled the bin with beer bottles today?"

He tipped her chin up, looked her square in the eyes. "No, I don't. I want to know about your day, and I don't care where you start. Just as long as you start." His fingers brushed across her cheek.

She swallowed the apprehension, pulled his lips to hers, then pressed her forehead to his. She nodded with a sigh of relief, or equivocation; she couldn't be sure. She pushed herself upright and slid down until her head rested on the back of the sofa, feet propped on the ottoman. She decided to start at the beginning, lay out the puzzle pieces before her, and then step back to look at the big picture.

"When I was at my father's bedside before he died, he said things that didn't make a lot of sense. Things he said I'd understand later." She chuckled, but there was no humor. "After the reading of his will and the whole tug of war that's caused, I thought that's what he must've meant when he told me my life was going to change. As if that wouldn't have been enough all by itself." She watched their silhouettes play in the hazy shadows on the blank TV screen across from them. Tucker had moved next to her, one hand on her arm, the other draped along the back of the couch, his fingers circling in her hair.

"Anyway, he told me about a key I needed to get from his study. He'd hidden it in the binding of a book. He gave me the name of a storage warehouse in Queens and a unit number." She paused, remembering the pulse of his breath next to her ear. "Told me what I'd find there would keep me safe. That I'd understand after I had time to sort through it. And no one but me should know where it was at."

A swell of muddled feelings ached deep in her chest. She threw off the cover and reached over to turn off the lone lamp in the already dim room. That's when the first tear fell. Kat traded her spot on the sofa for a view out the front windows. Only a moon sliver could be seen in the vast sky this night, stuck behind meandering clouds. Through the gauzy window coverings, she felt comfort in the sight of others sleepless and awake in the residences across the way and down below on the street. This city never slept, not soundly.

"What did you find, Kat?" His voice was subdued, uneasy.

She flipped his question over and over in her head, but no easy answer could be found. Just complications.

"Do you believe in fate, Tucker?" She pulled back the sheer fabric and searched the starless sky.

He watched her intently.

"I didn't used to."

The corner of her mouth curved up, long enough for him to catch sight of it. She abandoned the late-night skyline, shifted her focus to him. Instant recognition and mutual understanding fired between them, no words needed. Their connection was tangible, powerful.

"I didn't used to, either." Tucker pushed off the couch and approached her slowly. "But now it feels like the universe sent you to that bar to piss me off for a reason. Almost like everything happened the way it should have, the way it had to ..." Her face was shadowed with questions in desperate need of answers.

He brushed away a damp lock of hair. "Well, somebody had to save you from that pretty boy behind the bar." His lips were set tight, but the crease of his eyes hinted at a grin, and worry.

Kat grasped his hands, squeezed them, then backed away and rested against the wall. She eyed him with longing. "And myself. And what I might have done tonight, if you weren't here, right now."

He stepped closer. "What the hell did you find in that storage room, Kat?"

"Answers to questions I've always had, and others I didn't even know to ask." Tucker watched and waited. "I've always wondered why my mother seemed so distant. She's never been the warm fuzzy type, and glaringly so with me; that's what she paid the nannies for." On a derisive snort, her eyes drifted out the windows and back up into the inky sky. "No, I've never been her favorite, and now I know why."

His fingers raised her chin back to him. "What are you saying?"

"I'm not her daughter, Tucker." The admission visibly jolted him. "It's all in that shithole storage room. My original birth certificate with my real mother's name. My father's name conspicuously absent-unknown." Her bitter chuckle echoed around them. "He was more right about me than he ever knew. I am strong. A hell of a lot stronger than he ever was. He cowered under the pressure from his wife and father, and then used his money and power to cover up a scandal." She spat the words with hot disgust.

I loved her, but I couldn't destroy my whole world, Katie. In hindsight, I should have done exactly that, because her death shattered my world anyway. The journal entry stung in her memory.

"Where's your mother now, Kat? Does she still live in New York?"

Her wet, tormented eyes flicked to his. "Yes, she's here. Six feet under in a pauper's grave." A grim smile darkened her face. "How fortunate for the James family that Rose Kelley was alone in the world. Much easier to drop her into a hole and throw dirt on her without reporters nosing around." Kat bumped past Tucker and plopped down on the couch with a grunt.

"My father was a weak man. I never understood just how weak until today. He never should've sent me there. He didn't know me well enough to understand I would never keep quiet about this like he did. No fucking way.

"He thought he was protecting me. Knowledge is power, and all that." She snorted. "I plan on protecting myself, all right, while I bring my mother's murderer to justice."

Tucker's face fell further. He dropped to his knees in front of her. His hands cupped her face and drew her closer. "How do you know that, Kat?" he said, his misgivings thick in his throat.

"Police reports. Coroner's report. Newspaper clippings. My father's journal with his admission of guilt, by association." She paused. "And an extensive psych evaluation of the killer."

He gripped her tighter. "You know who the killer is?" His eyes widened with alarm.

"Yes. And I don't care whose world it destroys, I will make him pay for everything he's done. I will make them all pay."

Kyle sat across the table, fidgeting, clearly uncomfortable in her presence. He'd done nothing but pick at the takeout food she'd brought with her, and he'd barely said two words since she'd arrived. Kat looked around his stunning Tribeca loft. Masculine in its tone yet refined in its clean lines, midcentury furnishings, sculpted artwork, and bold prints.

"What's your problem, Kyle? You didn't want to meet in public, so I'm here at your invitation." She looked down at her plate. "I'm the only one who's eaten anything, and you obviously don't really want me here."

His eyes shot up. "That's not true! I've wanted to talk to you." He glanced away and pushed his plate off to the side.

"Could've fooled me. Most of my calls go to voicemail, and then when you do respond, it's a text. Why are you avoiding me?"

"Things are just tough right now, Kat, you know that. The family's understandably in an uproar over the will, and it all spills over at the office. The whispers, the stares. Everybody wondering what the hell is going to happen. It's madness, upheaval all around."

She placed her utensils on the plate and folded her arms. "What do you think should happen?"

His previously self-conscious demeanor relaxed in apparent relief, and his eyes lit with hope. "I think you should seriously consider disclaiming your ownership interest in the business. Keep the extra money, I don't care, but JAMESCO?" He scratched at his head, face twisted in doubt. "It doesn't make sense, Kat. Why did he do that?" He waited for an answer but she sat mute, looking at him as if he should already know the answer. "What did he say to you in the hospital before he died? Did you know about any of this in advance? Why was he so hell-bent on seeing you, hanging on just for you? That's how the nurses described it."

Kat would've laughed out loud if not for the sheer depth of disappointment. His loyalties shouldn't have come as a surprise, though. After all, Kyle was only doing what he'd been trained to do: represent his clients' interests.

"Is this a deposition, Kyle? Do I need to have an attorney present?" He looked genuinely offended, and guilty. "Our family has been terrific fodder for the tabloids lately, as you well know. I was particularly disappointed with a picture I saw recently." She paused. "You and Margo at the Met." His eyes dropped in shame. "How's Eric feel about that?"

"Leave it alone, Kat." He closed his eyes, tone threaded with regret.

"You're really going to allow yourself to be coerced by them? Why? Because you think it's easier? What happened to you and Eric moving to the West Coast?"

He slapped his hand on the glass tabletop, pushed up, and walked away, hands clasped at the back of his head. Kat followed on his heels, the despicable deceit perpetrated by Grant Collins and her family still fresh, painful, in her memory.

"What you're doing is wrong, Kyle. It's not fair to you or Margo. Does she know about Eric? Is she on-board with a loveless sham of a marriage?"

"I said I don't want to talk about it." His words were sharp, but she heard the subtle cord of anguish.

She could feel the stress wound tight around him.

"Fine. Let them run your life. Tell you when to invite me over. Coach you on what questions to ask me." Her impatience grew stronger. "Tell them I said they can all go to hell!" He winced. "For once in your life, Kyle, it would be nice if you picked my side."

He swung around to face her, his cheeks flushed with anger. "I've always been on your side!"

"Like hell you have! Oh, sure, in private where it's safe. But around them?" She shook her head. "I'm your favorite sideshow, Kyle. I always have been." She stepped closer. "You like to watch from a safe distance, because you don't have the guts to do it yourself! You're a fence-sitter, a benchwarmer! You've always lived vicariously through me. You fan the flames when no one's looking; cheer me on when no one's listening, because you're weak, and afraid to do it yourself! Because you're too scared to live the life you deserve! The life you should have!" Her finger poked at his chest, and her heart ached from having uttered all those terrible words, spoken with a harshness she'd never before directed at the one ally she'd been lucky to have her entire life.

The one person she was proud to call family.

The hurt on his face only compounded her torment. She wanted so badly to throw her arms around him and beg his forgiveness. But she had to save him, or at least try, if it wasn't already too late.

He backed away a few steps, stunned, and then turned his back to her, just as his eyes filled with a glossy sheen. He rocked on his heels, the city landscape sprawled in his view. He remained silent, stoic.

When he spoke, his words were distant. "What are you going to do?"

She moved closer to his side, but he continued to look straight ahead. So she joined him in his empty appraisal.