Because standing beside Adrian Prescott in a photograph taken almost three years before I met him was my husband.
Ethan.
I stared at the phone in my hand.
“Ethan?”
He did not answer.
“Why are you in a picture with Adrian?”
Nothing.
My pulse thundered.
“You told me you didn’t know him.”
Finally, Ethan spoke.
Very quietly.
“I told you I’d never met him.”
I looked again at the photograph.
“You’re standing five feet away from him.”
“That doesn’t mean we met.”
“What does that even mean?”
Daniel turned the photograph over.
There was writing on the back.
Only one sentence.
He read it silently.
Then handed it to me.
The handwriting was neat.
Almost elegant.
I read the message once.
Then again.
Ethan is not the reason you were brought to Houston. Ask Adrian who was supposed to be sitting in seat 14B.
My eyes lifted slowly.
Seat 14B.
