From where I sat on the small balcony our room boasted, I could see Joelle swimming laps.

As one day slid into two, and we hadn’t gotten caught, my sister began to relax.

Me, on the other hand?

I’d done the exact opposite.

I was wound up tighter than I’d ever been in my life. I couldn’t stop thinking about Kian. I couldn’t stop thinking about the picture I still kept tucked away inside my pocket. Nicco and Catherine. Part of me still didn’t want to think about who Nicco likely was, but at the same time, how could I not?

I had his address memorized by now.

It was like a neon sign flashing in my mind, replacing that old, worn down sign that had flashed in the window of the house I shared with Papa. Instead of Open, Open, Open, this sign buzzed, Nicco, Nicco, Nicco.

I had to find out who he was.

For sure.

I had to talk to him.

But Monterey was several hours from here, and I couldn’t leave Joelle alone. At the same time, I didn’t want to take her with me and tell her what was going on, get her hopes up only to see them dashed again.

Some part of me wasn’t willing to trust the idea of family anyway.

How could I?

My idea of family was a father who taught his daughter how to use tarot cards to con an old lady or to convince some widow that her husband was talking to her from beyond the grave.

Some family values.

As Joelle flipped to begin another lap, I made a decision. When she glanced up my way the next time, I gestured for her to get out. I waited until I saw her slip inside the hotel before I left the balcony, then I hurried inside to change.

Joelle and I were going for a drive.

The drive to Monterey became more beautiful the closer we got to the coast. The area became more rugged and hilly, fields of rolling green all around us.

Joelle all but bounced in her seat in her enthusiasm.

“So why are we going to Monterey? Can we go shopping? I want to go to Cannery Row. Is it still called Cannery Row?” she asked. One question after another tumbled from her and she didn’t even give me time to answer before the next one was hanging in the air.

It was a good thing, because I really didn’t have a whole lot of answers for her.

Except…

“No, we aren’t going shopping,” I told her. “We have to watch our money.”

“Are we thinking about moving to Monterey?” she asked. “It’s pretty far from LA, and I bet Papa would never think to look for us there. Oh! I bet you could sell some of your art there. It’s an artsy sort of town from what I’ve heard.”

I wish. I kept the comment back behind my teeth.

“No, we’re not staying in Monterey,” I told her. “I’ve got to talk to somebody.” Sliding her a sidelong look, I added, “Alone. Once we get there, you’re going to drive around a little bit and wait for me to call you. Once I do, you come get me, and we head back to the hotel.”

Joelle pouted, but it faded fast. She’d had her license for almost six months but rarely was able to drive. She’d taken driver’s ed at school. Surprisingly, Papa had allowed it, but we both figured out later it was because he liked to be prepared. It had nothing to do with allowing her to have some form of independence. But he’d done it anyway.

“Why can’t I go with you?” she asked.

“Because I need to see somebody privately,” I told her.

She made a face at me, but let it go at that. “How long do you think it takes?”

“Not very.” I doubted I’d want to stay long no matter what I found out. And if he is who you think he is and he’s happy to see you…what then?

I had no idea, but I’d cross that bridge when I came to it.

“And you aren’t to stop,” I reminded my sister.

“I know.” She had her hands on the wheel and smiled sweetly at me.

“If you think somebody is following you, you go where?” I gave her a hard look.

She rolled her eyes. “I’ll google the police station on my phone and drive straight there, tell them that I’m from a Rom clan and that I’m only sixteen and that my father thinks it’s A-OK for me to get married to some old guy in his forties even though I don’t want to.”

She delivered the comment with such dramatics, I almost smiled. Biting it back, I said, “You promise you will, right?”

The teenage drama queen faded quietly out of sight at my persistence, and she nodded, tightening her hands on the steering wheel. “I hate to think of leaving you, but I don’t want to marry Ephraim, Suri,” she whispered, and she looked at me with scared eyes.

“I don’t blame you.” Ducking into the car, I kissed her cheek. “I wouldn’t marry him if he was the last toad available.”

She snickered. “Okay. Let’s get this show going. I’ll be back in forty-five minutes.”

“Sooner, if you get nervous,” I reminded her.

Once she was driving away in the opposite direction, I turned and started up the sidewalk.

All around me, fancy houses towered into the sky, making me wonder just how one Catherine Alexander had turned her luck around so completely.

I wanted to know the secret.

If she could do it, so could I.

I found the house with relative ease and walked right up to it, as if I had every right to. Once I reached the front door, some of my bravado tried to fail me, but I didn’t let it. Knocking briskly, I stepped back and shoved my hands into my pockets.

It was show time, right?

I pasted a polite smile on my face as I waited for an answer.

Ten seconds passed.

Twenty.

I knocked again.

Another ten seconds.

Twenty…

Just as I was getting ready to knock a third time, the door swung open.

The man who answered the door stared at me with curiosity in his eyes. Blue-gray eyes, I noticed. And hair as black as mine. His skin was the same olive tone too.

A faint, questioning smile curled his lips. “Can I help you?”

He had a deep voice, the kind that would sound amazing if he sang – assuming he could.

Gypsies love to sing, I thought weakly.

But I wasn’t sure yet if he was one of us. Maybe he didn’t even see himself as one of us – they’d run away, after all. And he’d been young.

“I…um…hello. I’m looking for Nicco Alexander,” I finally stammered out. I didn’t know why I bothered to say that. I was staring right at him.

The faint smile on his face widened a little. “You’ve found him. Can I help you?”

Every single practiced, rehearsed line fled from my mind. I couldn’t remember what I was going to say to him for the life of me. As he continued to stand there, probably thinking I was an idiot – or crazy – I floundered. Finally, I shoved a hand into my pocket and pulled out the picture. I hadn’t been able to let it out of my sight even once since I’d found it.

Shoving it up toward him, I said, “Is this you?”

Nicco’s gaze flicked from me to the picture, then back. After a long moment, he looked back at the picture and reached out, taking it carefully from me.

His eyes studied it, and I studied him.

He was a good-looking man. The lines of his jaw and chin were familiar, but I didn’t know if it was because he reminded me of Gabriel…or myself. His hair was almost to his shoulders, straight and black and shiny.

I’d always wanted straight hair.

“Where did you get this?” he asked, voice nearly a whisper.

“It was in my father’s house,” I told him.

His eyes lifted slowly to mine, and I had the weirdest feeling he was seeing me all over again. His eyes roamed over my face, moved to my hair then back, staring at me as though he was trying to see clear through me. “Your father,” he said quietly.

“Yes. Gabriel Marks. Why was this picture in my father’s house?” I demanded.

Nicco Alexander closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Wide shoulders rose and fell on that heavy breath, then he looked back at me. “My father’s name is also Gabriel Marks. And this picture…” He flipped it around and tapped the image of the small boy. “It’s my mother…and me.”