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With everything as set in place as it can be, I sit on the edge of the bed and stare into space. Ralph sits on the floor near the doorway, unmoving in the silence. He must be waiting for her, too.

I don’t know what to do with myself. I thought the move would take longer than it did, and though I probably ought to be digging into Beni and his relationship with Joshua Taylor, I’m far too preoccupied with the whole photograph thing.

There’s nothing I can do but wonder until Alina is here to ask, so I try to push it to the back of my mind. Unfortunately, that only brings thoughts of Rinaldo to the forefront, which is even worse. I opt for television because I know sleep isn’t going to happen, but after twenty minutes of channel surfing, I turn it off.

With nothing else to occupy me, I start going over my mental list of Rinaldo’s tasks. The accounts he wants set up are all but complete. I just need to get access to the right people, and they’ll be done. Jonathan can handle that. He still thinks I’m looking into Felisa’s death, but there isn’t anything for me to actually investigate there. I may just turn that over to Paulie as a security issue and let him go kill off whoever he wants to nail with the deed. It’s not like he would ever figure it out anyway.

What else did Rinaldo want me to do?

“You should call him.” Ralph swings his legs at he sits on the kitchen island.

I narrow my eyes at him, trying to figure out just what he meant. Then I realize he isn’t making a suggestion—he’s reminding me of what Rinaldo said.

I pull up my laptop and do some minimal research. Jonathan has me connected to all kinds of skip-tracing databanks, and finding a phone number for Sebastian Stark isn’t difficult. Typing it into my phone and hitting send prove to be a little more challenging.

What do I say to him? Do I ask him how he’s doing first or just come right out and tell him we share a father? He doesn’t even know who his parents are. He may not even believe me. The last time we were together, we were ready to kill each other.

I sit on the couch with my finger hovering over the button for a good five minutes while I try to figure out what to say. Nothing good comes to mind, so I just hit the button and hold my breath.

“Yeah?” I recognize his voice when he answers. With my eyes closed, I respond.

“Hello, Bastian,” I say. “This is Evan Arden.”

“Fuck me,” he mutters. “Give me a sec.”

I can hear movement and muffled words on the other end of the line, then silence. A moment later, he speaks again.

“Why are you calling me?” He’s angry, and I’m not quite prepared for that.

“Just checking up on you,” I say. I shake my head at my own stupid words. I open a window, grab a smoke out of my duffel bag, and light it.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” he says. “You can’t be calling me. Someone will figure it all out.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” I say. “Seattle is in shambles. No one gives a shit about Franks anymore.”

“Someone might. We aren’t supposed to be taking any risks.”

“I…I have some information for you,” I tell him. I need to get him off his current line of thinking before he hangs up on me. “Something I thought you’d want to know.”

There’s a long pause before he tells me to go on.

“I have a guy who’s really good at research,” I say. “He did some checking into you, into your background.”

“Yeah? And?”

“And he found something I thought I should share. It has to do with your father.”

“My father? I don’t even know who the guy is.”

“I know who he is. Well, who he was.”

“Go on.”

“His name was Alexander Janez.”

“But he’s dead, is that what you’re telling me?”

“Yeah, he’s dead now. Buried in Ohio.”

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