Since then, I had never seen that symbol on anyone else.
“What’s your mother’s name?” I asked gently.
Before the girls could answer, a nanny dressed in an elegant gray suit hurried toward us.
“Regina… Lucy… Valerie…”
There was unmistakable concern in her voice.
“Come with me, please.”
Then she turned to me with a polite smile.
“I’m sorry for interrupting.”
“No trouble at all,” I replied. “We were just talking.”
But she seemed eager to leave.
“Mrs. Montgomery is waiting for us.”
That last name immediately caught my attention.
Montgomery.
A well-known name in New York.
As she led the girls toward an elegant black SUV parked nearby, fragments of that night in Seattle began coming back to me.
Camila had always avoided talking about her personal life.
She often received phone calls she refused to answer.
She wore simple clothes, but they were clearly of exceptional quality.
She always seemed to be hiding something.
A few moments later, the SUV doors closed.
