His light chocolate eyes said more than words could ever convey.

Responsibility is the price of freedom.

—Elbert Hubbard

“IT DOESN’T MAKE sense. How could anyone know?” Taylor whispered to Phil.

He shook his head. “How did they know about the restaurant? I bagged these cards, just like the other one. The FBI will have them analyzed. All that matters is that the private viewing box is now clean. You stay with them in there, and I’ll stay outside the door.”

Taylor nodded. As the Rawlings family approached, she looked once again toward Phil. His headshake was almost indecipherable, but she saw it. With his unspoken statement, Taylor knew that telling Mr. or Mrs. Rawlings about the cards that had been left in Nichol and Claire’s seat should and would wait until after the play.

NICHOL’S EXCITEMENT WAS contagious as she bounced beside her mother. Her little patent-leather shoes danced with anticipation, as her eyes widened and took in all the grandeur of the Broadway theater. “Look, Momma, look, Daddy, I see the music intruments!”

Claire smiled at Tony and back at Nichol. “In-stru-ments. Yes, honey, that’s the orchestra. See the man with the wand in his hand?”

Nichol turned in amazement. “Like a magic one?”

“No, princess.” Tony’s words came through booming laughter.

“He’s the conductor,” Claire explained. “He’ll tell the orchestra when to play the music. And when he does, he’ll move the wand.”

“I want to hear them.” She turned toward Tony. “Daddy, make them start now.”

Apparently Nichol believed there was no limit to her father’s abilities.

“I could, princess.” Tony replied.

Claire shook her head. Maybe Tony wasn’t aware of his boundaries either.

Tony continued, “But see all the people who aren’t in their seats yet? If I had the orchestra start playing, they’d miss the opening act.”

Nichol pressed her lips together and wrinkled her forehead. “Then they should have gotten here sooner, like us.”

“Yes, my princess, they should have.”

Trying to distract their daughter, Claire said, “Honey, why don’t you tell your daddy about our trip to the museum yesterday?”

Her brown eyes opened wide. “I lost Sophie!”

Tony reached for her doll and handed it to his daughter. “No, you didn’t. Here she is.”

“No, Daddy, I did lost her at the maseum. She was gone! Mr. Phil found her on a bench. I didn’t mean to get her lost.”

Claire put her arm around Nichol. “It’s all right. You have her back, and yes, Mr. Phil was quite the hero. Just like the time we accidentally left her at that ice cream shop in Iowa City a few weeks ago.”

Their daughter’s dark eyes narrowed. “I didn’t lost her at the ice cream shop. She was hiding.”

Claire rubbed Nichol’s shoulder. “It’s all right. We found her there, and Mr. Phil found her yesterday.”

Nichol smiled back at Taylor. “And Miss Taylor too.”

“I’m glad you had all that help,” Tony replied. “Sophie sure has a pretty dress. It looks just like yours!”

“Mommy did that. We have matching shoes, too. See.” Nichol lifted her shoes near the doll’s feet.

“I don’t think I’ve asked you: how did you come up with that pretty name?”

“I named her for the lady who painted the pretty picture of Momma, the one of Momma in her beautiful princess dress.”

“You did?” Claire asked.

“Yep,” Nichol said. “I like her name, and she painted good. You look pretty in that picture.”

Claire’s eyes met Tony’s, seeing a hint of sadness swirl below the surface. “You’re right, princess,” he said. “She did do a good job, and your mommy looked even prettier in real life than she does in that painting.”

The theater darkened and the music began. It wasn’t until Tony had had the chance to speak with Phil during intermission that Claire noticed his change in demeanor. When he looked her way, she silently questioned him. He only shook his head and mouthed, “Later.”

Once they were back in the limousine after the show, the pieces of the puzzle began to slide into place. As Nichol snuggled against Claire’s side and watched the lights through the window, Tony said, “We’re going home tomorrow morning.”

Lowering her voice, Claire replied, “Why? What happened?”

Shaking his head, he looked down at Nichol.

“But something happened, didn’t it?” she whispered.

Tony pulled out his phone and opened up the camera application. Silently, he handed it to his wife. Adjusting her eyes to the small screen, Claire looked down at the image. The picture was of a plastic bag with an envelope with the name Nichol Rawlings printed on the outside. Claire’s forehead furrowed.

“Swipe the screen,” Tony commanded. Claire did. The next was a picture of a similar bag containing a similar envelope with the name Claire Rawlings on the outside.

“Where were these?” Claire asked, keeping her tone low.

“On our seats in the private box.”

“On our seats?” she questioned, trying unsuccessfully to speak quietly. “But we just made these reservations.”

“Roach is running leads. The reservations weren’t in our name.”

Claire looked closer at the screen and enlarged the image. “They’re different, more like the recent I’ll save you messages. The names are handwritten and it says Rawlings, not Rawls.”