I looked at the date.
Three days earlier.
My heart began pounding.
“That’s impossible.”
“No,” my father said.
“It’s very possible.”
I turned the photograph over.
There was a handwritten note on the back.
Six words.
She didn’t come here for Aaron.
I stared at it.
My father watched me carefully.
“There’s one more thing.”
“What?”
He hesitated.
Then he said:
“Jasmine has been investigating you.”
A cold sensation traveled down my spine.
“Why?”
“We don’t know.”
“Then find out.”
“We already tried.”
“And?”
My father’s expression darkened.
“We discovered that Jasmine isn’t her real name.”
I froze.
“What?”
“She changed her identity seven years ago.”
“Why?”
“We don’t know.”
I looked back at the photograph.
For the first time, the woman who had taken my seat on the jet didn’t look like a foolish secretary trying to seduce my husband.
