Crimson Threads

"Yes. I am," answered a calm, resonant baritone—Harrison Lancaster—pushing the door wide before crossing the threshold.

Sloane's gaze darted toward the older man striding toward her, then back at her brother.

The resemblance was uncanny—two profiles carved from the same marble, separated only by the fine lines that years had etched into Harrison's brow.

She had once thought that when Kieran reache