CHAPTER ONE
The moment she spotted the little girl, her blood pumped faster through her veins. Even from a distance, she could see similarities to Molly. Fair skinned with a small, upturned nose. The blonde curls framing the girl’s face reflected the last bit of daylight as the sun began its descent. Judging by height, she guessed the child to be nine or ten. She was perfect.
And she was alone.
Glancing in the rearview mirror, she turned the key in the ignition and merged onto the street. It was 6:00 p.m. on Sunday. Summertime. Dinnertime for many.
People might be surprised to know how many kids played alone at the park after school and on weekends. Never in a million years would she have dared let Molly play anywhere other than within the safety of their backyard. Even then, she always made sure to keep a vigilant eye on the child.
Kids disappeared all the time in front of their homes, at bus stops, and right off noisy streets bustling with people.
It didn’t matter how many times it happened. Most people didn’t take in their surroundings and pay attention. She’d done her homework, and there were reportedly 115 stranger abduction cases in the United States every year. Most victims were never found.
People tended to be complacent. They let kids walk alone, to and from school, without batting an eye. The notion boggled the mind.
Two blocks ahead, she pulled to the curb, the tire rubbing against the concrete before she stopped and turned off the engine. She’d rehearsed so often that it took little thought to get her plan rolling. In two seconds, she’d slipped her left arm, already covered in a fake plaster cast, into the sling hanging from her neck. She grabbed the syringe from the middle console, then climbed out and walked with an exaggerated limp to the back of her SUV, where she opened the compartment. Before setting out for the day, she had folded the rear seats to give herself plenty of room for crutches—just in case the sling didn’t work—boxes, and little girls.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw the girl watching her.
Perfect.
She used her right arm to reach for a couple of boxes and pretended to accidentally drop them, setting her plan in motion just as someone called out the name “Krissy.”
Frozen in place, she prayed the little girl wasn’t Krissy.
The second time the woman, who was quickly approaching, called the girl’s name, the child stepped out of the shadow of the trees. “I’m over here, Mom.”
Motionless, she released a long sigh.
“What are you doing?” the mother asked the girl, her voice shrill. “You gave me and your father a scare.”
“You said I could go to the park,” the girl answered.
“I told you to be back in forty-five minutes. It’s been an hour and a half since you left the house.”
Krissy’s head bowed. “Sorry.”
“Tell that to your father. He’s on his way to Beth’s house to see if you went there without asking permission. Come on,” the mother said with a huff. “We’ll call him in the car.”
“I need to help that lady first.” The girl left her mom’s side and came running over to help. She picked up both boxes and handed them over, one at a time.
A sparkle in the girl’s pretty blue eyes caused a lump to catch in her throat. “Thank you.”
Krissy’s smile revealed a row of small, flawless teeth before she ran back to her mother.
She watched the woman usher Krissy away. It took everything she had not to drop to her knees in despair. The girl was perfect in every way.
An idea struck her. She would follow them home and see where Krissy lived. She tossed the boxes inside and shut the compartment door before making her way back to the driver’s seat.
Through the rearview mirror she watched mom and daughter climb into a white minivan and pull away. She counted to five before merging onto the street, careful to stay a good distance behind them. A right on Oak Street and a left on Hickory brought them to a blue, two-story home with white trim. The newest house on the block. Her frustration mounted at the thought of returning tomorrow and the next day and the day after that. What would be the point? The mother’s worry had been clear. For the next few weeks Krissy’s parents would undoubtedly hover over her, not allowing her out of their sight.
I can’t wait that long, she thought as she drove past.
It had taken months to work up the courage to begin yet another search for the perfect child to fill the gaping hole in her heart after losing Molly.
It was time for her daughter to come home, where she belonged.
As she approached a stop sign, ready to head home for dinner and try again tomorrow, her heart jumped to her throat when she spotted another young girl, maybe a year or two older than Krissy.
The girl was sitting on the bottom step outside a brick building, her nose buried in a book on her lap. One thick braid fell over a slender shoulder. The girl lifted her chin. Their eyes met.
Her heart nearly stopped. She was the one. The girl’s small shoulders slumped forward again, and she went back to reading.
Stay calm. Breathe. Stick with the plan.
She clicked off the radio and stopped at the stop sign, counted to three, then made a left and pulled to the side of the road. Only a few feet away from the brick building where the little girl was sitting, she shut off the engine and repeated everything she’d practiced: Cast in sling. Syringe in place. Get out of the car. Open the trunk. Drop the boxes. Grimace and groan.
It wasn’t until she bent over that she took note of the apartment building to her left. Not good. Her heart beat faster.
Struggling to pick up the box, she gasped when a small hand shot out and grabbed the package for her.
She hadn’t seen or heard the girl approach. But here she was, book put away, backpack strapped over her shoulders, helping a stranger.
“Oh, my,” she said, feigning surprise. “I didn’t see you there. Thank you so much.”
The girl placed the box inside the back of her car, then eyed the crutches and asked, “Do you need help carrying these someplace?”
A car drove by.
She swallowed. “You, my dear, are an angel. If you could help me take these to that brick building over there, that would be lovely.”
The girl’s eyes widened. “Are these packages for Mr. Brennan?”
Her eyes were green, not blue. Her hair was dirty blonde. Not bright yellow like Molly’s, or even Krissy’s, but still shiny and pretty. She realized the child was waiting for her to answer the question. “Um—why yes, they are! Do you know Mr. Brennan?”
“He’s my music teacher.”
“Such a small world.” You’re taking too long, she inwardly scolded. Get things rolling. People could be watching. She looked toward the apartment building across the street. With its aged concrete and peeling paint it looked as if it might have been abandoned. “I have one more box,” she told the girl, “but it’s heavier than these.” She pointed into the compartment where she’d folded the rear seats and had left a box as far away as possible for just this purpose. It was too far to reach without climbing inside.
The girl hesitated just the slightest before using her right knee to propel herself upward and inside.
Adrenaline pumping, she grabbed the syringe and jabbed the needle into the girl’s thigh. It helped that the child was wearing a summer dress.