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  She knew, in that moment, that he was the one.

  Brett wasn’t so sure—not after reading the file that came with the photo.

  “This kid has serious problems, Elsa.”

  “They all do.”

  “Not like this.”

  “He needs us, Brett. Please.”

  To this day, she marvels that her husband agreed to try foster parenting in the first place, after years of infertility and failed adoption efforts. That he was willing to reach out to a troubled kid like Jeremy is even more surprising.

  “I’m game if you are,” he said, and she made the call immediately, before he could change his mind.

  The rest of the photos in the first album were taken after Jeremy came to live with them.

  There he is in his new bedroom, outfitted with bunk beds for future sleepovers with friends he would never make. There he is on his swing set, with the teeter-totter that only Elsa ever shared with him. There he is as a Cub Scout, and a Little Leaguer—always standing away from the other children, never a part of the group.

  There he is dressed as a Pilgrim for the Thanksgiving pageant and as a monster for Halloween.

  He was supposed to be a clown that year, Elsa recalls. She sewed him an adorable ruffled costume out of bright gingham patchwork fabric. He hated it.

  “I want to be a bad guy!”

  Jeremy threw a violent tantrum, and she gave in.

  That was the usual pattern.

  She spoiled him. She knows it now. Knew it then, really. But she kept trying to make up for the suffering he’d endured before he came to live with them. The doctors kept telling her that his problems weren’t her fault. That his severe mood swings and frightening behavior were a combined result of genetics and the abuse he’d suffered before he came to live with the Cavalons. Elsa and Brett were told that the right combination of medication and therapy could turn Jeremy’s life around.

  They never had a chance to find it.

  As they comb through piles of discarded toys and clothes and household items, Lauren manages to hold up her end of the endless conversation Janet forces on her.

  Yes, the kids loved camp.

  No, she doesn’t know where the summer went.

  Yes, the weather is lousy today.

  No, she hasn’t heard the forecast.

  “I’m thinking of throwing a little dinner party next weekend,” Janet tells her, “if you’re available. We have some new neighbors in Glenhaven Crossing and I thought it would be nice to introduce them around. Can you make it?”

  This is positively surreal.

  “Lauren? Are you free next weekend?”

  “Maybe—I’m not sure.” She rifles through a pile of hats and mittens, looking for a sign of pink fur.

  “You really should try to make it. It would be nice for you and Jennifer to become friends, since you both have young children.”

  “Jessica,” Lauren corrects her. “And actually, we already met.”

  “You met Jennifer? Where?”

  “Jessica,” Lauren says again. “Her last name is Wolfe. I met her at the pool. She has a baby, right?”

  “He’s not exactly a baby. Bobby is four. Sadie’s age. And their last name is Seaver.”

  “I must be thinking of someone else.”

  “Who?” Janet presses.

  “I don’t know, there was a woman named Jessica who said she lives in Glenhaven Crossing.”

  “But the Seavers are the only ones who have moved in lately.”

  “It was a while ago. At least a year, maybe two.”

  “I don’t know anyone in the neighborhood named Jessica.”

  Wanting to scream, Lauren says, “You’ll meet her, I guess.”

  “No. Trust me, I know what goes on in every house in the Crossing.”

  Yes, I’m sure you do.

  This is a nightmare. A living—

  “Oh my goodness, look!” Janet is triumphant, pointing to several boxes tucked under a long table. “These haven’t even been opened yet!”

  They’re Lauren’s. She can tell by looking at them. Alana was obviously in no hurry to sort through the Walsh donations.

  Lauren dives under the table and looks for the one marked “FRAGILE.”

  No…no…no… Yes! There it is.

  Anxiously, she rips open the flaps.

  No stuffed animal.

  She goes through the whole box, just in case. Nothing.

  Frantic, she tears into the others, tossing the contents into a pile on the floor.

  “Whoa there, take it easy,” Janet protests mildly.

  “It’s not here!” Her eyes are flooded.

  “Relax, I’m sure it’ll turn up. Is there any chance it’s still at home? Maybe you were mistaken about giving it away.”

  Lauren shakes her head. It definitely wasn’t in Sadie’s room.

  She closes her eyes, picturing the barren dresser top. Unless it was someplace else in the room?

  Suddenly, she realizes something.

  She hadn’t seen Sadie’s Dora the Explorer pillow, either. Or her favorite Barbies on the nightstand.

  Granted, she’d been distracted, but…

  I don’t think they were there.

  Sadie would never give away any of those precious possessions. So where are they?

  “Lauren?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Are you okay?”

  She looks up at Janet. “I have to go.”

  “But—”

  Lauren is already on her way out the door.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Walking into the house again, Lauren can feel the presence as palpably as she could feel the earlier emptiness.

  He’s here.

  She doesn’t let on, treading cautiously across the floor.

  “Chauncey?” she calls, unsettled.

  Silence.

  Her instinct is to go straight upstairs to Sadie’s room, to see if her hunch is correct. She fights it, though. She can’t do that.

  The stuffed toy is her only bargaining chip. Once Sam has it, there will be no reason for him to return the children.

  She makes her way to the kitchen, her eyes peeled for any sign of an intruder. She sees nothing, but knows he’s lurking.

  Goosebumps prickle the skin on the back of her neck.

  What if he already has the toy? Maybe he beat her to it.

  But he couldn’t possibly know where to find it. Not unless someone told him.

  Sadie had already lied about the toy being in the tag sale boxes. Would she suddenly decide to reveal the truth now?

  If it is, indeed, really the truth.

  What if Lauren is wrong?

  I can’t be. If I don’t find that toy, he’ll kill them.

  She realizes she’s standing idly in the kitchen.

  I have to do something. Anything.

  She goes to the sink and runs water into a glass. Glancing out the window, she wonders if the bucolic backyard really does shield a predator. Does Sam Henning really live back there, on Castle Lane? Are her children being held there, a stone’s throw away?

  Lauren turns off the tap and raises the glass to her lips, forcing herself to drink.

  Then something catches her eye in the trees at the edge of the property line, and she nearly chokes on it.

  Before she can react, a floorboard creaks behind her.

  “Hello, Lauren.”

  “It’s a slippery slope, my friends. If we allow human life to be devalued in this manner, what will be next?”

  The speaker pounds the podium to make his point, temporarily startling Garvey from his reverie.

  He glances at Marin.

  She meets his gaze with a level one of her own, and as always, he can read her mind.

  Such controversy over methods meant to save lives.

  Stem cell research…

  Savior siblings…

  Medical tourism…

  Garvey is well aware of the ethical implications that come with traveling abr
oad for surgical procedures and treatments difficult to come by in the States. These days, it’s a hot button topic.

  Fourteen years ago, it wasn’t even on his radar—until he realized it was the perfect solution.

  Only two people knew of his plan. He trusted both women implicitly—one with a truth so damaging that she could have destroyed him with it. He knew she never would.

  Meanwhile, all he told Marin was that an overseas donor had been found for Caroline.

  His wife rejoiced. She didn’t ask many questions. In the final trimester of pregnancy, she was not only preoccupied, but of course she couldn’t accompany her husband and daughter to India for the surgery. He was counting on that.

  It was so long ago. Another lifetime, really. Caroline was a toddler. Annie wasn’t born yet. Nor was the city of Mumbai. Back then it was still called Bombay, and elephants walked the streets amid the filth and chaos.

  He remembers Caroline’s wide eyes when she spotted one as they pulled up in front of their hotel on that first day.

  “Doggy!” she trilled, clapping her hands together. “Big, big doggy!”

  “No, sweetheart, that’s an elephant. When we get back home, Daddy will take you to the Bronx Zoo and show you lots of elephants.”

  He remembers brushing tears from his eyes, praying he’d be able to keep that promise. Praying that the next round of lab tests would prove that the donor was compatible.

  Traveling under fake passports, Beverly arrived in Bombay two days later with Jeremy.

  Ryan would give anything for a flashlight.

  That, or at least some fingernails. Too bad he’s chewed them all away.

  Without them, it’s nearly impossible to claw at the wobbly board. He discovered it while feeling along the wall in the darkness of his wooden prison, looking for a way to escape before the lunatic comes back to kill them.

  Ryan has no doubt that it will happen, thanks to Sadie.

  When she realized what she’d done, she was filled with regret. But it was too late to change anything. They were already left alone, their captor off on a mission that wasn’t going to end well.

  “It’s all right,” Lucy told Sadie, even though it wasn’t. “You didn’t mean it.”

  Ryan couldn’t say anything at all. Partly because he was furious with his little sister, and partly because there wasn’t a minute to waste on talking.

  There has to be a way out of here. It’s their only hope.

  Sadie eventually cried herself to sleep on the dusty floor. Ryan can’t see her, but he can hear her even breathing in the darkness. He’s starting to feel bad about being angry with her. She’s just a little kid. No match for a crazy person with a gun.

  Meanwhile, he’s doing his best to pry the plank loose, with Lucy’s help. There still isn’t much slack, but it’s getting a little better.

  “I think we should try the door again, Ry. Maybe if we both throw all our weight against it…”

  “We’ve tried that,” he reminds his sister. “There’s no way. It’s solid. But this wall isn’t. Here, feel this? I think it’s starting to give.”

  “I think you’re right.”

  “What do we do if we escape?”

  “Are you kidding? Run like hell.”

  “We don’t even know where we are.” Lucy’s voice is hollow. “We might be in the middle of nowhere.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Anyplace is better than stuck in here, waiting to die.”

  Ryan’s fingertips burn as he goes back to work on the board.

  “How do you take your coffee, Congressman?” the waitress asks quietly, filling his cup.

  “Just a little cream, thank you,” he whispers back, and focuses on the new speaker, a physician who is—surprise, surprise—opposed to stem cell research.

  Garvey leans back in his chair, watching the speaker, but in his mind’s eye he’s seeing another doctor he once knew. A surgeon.

  Dr. Pujari understood Jeremy to be Caroline’s sibling. That, of course, was the truth.

  What he didn’t know was that the boy had been abducted from the home of his adoptive parents.

  Garvey was fluent in Hindi. Of course, Caroline, Beverly, and Jeremy spoke not a word of it. The language barrier was a necessary measure of protection.

  No one at the hospital thought it odd that Jeremy was frightened and crying for his mother. And no one had any reason to question that Garvey was his father—both Jeremy and Caroline looked just like him. Nor did anyone seem to suspect that Beverly, with her unusual golden eyes and fair hair, was not the children’s mother.

  The tests had confirmed that Jeremy was Caroline’s blood relative and a capable donor. That was all anyone seemed to care about—and all they needed to know.

  The surgery was a success.

  Days later, Garvey and Caroline were on their way home.

  When he bid farewell to Beverly at the hotel, he saw a glimmer of misgiving in her amber-colored eyes.

  “You’re stronger than you think,” he assured her, as Jeremy played on the floor at her feet. “I believe in you.”

  “I know.”

  “You do what has to be done, and then you wash your hands and you move on. Right?”

  Beverly nodded.

  “Good. I’ll see you back in New York.”

  Garvey kissed her on the cheek and walked away with his daughter in his arms, not allowing himself even a last glance at Jeremy, afraid he might change his mind.

  The boy simply could not live to tell what had happened to him.

  Lauren whirls at the sound of the voice behind her.

  Stunned not to see Sam there, she fails to recognize the vaguely familiar face for a moment. Then she does, and she sees the gun, and the water glass slips from her hand, shattering on the floor.

  Her visitor clucks her tongue and shakes her head.

  “Who are you?” Lauren asks.

  “Does it matter?”

  “Your name isn’t Jessica.”

  “Very clever of you. No, it isn’t.”

  No wonder. No wonder Janet Wasserman didn’t know a new neighbor named Jessica.

  “You don’t have what I asked you to get for me, Lauren.”

  “How do you know?” Stalling for time, she glances down at the broken glass at her feet.

  “You were supposed to bring it back from the church for me. You didn’t come in with it. I was watching you.”

  “How do you know I didn’t stash it somewhere along the way?”

  Jessica’s strange, amber-colored eyes narrow dangerously. The other day, sunglasses hid them. She looked for all the world like any other mom at the pool.

  If Lauren had been able to see her eyes then, would she have been suspicious?

  Possibly. But this isn’t about a delusional person fixated on a child’s toy. The woman’s expression is sharply focused; she’s completely sane and she means business.

  So it isn’t just a toy. It’s something disguised as a toy, or something hidden inside a toy…

  And she’s willing to kill for it.

  “Where is it, Lauren?”

  “Where are my children?” she returns, fighting to keep her voice from quaking. She can’t afford to lose her composure now. If she can stay focused, she might just have a chance…

  “You’ll see your children when I get what I need.”

  “What about Nick? Where is he?”

  “Do you really care, Lauren?”

  She says nothing.

  “Nick and his friend won’t be making your life miserable anymore. You have me to thank for that.”

  A chill slithers down Lauren’s spine. “What…what do you mean?”

  “I took care of them. I met them at his apartment and I showed them this”—she brandishes the gun—“and then we went for a little ride. A one-way trip for the two of them.”

  “Oh my God.” Lauren clasps a hand across her mouth.

  “I wouldn’t be so upset if I were you. He sold you out, Lauren. You and the kids. And
his girlfriend, too. I put a gun to her head and I asked him where the stuffed animal was, and he wouldn’t say anything. Not a word. Then I pulled the trigger, and wouldn’t you know, he started talking. He told me where to find what I needed. I guess he thought he had nothing to lose. Too bad he was wrong.”

  “You killed him.” Trembling in disbelief, Lauren can’t seem to wrap her mind around it.

  “Don’t tell me you didn’t know. He called you, at the end. Isn’t that interesting? I didn’t even realize he had his phone in his hand until it was over.”

  Dear Lord, the phone call. He really was calling for help.

  And I couldn’t help him. It was already too late.

  Nick…oh, Nick. I’m so sorry.

  Nick is dead. She can’t seem to absorb it, and yet…

  Beth… Beth is dead, too.

  And the body Lauren glimpsed out the window just now, lying on the ground amid the backyard trees…

  It’s not one of the children. That was immediately, blessedly obvious from the size, and the clothes, and the hair…

  Sam Henning.

  He must have been sneaking over here, and Jessica saw him and shot him…

  Oh God. Oh my God.

  This woman is a cold-blooded killer. Lauren doesn’t stand a chance against her. Telling her what she wants to know didn’t save Nick; it won’t save Lauren and the children, either.

  There’s only one way out of this…and no time to waste.

  Fired.

  Again.

  Now what?

  Sharon makes her way along Park Avenue amid the usual pedestrian horde: executives on cell phones, roaming groups of teenagers, nannies pushing their charges along in strollers.

  Sharon was among them just this morning, pushing Avery over to the park and back for their daily stroll. He screamed the whole time, miserably sunburned.

  “I’m so sorry, little guy,” Sharon told him over and over, brushing tears from her own eyes. “What have I done to you?”

  But no—it wasn’t her fault. She wasn’t the one who had hauled him up to the suburbs and failed to sunscreen him before he spent hours in the sun and water.

  You were the one who loaned him out for the day, though.

  A favor in return for a favor.

  “I helped you land the nanny job in the first place, Sharon, remember? I gave you a great reference when you needed it, and you asked me how you could ever repay me. Now you can.”