Without A Trace
CARISSA ANN LYNCH

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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2019

Copyright © Carissa Ann Lynch 2019

Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019

Cover photograph © Shutterstock.com

Carissa Ann Lynch asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © April 2019 ISBN: 9780008324506

Version: 2019–01–24

For Violet, my daughter

There is nothing I would not do for those who are really my friends. I have no notion of loving people by halves, it is not my nature.

Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

Prelims

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Acknowledgements

About the Author

About the Publisher

I don’t believe in ghosts. But standing here now, with the tips of my toes tingling with heat, and my eyes stinging, not from the fire but from me, forcing myself to keep them open, never blinking, I can’t help wondering if she’ll come back and haunt me for this. Her limbs twist at uneasy angles. Her skin splits apart and dissolves. Her hair and clothes fall away, like feathers caught in a dust storm. And her face…it almost looks plastic, quivering and bending in the amber glow of the flames. It’s as though she never breathed life in the first place. This is not how I imagined it—I thought it would be quicker. I thought she would scream more. Fight more. But it’s almost like she’s resolute, like she’s telling me it’s okay…that she forgives me for what I must do.

CHAPTER ONE
The Mother
NOVA

I shivered as I stepped off the front porch and followed the well-beaten path down to the shady tree line. It was early, the sun playing peek-a-boo through the trees, and little wet kisses of dew were sprinkled around the yard like watery pockets of glitter. Such a peaceful morning, like the promise of a brand-new day. A beautiful day, in fact.

It was a rental property, but still, it felt like mine. Like the perfect place to raise my daughter.

Suddenly, the wind whipped through the trees, shocking the breath from my chest. It reminded me of what I already knew—looks can be deceiving.

Clouds bubbled up in the sky, the morning sun dissolving away like a figment of my imagination. As a flurry of cold air rushed around me and through me, I pulled my jacket tight against my chest and glanced back at our new house. It was a small log cabin, like something you’d see at a state park or campground. But the size was perfect for the two of us, and unlike my husband, I liked the coziness and simplicity of a single-family home.

Lily would be waking up any second now, and I didn’t want her to be afraid in our empty, new house.

How can I raise a daughter who is strong and brave when I’m so damn scared all the time?

I took one last look at the trees, at the once-soothing sunrise. Branches morphed into bony claws. They reached for me, gnarly and twisted, eager to pierce through my ragged flesh like broken bones…

Whipping around, I raced back toward the house. A low moan escaped from between my teeth as the house swayed from side to side, like one of those carnival mirrors. The distance between the front door and the tree line suddenly stretched, for what looked like miles…

My sneakers were squishy on the cool, wet grass, and as I slipped and slid across the yard, I imagined the mud was quicksand, sucking me deep down into the earth, consuming me whole…

Once inside, I locked the door and pressed my back against it, sucking in long, craggy breaths until they evened out. It only took a few minutes to still my thumping heart.

That’s better. Well done, Nova, I commended myself. Each time I panicked, it was taking fewer and fewer minutes to calm back down.

Hell, maybe after a few weeks of being here, I won’t have panic attacks at all.

Fumbling for a light switch in the kitchen, I stubbed my toe on Lily’s tiny Cars suitcase. It was still lying in the middle of the kitchen floor, next to my duffel bag, where we’d tossed our luggage last night.

In the light of day, our new kitchen looked different than it did last night. White paint on the cupboards looked yellowish and worn. The sink was rusty, and a slow drip of water ping ping pinged in the basin below. Looking around, I tried to imagine this kitchen as our own—baking cookies for Lily while she sat on the edge of the counter, kicking the backs of her heels against the cupboards below. Normally, I would make her get down because Martin didn’t like that.

But now Lily and I can do whatever we want.

And a rundown, drippy kitchen was better than any sort of kitchen we might share with Martin.

A scarred wooden table with four chairs was set in the kitchen. There were other modest furnishings, too—a chair in the living room, beds and dressers in both bedrooms—which was one reason I chose this place. It was the perfect getaway spot, out in the middle of nowhere, and we didn’t need to bring much to get started.

The refrigerator and cabinets were still empty and in need of a good scrubbing. We’d grabbed some fast food on the way to West Virginia, but I hadn’t wanted to stop at the grocery store yet.

All I wanted to do was get us here.

But now that we were, I’d have to spend the weekend making it as homey and comfortable as possible for Lily.

We’re doing this. We’re starting over. This is our home now.

For months, years, I’d imagined this moment. But then, it had just been a fantasy, a twisted version of hyper-reality. I never really thought I would leave. Even the night before we left, I’d expected myself to back out. To freeze. To panic and collapse in the middle of the street after loading our cases. But I didn’t. And it wasn’t until we were almost a hundred miles outside of Granton that I knew it was really happening…that we were leaving Martin for good.

My duffel bag lay sprawled open on the floor beside the table, from where I’d taken out my pajamas last night. We were so tired when we got here, to the point of delirium. It had taken nearly ten hours to reach Northfolk, the rising hills and winding curves of West Virginia making me skittery and afraid. I couldn’t stop checking the rearview mirror and my heart was thrumming in my ears the entire drive. During the daytime, it hadn’t been so bad. But at night, I’d imagined every pair of headlights were the angry, glowing orbs of Martin’s truck, chasing us up the wild, mountain roads…

Lily had handled the move so well, believing me when I told her that we were going on an adventure. With her mousy brown hair and cornflower blue eyes, she looked just like Martin. But, luckily, she hadn’t inherited his meanness, or his wild mood swings.

Lily was, by all accounts, a normal four-year-old girl. But that wouldn’t have lasted long, not while living with Martin. Eventually, his violence would have moved onto her, seeping into her pores and saturating her life with his poison.

She was innocent, so seemingly unaware, yet she’d already learned to fear her father and his unpredictable ways. And the way Martin looked at her…his eyes searching, evaluating her every move, it made me uneasy.

I’m taking her away from her dad. What kind of mother does that?

Emotions played tug-of-war inside me—I felt guilty for stripping her of her fatherly influence, but I was relieved—exuberant, even—to give her a fresh, safe start in life. During the drive to Northfolk, I’d been so focused on getting away, that the guilt hadn’t had time to settle in yet. And last night, I’d been too tired to stay up worrying. But now…now all those worries came rushing back at once.

What will I tell her when she’s older? Surely, she will remember Martin. Will I tell her why we left? How much memory can a four-year-old retain?

“I m-made the right decision,” I told myself, firmly, for the hundredth time this morning.

Pressing my face against the window pane, my eyes scanned the backyard. From behind a layer of murky glass, the branches no longer seemed murderous or threatening. Even the clouds were wimpy, less dark. It was ironic, really. After years of feeling claustrophobic, shut inside the house with Martin, now it was the outdoors that overwhelmed me.

Everything overwhelms me.

Again, my thought from earlier came crawling back: how can I raise my daughter to be a stronger, better version of me when I’m so scared of the world and the men that live in it?

Clutching the necklace at my throat, my fingers curled around the dainty silver cross that Martin had given me on our anniversary. The holy symbol should have brought me comfort, but all I could think about were his hands pressed against my throat, the crossbars digging sharply into my flesh as I struggled for a tiny bit of air…

Tenderly, I reached back and unclasped it. It seemed wrong to throw it away, but then again, I couldn’t keep it. It hadn’t protected me when I’d needed it to, and expelling Martin’s memory from our lives was my top priority now. Before I could change my mind, I carried the lightweight pendant over to the waste basket and tossed it inside.

I didn’t put on makeup this morning. There was no rushing around to make Martin’s breakfast, or to see him off to work.

No slamming doors or missing shoes or screaming.

No angry fists pummeling my body.

Most mornings, the air felt suffocating and dense. I’d wake up panting, a surge of panic hammering through my bloodstream and lifting me from bed. I was always afraid I’d oversleep, and sometimes I did. If Martin was late for work or didn’t have the things he needed in the mornings, he blamed it on me. And worst of all, he seemed to enjoy punishing me for my mistakes.

He must have been so angry when he realized we were gone. We didn’t take much when we left, just Lily’s suitcase and my bag. But he must have known immediately.

The first thing he probably did was call my cell phone, and from there, it wouldn’t have taken him long to find where I’d left it—on the nightstand next to our bed.

He can’t reach us here.

There was no note. No paper trails. I’d saved up small amounts of cash over the past year, so there wouldn’t be any need for ATM withdrawals. I had enough money to last us for a while, until I could figure out how to get some more.

Pinching my eyes closed, I couldn’t shake the image of his seething blue eyes, the angry caterpillar brows furrowing in anger.

He’s probably mad enough to kill me right now. To kill us both.

I could almost taste his rage from six hundred miles away. It tickled the back of my throat and burned the edges of my tongue.

Fear. I can taste that, too.

The fear I’d felt earlier was rushing back. My old friend Panic seized my chest, like a boulder pressing down on my belly, making every breath tight and controlled.

He might find us. What will I do if he does?

As I passed through the hallway, fingertips grazing the unfamiliar walls of the cabin, I thought I heard a muffled grunt coming from behind Lily’s closed bedroom door.

Nonono. He’s not in there. I’m only imagining he is.

I’d imagined his voice last night, too, before I fell asleep. The angry, breathy snores that he made while he slept. My body so accustomed to sleeping next to his, I’d lain against the edge of the mattress, curled into a tight little ball, despite all the extra space.

“One, t-two, th-three…” I counted out loud.

I read somewhere that counting helps alleviate anxiety. My lips silently formed the words, but the clenching in my chest remained. Suddenly, I was hurtling back to our house in Tennessee. Fear slithered in through the logs. Martin’s anger dissolving and sinking down through the rafters…

“F-four, f-five, six…” My skin tickled and crawled, my stutter rearing its head again, becoming worse, the way it always did when I sensed a confrontation coming. As I moved through the hallway, I fought the urge to look back over my shoulder.

Martin is not standing behind me. He’s not! I chastised myself.

The hallway tilted and swayed, then slowly, the buttery yellow paint dissolved. I wasn’t back home in Tennessee; I was in our new house, faraway from Martin.

Safe.

“A-are you a-awake yet, Bunny?” My stumbled words a mere whisper through the heavy door.

Bunny. It was a nickname given to her by Martin, and I’d have to remember to stop using it. It would only serve as a reminder of him, and Lily wouldn’t need any of those, now that he was out of our lives for good.

Closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, I nudged the bedroom door open. Soft sunlight streamed in through motheaten curtains above the bed. There was no Martin.

See? Nothing to be afraid of.

Lily, so tiny, was curled up beneath the blankets in a ball, unmoving. Like me, she was always trying to make herself smaller and unseen…

Lily had never been a good sleeper. She was prone to nightmares, but last night, she’d slept all the way through. Reaching across the bed, I slid the curtains back, welcoming more light into the room. The bright white heat was soothing, like a warm cloth across my face. I released a long stream of breath, relieved.

“Rise and shine, B—” I stopped myself from using the nickname again, squeezing my lips together. There were so many bad habits to break, and this was only just one of them…

I prodded the soft little lump in the middle of the bed. But Lily didn’t move a muscle.

Finally, I rolled the covers back, imagining her sweet morning smile and sleepy doe-like eyes.

I know they say you should always love your children no matter what, and I do, but for some reason, my heart just soars when I see her doughy cheeks every morning. She is always at her sweetest when she first wakes up.

“Lily?”

A strange wisp of gray-white hair poked out from beneath the blanket. I stared at it, my mind not comprehending the strange bit of fur.

Tentatively, I rolled the covers down. Button-eyes stared back at me, black and menacing.

It was a toy rabbit, but not like the ones Lily used to keep on her bed in Tennessee. This bunny looked ugly and old, its limp arms and legs adorned with black, plastic claws.

I poked at the strange stuffed toy, shaken.

“B-bunny? Where are you?” I grasped the corner of the blanket in one hand, then yanked it the rest of the way off.

Lily wasn’t in her bed.

A deep guttural scream pierced the morning air.

CHAPTER TWO
The Cop
ELLIE

It started with a phone call, buzzing on the bathroom sink as I painted my eyes with charcoal liner.

“Makeup? Is that wise?” My mother was leaning on the doorframe, watching me get ready for work. Even though she retired from teaching five years ago, she still got dressed up like she was going to work each morning. Today she was wearing a creamy, salmon-colored pantsuit with brown pumps and a string of pearls.

“Just stop, mom.” I rolled my eyes, dusted off my right palm, then took the call. It was Sergeant DelGrande, so loud and brash my mom could probably hear his words clear as day, even if she hadn’t been standing right by my side.

I mumbled ‘yes’ a few times, adjusting my thick brown ponytail in the mirror as I balanced the phone between my shoulder and cheek. I hung up and tucked the phone in my back pocket.

“What was that about?” my mother clucked, pretending she hadn’t heard.

“Nothing to worry over. See you at dinner.” I kissed her on the cheek then hurried out the front door.

“Be safe,” she added as I left, almost too quiet for me to hear.

As I climbed in my cruiser and buckled my seatbelt, she was perched like an eagle behind the curtains, keeping watch as I reversed down the driveway.

Most parents would be proud of their twenty-eight-year-old daughter who was just starting out in the police force, but Barbara James wasn’t your usual mother. She was Catholic and came from a strict family, and she had tried to raise me much the same way.

When I told her I was taking the law enforcement entrance exam, she had laughed. But when I passed the test and entered the police academy, that laughter had turned to tears.

Not only was she worried because the job was dangerous, but she was also concerned about my reputation. What will people in the parish think when they find out you want to be a cop? she’d asked.

First off, I didn’t give a damn about my mother’s parish. Part of me relished the thought of their gaping faces when they learned about my new job.

Secondly, I’d reminded her that I didn’t want to be a cop. I am a cop now, I’d told her. And there was nothing Barbara James, or anyone else in Northfolk, including the parish, could do about it.

I’d always been fascinated by people. I wanted to help them. Understand them. And as corny as it sounds, I wanted to make a difference in the world. At first, I’d considered psychology or social work. But what better way to make a difference than to help the one group of people that no one gives a damn about? The incarcerated.

But Eddyville Penitentiary was hours away, and it paid more to be a cop than a corrections officer. It started out as a small dream, but once I’d entered the academy, it became an obsession. An obsession that, once upon a time, stretched beyond being a small-town cop in my tiny town of Northfolk…

But my views on helping and understanding criminals were looked down upon by my peers, and I was reminded at the academy, more than once, that it was my job to help the community, not the criminals who muck it up. I understood their point of view, but I was idealistic—couldn’t I help the community and try to make a difference in people’s lives? Was it really impossible to do both?

Northfolk was a close-knit mountain town, comprised of less than five thousand people. Nevertheless, it was riddled with poverty and with that came heavy drug problems, specifically heroin and meth. Besides drug crimes, sometimes I had to cite people for shooting off unregistered guns or riding ATVs on private property. Domestic disturbances and petty thefts occurred occasionally, too, but they were the exception, not the norm.

I’d only had one serious incident since joining the force, but it was enough to change all those well-thought-out plans I’d previously made. Four weeks into my new job, I’d been called to the scene of a domestic disturbance. I didn’t recognize the red-faced, frazzled woman who opened the door, but I did recognize her husband. A well-known cop, Ezra Clark, was accused of assaulting his wife. I had no choice but to call it in…and to arrest him. But what happened next…well, let’s just say that Ezra didn’t take too kindly to a new, young, female cop trying to take him into custody. He was angry and drunk, and although the scuffle between us only lasted a few seconds, the results had caused long-term effects. Possibly, lifetime effects. Memories of that day came floating back…the pounding pop when I fired my own gun, the burning smell of gunpowder in my nose. On my lips…

Would I ever be able to forget that day? And most importantly, would my colleagues and the residents of Northfolk…?

Sergeant DelGrande’s instructions circled back through my mind. He’d asked me to go directly to 8418 Sycamore Street, where a woman had called in, claiming that her ex-husband had stolen her child right out of bed. It sounded like a domestic disturbance, but I wasn’t familiar with the address. It was near the old Appleton farm, but no one lived out there besides the Appletons, as far as I knew.

As I pulled down the gravel drive to the property, I was instantly met by a running woman. Thick black hair swept across her face, a silky pink robe blowing back like a cape in the wind. I closed my eyes, fighting back images of Mandy Clark opening the door that day…if I let myself think about it long enough, I could still remember the smoky smell of Officer Clark’s flesh as I pulled the trigger…

The events of that day were still such a blur. One minute, I was sliding the cuffs on his wrists, and the next, it was me being slammed against the hood of my cruiser. You think you’re tough, don’t you? You don’t know shit, rookie. He let me go, but then he did the unthinkable: he reached for my gun. Afterwards, my fellow officers would claim that Ezra was probably just teasing, trying to show me I was ill-prepared as a new cop…but he was wrong about that. When he reached so did I…and moments later, one of us was lying dead on the ground…

Cautiously, I parked and emerged from my patrol car. While most of my male colleagues would have itched their fingers over their guns at the sight of a hysterical person, my instinct was to go to her, to calm her down. She was clearly distraught, her cheeks streaked with tears, her skin blotchy. I couldn’t shake off images of Mandy Clark’s distraught face, her battered skin stretched over her face like a ghoulish mask…

“Sh-she’s gone,” the robed woman choked out the words, all the while fighting with the hair around her face. “M-my Lily’s gone.”

The wind howled, blistery cold for September, causing me to stumble a bit with the heavy belt weighing down my mid-section. I shook off my whirling thoughts about that day with Ezra Clark and tried to focus. “Ma’am, let’s go inside and talk. Would that be okay?”

She hesitated, giving me the once over as though I were a stranger asking to use her phone. Her eyes were wild, shell-shocked. Maybe she knows who I am. Maybe she knows I shot a colleague, I thought. But that’s ridiculous, I chastised myself, immediately. This woman was new to Northfolk; she couldn’t possibly know about the Clark incident.

“I’m here to help. You called us,” I gently reminded her.

Shakily, she led the way inside. The cabin was sparsely furnished, a small arm chair and rug in the center of the living room. Everything looked worn but clean, and not recently used.

There was no TV, no pictures or personal effects.

“How long have you lived here?” Awkwardly, I tried to adjust my belt, then took out a notebook and pen from my back pocket. The pages were blank, which for some reason, made me feel embarrassed.

“I just moved in yesterday. Me and my daughter, Lily. She’s f-four.”

“And your name?”

“Nova Nesbitt.” The words were like whispers, strained.

“And your ex-husband, how long have you two been divorced?”

Nova shifted from foot to foot, chewing on a stray piece of hair and looking around the room with those wide, wild eyes. “Well, we’re not. I mean, I-I only just left him y-yesterday.”

I clicked the bottom of my pen, open and closed. It was a nervous habit.

“Does he live in Northfolk, too?”

“No. He’s b-back in G-Granton, Tennessee. I can g-give you the address though.”

After I scribbled his name, address, and phone number down, I closed my pad. “Ma’am, if you’re not legally divorced and you both share custody of the girl, then it’s not a crime for her to be with her father.”

Nova was pacing now, her skimpy undergarments exposed as the robe shifted back and forth across her thighs. She was a tall woman, but painfully thin. I thought about that expression, the one about a stiff breath of wind blowing someone away.

She stopped moving, her face twisting with desperation as her eyes searched mine. “L-listen, you d-don’t understand. He was abusive. He is abusive. That’s w-why we left. I d-don’t know how he knew we w-were here…he must have followed me! And w-while I was asleep, that bastard t-took my daughter. She’s in d-danger. You have to b-believe me. Her life depends on it! He will hurt her to get to me, m-mark my w-words.” It was painful watching her mouth twist and struggle to form the words.

“Do you have a restraining order against him?” Part of me was secretly glad he wasn’t here. The thought of getting directly involved in another domestic dispute made me more uneasy than I’d like to admit.

Even though she was looking right at me, it seemed like Nova was seeing straight through me now. Her eyes turned smoggy and lost.

She mashed her hands down on her hips, and muttering under her breath, she said something about a piece of paper being unable to keep someone safe.

I could see her point but having a legal document that prevented her husband from taking the girl would have made my job much easier.

“Have you tried calling him?” I asked, unsure what my next move should be here. I had been so confident when I’d started this job—maybe too confident—but lately, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was like a little kid playing dress-up in my cop’s uniform. After the incident with Ezra Clark, none of my colleagues trusted me or wanted to work with me…and lately, I’d found that I was struggling to trust myself…

Domestic situations were always tricky, and sometimes the parents used their kids as pawns, or weapons, to hurt each other. Was that what was going on here?

Nova shook her head. “I-I haven’t c-called him.” She reached for the arm of the sofa, stumbling to catch herself from collapsing to the floor below.

I kept my eyes on her as I flipped through a couple blank pages in my notebook. Still gripping the couch arm for dear life, she closed her eyes. She was muttering under her breath, counting, I think…

I was close enough to smell her breath and I noticed it was hot and stale. But I caught a whiff of something else, too. Alcohol crossed my mind, but this smelled more minty, possibly like mouthwash. Did she wash out her mouth with mouthwash before I came?

That didn’t seem like something a distraught woman would do, I thought. But looking at Nova Nesbitt, there was no question in my mind: this woman was freaking out. She seemed scared. Skittish.

Scanning her face again, I looked for signs of drug use. Although heroin was the main drug of choice in these parts, I’d been around a lot of meth users, too.

She was acting strange, but her pupils were normal-sized. She didn’t appear to be on drugs, but then again, it wasn’t always easy to tell.

“He’s d-dangerous,” she repeated, rocking back and forth on her heels. “Very dangerous.”

“Can I see where Lily was sleeping?”

Without answering, Nova drifted down a shadowy hallway, dragging her robe along like a bridal train. Cautiously, I followed behind, looking for anything out of order. We passed a master bedroom and bathroom. Both looked empty and pristine.

When we entered the child’s room, I immediately noted that it was neat but bare, like the rest of the house. There was only a twin-sized bed and dresser in the room. The bed unmade, there was a creamy blue blanket folded neatly at the foot of it.

“Found this.” Nova held up a strange, stuffed toy. I took it, turning it over and back in my hands. It was odd, unlike any sort of stuffed animal I’d played with as a girl. A rabbit, and a downright ugly one at that, with eerie button eyes and worn out brown fur. It had plastic black claws on its hands and feet and two jagged white teeth protruded from the bunny’s mouth. There were a few pieces of gray string protruding from its head. It almost looked…cruel.

“Is this your daughter’s toy?” I set the creepy rabbit back down.

Nova was pacing beside the child’s bed. She stopped and threw up her hands in disgust. “No! Why aren’t you listening? I found it! My husband…he calls Lily his ‘little bunny’. I think he left this here to taunt me. He’s dangerous! Please, you have to take me seriously!” In Nova’s angry outburst, the stutter had all but disappeared.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as I stared at the forlorn toy. Little Bunny. What a creepy thing to leave behind if he was the one who took her, I thought. Suddenly, this seemed less like a custody dispute, and more like a kidnapping…but the last time I got involved in a domestic squabble, a man had ended up dead. And my nickname by my colleagues—“Cop Killer”—ensued.

“I’m going to take a look around the rest of the house. That okay?”

“Yes! That’s why I called you, isn’t it?” Nova huffed. She walked out of the room, mumbling to herself again.

As I walked around the side of the bed, looking more closely at the room, I couldn’t help but be reminded of playing hide and seek with my cousins and friends when I was a kid. Could Lily be hiding somewhere?

It was possible that the husband took her, but I hadn’t seen any signs of struggle or forced entry. How did he sneak the girl out?

The window behind the bed was locked tight. I peeked beneath the bed. The wood floors were clean, no dust or debris underneath. Next, I checked out the closet and drawers. I was surprised to find them full. A neat row of children’s clothes hung from the rack. Removing a pale-yellow dress, I was surprised to find it still had tags attached. I sifted through the other outfits too—everything looked brand new.

“Ms. Nesbitt?” When I stuck my head out of the bedroom, I was surprised to find her standing right there in the hall. As we came nose to nose, I jumped and made an embarrassing squeaking sound.

“F-find anything?” She gnawed on her nails, shifting from foot to foot, reminding me of a toddler waiting to pee.

“Did you buy new clothes for Lily?”

“Oh. Yes,” Nova said, nodding. “We d-didn’t have time to pack m-much.”

I nodded, then resumed searching. The first two drawers were full of underwear and socks and the bottom drawer contained books and toys. Again, all looked brand new. Some were even wrapped in their packaging still.

Something about this whole thing felt off. I could understand having to buy new things when moving, but new everything? It seemed highly unusual.

Next, I walked through all the other rooms, checking for broken or unlocked windows. I opened closets and looked beneath the few furnishings inside the house.

A new thought was shifting around in my mind. “Lily wouldn’t wander outside on her own, would she? New house, new place. Maybe she went off to explore?” Images of dead, floating kids in ponds fluttered through my brain. And miniature, mangled bodies by the side of the road, the bent-back limbs protruding…

I’d never seen any of those things in real life, but I’d seen plenty of ghastly images while studying at the academy. Some of the men in my class liked to “shock” me with them, sticking them in my locker and desk drawers during training. I was one of only two women in my class, and behind our backs, they liked to call us “the pretty one” and “the ugly one”. I think I would have preferred the latter.

“No, she wouldn’t. I s-sat on her bed, r-reading to her until she fell asleep. And I ch-checked on her a few times before I w-went to bed last night. I was w-worried. I looked around outside b-before I called, but I-I know h-he took her…”

“How do you think your ex got in the house, if he didn’t have a key?” We were standing in the kitchen now. I stared at the child’s suitcase on the floor. It was decorated with smiley red cars, the one from that Pixar movie but I couldn’t remember the name of it. Not having a child myself, I suddenly felt unsure how to help this woman. My mother would know what to do and where to look, I thought. Instantly, I pushed that thought aside, feeling childish and incompetent.

What I should do is call one of the officers back at the station, but they all hated my guts and didn’t trust me…

I stared at the suitcase on the floor. Nova had time to hang up new clothes, but didn’t unload the suitcase, I noted. It was one more minor detail that made me think something was off…

Nova chewed on her bottom lip and it looked like she was fighting back tears. “I don’t know. Maybe M-Martin picked the lock. He c-can be pretty clever when he w-wants to be.”

“Do me a favor. Call him now, and I’ll go take a look outside. Okay?”

Nova gave me a nervous nod, then opened one of the kitchen drawers. She took out a cheap flip phone and started dialing.

“He w-won’t recognize this number. I left my cell behind when we m-moved. This was just a pr-prepaid ph-phone I p-picked up,” she explained, pressing the phone to her ear.

Even though I’d said I was going outside to check, I stood still, watching her place the call. Please let the husband pick up the phone and say he has the girl, I hoped.

What if someone from Northfolk took this child? That thought made me queasy. The last thing I needed was another run-in with a bad dude in Northfolk. But if someone from here did this…then I had to do something to help this woman and her child.

Internally, I quivered at the thought. Why couldn’t some other officer have taken this call? I wondered, exasperated.

“P-prick!” Nova snapped the phone back shut.

“You didn’t leave a message,” I pointed out.

“He never ch-checks his m-messages,” Nova explained, placing the phone on the kitchen counter.

I took my own cell out, dialing the number I’d written down in my notebook. After three rings, the phone went to an automated voicemail box.

“Martin Nesbitt, this is Officer Ellie James with the Northfolk police department. I need to speak with you right away. It’s urgent. Call me back at this number, please.”

I started for the front door, eager to check outside, but then I stopped in the entranceway. I stared down at a pair of women’s running shoes. They were muddy. “Your daughter’s shoes. Where are they?”

Nova’s eyes widened as her gaze followed mine. “Sh-she h-had sparkly orange sn-sneakers on when we got h-here yesterday.” Her eyes went fuzzy, her lips curling with anger. “If she put her shoes on, then she must have gone with him w-willingly! But w-why would she do that?”

“Ma’am, I’m not sure. Hopefully, your husband will call back soon and clear this whole thing up. But for now, I’m going to check outside and then contact my sergeant about your daughter. Can you get some pictures together for me? If we issue an Amber Alert, I’ll need the most up-to-date photo you got…”

But Nova was shaking her head back and forth, her skin turning paler by the minute. “I don’t have one. N-not even one ph-photo…” she breathed.

“I know you guys just moved here, but how about a pic on your cell phone?”

But Nova kept shaking her head. “I can’t believe it. I d-don’t even have one picture of my little girl. How insane is th-that?” She looked spacey now, and once again, I wondered if she might be using drugs.

“Don’t worry, ma’am. We’ll get one. Maybe from a family member, or friend? Or if you could just pull up one of your albums on Facebook or Instagram…that will work, too.”

“No,” Nova said, firmly, her eyes zeroing in on mine.

“No?”

How could this woman not have any pictures of her own daughter? It seemed completely unfeasible, but if she really was afraid of her husband maybe she did leave everything behind…

“I wasn’t allowed to have a Facebook profile. I-I don’t even know what I-Instagram is, honestly. M-Martin was j-jealous. Controlling. He’s d-dangerous, I told you…”

Yes. He was dangerous. That was about the only thing she’d made clear so far. I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something else—something she wasn’t telling me.

“Family or friends with pictures…?”

“I don’t really have any family. And any fr-friends I had…w-well, that was w-way before I married M-Martin.”

Surely, she had pictures at her house in Tennessee, I considered. But Tennessee was a day’s drive away, and I needed something now.

“What about pre-school or daycare? Any photos on file they could fax over to my office?”

Nova cleared her throat. “Lily isn’t in pr-preschool yet. M-Martin wanted me to homeschool her. Can you believe that? Homeschool! M-Me! I don’t even b-believe in that crap…” she snapped, looking angry again. Her arms hung loosely at her sides, but she was shaking. As helpless as she seemed, I honestly felt the same.

“Keep trying to call him, okay? And this time leave a message,” I urged, heading out to the front yard.

I walked around the front and back of the property. There was a backdrop of woods behind the house, but the trees were thin and sparse, so it was easy to see through the wooded space. I called out, “Lily!”, but instantly felt silly as my own voice bounced back in my face.

It was eerily quiet out here. And as I walked around the entire house and yard space, I saw no signs of a child. My stomach churned. Something feels so wrong about this…

After going around three times and circling through the woods, I combed the ground in front of the house.

If Lily was hiding, she would surely have come out by now.

No pictures. Only new clothes and toys. It was like a child hadn’t even been here, I thought, spinning around in circles. I closed my eyes and pictured my niece, Chelsea. Her room was like a landmine of toys, my sister’s house a jungle gym of playthings. But Nova’s house was scrubbed clean, not a toy or stray article of clothing in sight.

But she did say they just moved here, I reminded myself.

There was a blue Celica parked at the side of the house, which I assumed belonged to Nova. I peered in through the passenger window. There was no little girl hiding inside.

And no car seat in the vehicle either, I noted. How did she get Lily here without a car seat?

No toys or clutter in the backseat. Nothing. Almost like the child doesn’t even exist, I thought, curiously.

My eyes floated across the field to the Appleton Farm. If I remembered correctly, Clara Appleton owned all this land. She was probably the one renting out the house to Nova.

Maybe the neighbor saw something…anything that could help me find this faceless child…

CHAPTER THREE
The Neighbor
CLARA

Cradling a cup of coffee in my hands, I watched Officer Ellie James through the dining room window as she stood in front of the cabin next door.

I heard Nova Nesbitt scream this morning. But still, I did nothing to help her.

My new tenant had sent me the first month’s rent and a security deposit last month, and she had arrived just yesterday as planned. It was late when she got in, much too late in my opinion, but maybe she got lost or turned around on her drive into town.

I’d been tempted to go over and talk to her, to introduce myself, but I’d refrained. Landlords are known for being nosy. I didn’t want to be like that. But it did feel strange having a neighbor again. With my oldest daughter in Texas, I’d grown accustomed to the quiet and lonesome life on the farm. Knowing that another human being was only a few strides away was a strange, yet welcome, feeling.

Last night, I’d watched the lights in the cabin pop off and on, wondering what Nova was up to. And then this morning, I’d been awake, toasting bread like I did every morning, when the jarring scream had ripped the air.

And now the police are here…

As the owner of the property, I probably should have gone over there and seen if something was wrong. That would have been the normal thing to do. Any sort of terrible thing could have happened related to the house—a fallen fan, a rusty nail…

But the last thing I wanted was contact with the police.

Hot coffee sloshed out the sides of my cup, dribbling between my fingers and down my arm. My mind drifted across the field to the old rickety barn at the back of the property. It used to house cattle and horses, back when Andy was here. But now it was empty. Well, except for one thing…

My hands shook uncontrollably until I lost my grip on the mug completely. It hit the floor with a dull thud just as I saw the young officer crossing the field straight toward my house. I wrung my now empty hands together, trying to steady the tremors.

The milky brown stain at my feet spread out like a halo around the unbroken mug. It reminded me of blood. Dark, thick, unrelenting blood…

Smoothing my favorite flannel shirt, I took a deep breath then went to the front door to meet her. Why does she want to talk to me?

I opened the door before she could knock, forcing a smile as I did. I recognized Officer Ellie James—she was the spitting image of her mother, Barbara. Barb and my late mother, Carol, used to hang around when they were younger. But I doubted that Officer James knew that fact or cared about it.

“How can I help you, officer?” I croaked, then grimaced at my own voice. After a decade of not smoking, I’d recently started up again. And it was obvious from the scratchy tone of my voice. I tried to swallow the lump that was forming in my throat, but it felt like a fishbone was lodged in my windpipe. Probably cancer from the cigarettes already, I lamented.

“You own the cabin next door, is that right, ma’am?”

Surprisingly, Officer James looked more nervous than I felt. She was young, and pretty, too, with a soft, freckled face. But she was wearing too much makeup, in my opinion, the lines of her eyeliner drawn out in a way that reminded me of an Egyptian princess.

“I do,” I said, clearing my throat. “Everything alright over there?”

“When did Nova and Lily move in?” she asked, dodging my question.

“They came in late last night. From Tennessee. Quite a drive, you know? I was asleep. But I heard the car door, and I saw the lights go on over there.”

“Did you see anything else? A child outside? Any other cars on the property?” Officer James held a small notebook in one hand, and with her other hand, she flicked her pen open and closed.

A sudden memory fluttered through my mind, then dissolved.

“Um, yeah, I did. Woke up around one in the morning, I guess it was. A second car was out there. Thought it might be her boyfriend, or someone helping her move. Not my business, you know? But I did think it was a little late for visitors…”

“What sort of make and model was this second car?” Officer James looked alert now, and she started writing something in that notebook of hers.

“I couldn’t say. Too dark. Aren’t any flood lights out there, you know? And the porch light wasn’t on either. I heard the car pull in and the door slamming shut. Never saw a child. I guess it might have been a truck I saw…”

“Did you see anyone get out of this truck? This is important, ma’am.”

I closed my eyes, thinking. “I only looked out there for a second. Didn’t want to look like a peeping tom. I think they were wearing a hood. Like a hoodie sweatshirt. And they were carrying something. Maybe she was carrying her daughter in her arms. Not sure though. Why? Something happened?”

“Your new tenant’s daughter is missing. Please, if you see anything, or think of anything else, call me.” She snapped her notebook shut then dug around for a business card. “Oh, and we may need to come back and search your property. All this land, if it comes down to it. Right now, we’re still waiting to hear from the husband.”

I tried to keep a straight face as I nodded obediently, but my throat felt like it was closing up completely. Despite feeling like I couldn’t breathe, I was itching for a cigarette.

Officer James added, “Most likely, the husband took her. They recently split up. Divorces are so messy…” The young officer bit her lip, as though she’d said too much, then handed me a stiff business card.

“I will call you if I do. Thanks.” I closed the door, letting out a long whoosh of breath.

I listened to the sound of the patrol car pulling out as I straightened up the kitchen. Cleaning was one thing I liked to do when I got nervous. Smoking was another.

Back in the kitchen, I gathered up the mug, discovering that a small chunk of ceramic had come loose. I threw it away, then went into my bedroom to search for some sort of carpet cleaner. Anything to take my mind off smoking, and the jarring police visit.

The stain would be hard to get out. Usually, I was careful, rarely needing cleaners to fix my mistakes.

I stopped for a moment to smooth out the edges of my bedspread, my fingers trembling. My pack of Camels was tucked away in my bedside drawer, within reach.

But instead, I picked up one of the stuffed bunnies my husband made for me, squeezing it tightly to my chest.

CHAPTER FOUR
The Mother
NOVA

I guess it all started on the day I was born. Choices. I tend to make the wrong ones. Specifically, I’ve always been drawn to the wrong people, and it started with my mom and dad. Mama didn’t want me. Even before she met me, she wanted to get rid of me. Somehow, my dad talked her into having me, but when she left the hospital after giving birth, she didn’t take me with her.

I guess I should have been grateful toward him. If not for him, I’d be a goopy mass of medical waste. But truth was, he didn’t really want me either. Sometimes, I wondered if I would have been better off if mama would have gone with her choice, instead of his.

A psychiatrist could psychoanalyze me pretty quickly—I was that cliched patient, the one who made it easy to set forth guidelines and criteria for dysfunction—mama left me, and daddy abused me, so I was destined to choose shitty partners as a result. Simple as that. My entire psychiatric profile wrapped up in a neat little bow.

But there weren’t any warning signs when it came to Martin, not really. He was sweet, tender even, for those first two years we dated…but looking back, he wasn’t the only bad choice I made. In high school, I chose the wrong friends. My dating life before Martin was a nightmare.

How could I have chosen so wrongly? How could I have been so blind?

Moonlight slithered through the open window above my bed. I had an upside-down view of the stars. There were so many of them, more stars than I’d ever seen from my window back home in Tennessee.

They made me feel insignificant. And that’s exactly how I wanted to feel when I brought Lily to the cabin—like particles of dust in the wind, floating around unseen and unkept. Forgotten.

Why couldn’t Martin just forget us? Why couldn’t he let us go?

Back in Granton, our home was like a battleground. But I guess, for Martin, it wasn’t so bad because he was the one waging war. I was just a casualty.

And now Lily is a casualty too.

I could still taste the bottle of wine I’d drank before bed. Turning on my side didn’t help. I curled my knees to my chest, fighting back the urge to throw up.

It wasn’t morning, but it wasn’t night, I could tell from the slant of the moon. It must be two, maybe three, in the morning now? Where is my daughter? Is she sleeping? Is she safe?

My mouth watered with nausea as I fumbled around with the covers, searching for my cell phone in the dark. Instead I found my pack of Listerine strips. I slid one out and tossed it on the back of my tongue. I’d gotten into the habit of using them. Martin preferred fresh breath at all times.

I’d called Martin’s phone nearly a hundred times today, asking him to call me back. Begging him to bring me my daughter. There was no point in keeping my location a secret anymore—he obviously already knew we were here. He’d taken my Lily. Oh, god…Lily…

I’d expected him to answer the phone, to demand that I come home if I ever wanted to see her again. But the calls went straight to voicemail.

He’s not going to give her back.

I was too drunk to cry and too drunk to panic. My limbs felt numb and I hated myself for enjoying the nothingness I felt inside.

My entire soul was numb.

I’m like a chunk of ice, pieces chipped away.

How much of me is left? Is there anything worth saving if I don’t have Lily?

What if he took her and moved away, just like I tried to do? What if he decided that he didn’t need me anymore? Now he can focus on Lily—a younger victim, a younger me…

I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I leapt from the bed and ran for the bathroom, barely reaching the commode before vomit sprang from my mouth and nose.

What am I going to do? How will I get Lily back?

I’d tried to reach that cop on her phone, but she hadn’t been available.

Dammit. I’ve lost Lily, and no one can help me save her. Not even the police.

An Amber Alert wasn’t issued. The cops wouldn’t return my calls.

What else can I do?

Wiping the back of my mouth with my robe sleeve, I drifted down the hallway and back to my bedroom. Suddenly, I felt sober again. Dark shadows danced on the walls. I stared at one; it looked just like the dark silhouette of a man.

Panic slammed against my chest as I flipped on the bedroom light.

Nothing. No one is in my room.

I yanked the covers off the bed, my cell phone smacking the floor as it fell out of the crumpled blanket.

I stared at the screen, squinting sleep and drunkenness from my eyes, willing Martin to call me…to give her back…

I’d searched the woods and wandered around the property today, feeling helpless. But I couldn’t look for long because every time I tried to go outside, invisible walls came crushing in and I couldn’t breathe…

But hunger is a disgusting thing—after a while, it supersedes all rational thought. I’d barely eaten in two days, so I’d gone out to the supermarket at dusk. I’d ran up and down the aisles, like a madwoman, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth, finally settling on some booze and peanut butter.

I thought that by the time the sun went down, Martin would call or show up.

But he never called. He never came.

I couldn’t protect Lily in Tennessee, and I can’t protect her now.

Martin wouldn’t give her back unless he wanted to, and they were probably long gone by now.

Maybe I’m like mama and I never should have had a kid in the first place. At least not until I had a partner better than Martin.

The tiny black phone in my hand was foreign. My white iPhone I’d left behind was larger, and much more capable. I squinted down at the tiny screen. No missed calls, but there was one text message. My heart leapt as I clicked on it, praying it was from Martin.

My eyes stung with tears as I saw who it was from. Al.

Al: You told me to wait at least 24 hours before texting you on this number. I hope you’re okay…I’ve been so worried about you.

I laid back down on the bed, clutching the phone like an old friend. A message from Al was like salve on an open wound. I typed out a message in response, then erased it.

What if it’s not really Al? What if it’s Martin trying to trick me?

Al and I had been talking for almost a year, but we hadn’t communicated over text until now. Usually we just chatted online. But I’d confessed I was leaving Martin and had texted my new number. I’d warned Al not to message me on it until I was far away from Granton.

Martin frequently looked through my cell phone and checked my internet history. He checked my emails daily, too, although no one ever emailed me anymore.

Knitting was my one hobby he seemed to support—probably because his own mother used to knit—and he never minded when I looked up ideas or asked for advice in my knitting chat room. That’s where I’d met Al. I didn’t really care much for knitting, but it was the one place I had a friend.

And now, seeing a message from my friend on my cell phone, I was overcome with relief.

I typed out another message, clicking send before I could change my mind.

Me: I don’t know what to do. I’m so scared. He found out where I am. When I woke up this morning, Lily was gone. He took my bunny away.

I stared at the phone, nibbling on a hangnail as I waited for a response. Al was the only person who knew my situation, who understood what this getaway meant for me and Lily.

Suddenly, the phone started ringing, the sound of it so shocking, so surreal. I saw Al’s name flash up on the screen. After a year of only talking online, I was about to hear Al’s voice.

I took a deep breath then answered. “I-Is that r-really you?”

CHAPTER FIVE
The Cop
ELLIE

Barbara James was a worrier. Not only did she worry about me, but everything. I’d tried to stay quiet, sneaking around my bedroom like I was fifteen years old again, but it was only a matter of time before she realized I was still awake.

“Shit.” I clenched my teeth as she rapped on my bedroom door. The light was off, but the computer was emitting a low stream of light that could be seen from under the door.

“Are you awake in there?” The knob rattled and groaned. And then, “Why did you lock your door?” Her voice was muffled on the other side.

She sounded hurt. The pang in her voice triggered a distant memory: the first time I’d lied to her. My best friend Priscilla and I had snuck bottles of cheap alcohol into my room after our seventh grade Valentine’s dance. My mother suspected we were drinking, but I swore to her that we weren’t. Only a few days later she found a bottle of Boone’s Farm stuffed under my bed. Why did you lie to me? Who are you, Ellie? she’d asked. I’d never forgotten that look of disappointment on her face; it cut me to the core. But it wouldn’t be the last time I disappointed my mother…

I got up and opened the door, half-expecting a younger version of her—soft brown curls around her face and smile lines sprouting from her nervous eyes…

But this older version was wearing a frilly button-down nightgown. Her now-thinning, now-white hair was in rollers, her face scrubbed and cleaned to perfection. She didn’t look seventy, but the lines around her eyes had deepened and there were spidery crinkles around her mouth.

“I thought I heard typing in here,” she said, making it sound like an accusation.

“Yes, mother. I’m working. Remember my job? When I agreed to keep living with you, I didn’t agree to a curfew.”

She smiled, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I know that, honey. I was just worried. Are you working on something important? I’m not very tired. Perhaps I could help…” She glanced over my shoulder, squinting at my desk screen even though I knew she couldn’t read it from here without her glasses.

“No…you should get your rest.”

“Oh, come on, Ellie. Your ol’ mom loves a good mystery. I was a big fan of Nancy Drew when I was a girl. Now I can tell something’s on your mind. You barely ate anything at dinner.”

Too tired to put up a fight, I said, “Okay.”

Talking through the case with someone else suddenly seemed like a good idea. I sat down in my computer chair and mom sat down on my bed. I scooted up closer to the screen, rubbing my sleep-filled eyes.

“Okay. There’s this new woman in town, renting out the cabin on the Appleton Farm. She called us in this morning because apparently, her husband kidnapped his own daughter.”

Mom’s perfectly plucked eyebrows shot up. “Really? How old is the daughter?”

“Four. And that’s what’s bothering me. The mom says he’s abusive and so she and the daughter ran away from him. But as soon as she got settled into her new place, he came and took her back.”

“Well, maybe he just took her back home. That doesn’t mean he hurt her. It sort of sounds like this woman is the one who ran off with her in the first place. Why not just divorce the man and do things properly?” Mom sniffed the air, looking around my room as though this case had become considerably less interesting.

But I knew that wasn’t the real reason. My dad never beat up my mom, but he’d been verbally abusive toward her for as long as I could remember, up until the day he died. Although she was too proud to admit it, she knew a thing or two about dysfunctional marriages.

“Well, you’re sort of right. I mean, she doesn’t have a restraining order against the guy. They’re not divorced yet. Technically, taking his daughter back isn’t illegal.”

“What did Sam say?”

It sounded strange, hearing her call my boss, Sergeant DelGrande, by his first name.

“That I should keep trying to reach the husband, then follow up with her again tomorrow. He said that these domestic squabbles usually blow over, and that next time I should suggest she get a lawyer and handle the custody dispute in court. It’s not really a criminal matter unless we have reason to believe the child is in danger.”

“What about his criminal record? Is he a dangerous guy?” Mom leaned forward, squinting at the computer again. A list of criminal cases lined my screen. I’d looked up all men in Tennessee with the last name ‘Nesbitt’.

“Not on paper. He’s had two traffic tickets. That’s it. There’s a couple other men on here with the same name, but they don’t have the same birthday or identifying characteristics as the one who lives in Granton.”

“So, he’s not a criminal. That’s a good sign. But that doesn’t mean he’s not guilty. Abuse can be so subtle…so well hidden sometimes.” Mom shifted around on the bed, looking uncomfortable. In the green glow of the computer screen, she looked gaunt and ghoulish.

“I found something I could work with though. It’s illegal to take your child away to another state without a court order. So, maybe I could nail him for that. Nova’s in West Virginia and he’s in Tennessee. If he grabbed the girl and crossed state lines…”

“Or you could nail her,” Mom corrected me, fluffing her rollers.

“What do you mean?”

“Her home is in Tennessee, right? I bet it still says Tennessee on her driver’s license. If she up and took the daughter away to West Virginia, then she’s the one in trouble here. Have you even looked up her criminal record?”

Instantly, I felt like a moron. “No, I haven’t. But you’re right. I should. I’ve been looking up info on him for the past hour.”

Determined now, I scooted my chair up closer and typed in ‘Nova Nesbitt’ in the search box. I widened my criteria, searching all states and genders.

Instantly, a list popped up and Nova’s name was at the very top. I gasped as a row of charges loaded beneath her name.

Domestic Battery.

Criminal Confinement.

Strangulation.

“Holy shit.”

I leaned back in my chair, full of disbelief. My mind floated back to the wispy, stuttering woman I met this morning. She seemed so fragile, so anxious. Could she be the real abuser in this situation? I wondered, incredulously. My gut was saying: no.

“Mom, you’re the best. I was so focused on him and whether the child was in danger, that I never looked up more info on her. It sounds like there are some major issues going on in the family and I need to figure this out.”

I expected my mom to make a crack about my investigative skills or get on me for cussing, but she just looked tired and worried. She patted me on the shoulder and stood up.

“Don’t go out there by yourself. You know what happened last time…”

I stiffened. “What happened to Ezra Clark wasn’t my fault. I was doing things by the book…”

“This is a small town, Ellie. And everyone in it knew Ezra was a mean drunk.” My mother’s back was to me, her hand resting on the doorknob in the dark.

So, even my mother thinks I’m a cop killer, I thought, squeezing the arms of my computer chair.

“Whether he was a drunk or a well-known cop, doesn’t give him the right to hit his wife. And it certainly didn’t give him the right to grab for my gun when I went to arrest him,” I hissed, waiting for her to turn around.

“I know, honey. I know,” she said, letting herself out and pulling the door closed behind her.

Turning back to the computer screen, I stared at the list of Nova’s charges until the words turned blurry through my tears. Maybe she really was a criminal. A reckless woman who assaulted her husband and skipped town with their child…

Maybe she wasn’t all that she seemed. Or…maybe she just got a bad rap like I did when I’d defended myself against Ezra Clark…

CHAPTER SIX
The Neighbor
CLARA

I stopped sleeping after Krissy left. The house had gone quiet ever since she moved to Texas with her husband, Tim. Now twenty, she was no longer my little girl, but a woman on her own with her own family to take care of and worry about.

It had been two years since she left, but still, sometimes I thought I could hear her—the tap tap tap of her typing. That girl was always typing, either writing a story or doing research for some cause she wanted to fight for. And sometimes I heard the younger versions of her—Krissy with her Hot Wheels, the metal wheels scraping on the hardwood floors and running up the sides of the walls. It used to aggravate me to no end. I’d be reading a book or cooking supper, and here she’d come, buzzing down the hall with those obnoxious cars.

And Annie, too. Sometimes I still heard Annie. Unlike Krissy, Annie never aged—her sounds were always that of a three-year-old. Sucking on her bottle that I never got the chance to break her from. Giggling. Her laughter, a cute little snort. I’d open the bathroom door, expecting to find Annie in there taking a bubble bath, running little rubber duckies around the porcelain walls of the tub…

There were pieces of them all over the farm, like pieces of old ghosts. I couldn’t sleep in my own bed because Andy would be there waiting. I could feel the pressure of his weight, lying on his side of the bed…

Lately, I’d taken to leaving the TV on. Twenty-four hours a day someone was talking—Ellen DeGeneres, Dr. Phil, Judge Judy…But tonight, I couldn’t bear to listen. There was something about listening to other people’s lives that I could no longer stand. It felt stupid, really, living vicariously through other people. Meanwhile, I was wasting away, turning into a ghost myself, here on the farm.

It was late, nearly three in the morning, and nothing good was ever on at this time. A pale sliver of light poked through the curtains and there was a tightening in my throat. I hadn’t smoked in hours, but still, my mouth and throat felt dry.

Quietly, I tiptoed closer to the dining room window, peeking through the small gap in the curtains. Praying my new tenant wouldn’t catch me spying on her again.

But there wasn’t much to see, just a slippery shadow moving around behind the curtains in her bedroom window.

News of Nova’s missing daughter hadn’t made the nightly news. I’d seen her wandering the property in the middle of the day, but she hadn’t been out there long. I was so worried she’d come to my door and knock, but she never did. She’d ran around, frantic-like, then ran back inside.

Suddenly, the back-porch light of the cabin popped on and off. Then on again. From across the field, I watched my tenant emerge through the back-screen door. She was bent at the waist, dragging something over the threshold and then, she pulled a large object across the ground.

In the dark, it looked like a long, black bag.

I couldn’t see her face as she tugged and pulled, but her hair whipped around wildly in the wind until eventually, she disappeared through the trees at the back of the property.

CHAPTER SEVEN
The Cop
ELLIE

Northfolk’s police station was a small brick building, reminiscent of a 1940s school house. On a Sunday morning, there was no one manning the front desk, the entire building deserted. I let myself in, using my key, then flipped on lights as I juggled my coffee and purse.

Working on Sundays wasn’t typical for me. Usually, there was no reason to. The four other officers and I rotated the on-call cell phone every weekend, and responded to emergencies as needed, calling for back-up when necessary.

But rarely did the phone ever ring.

This was Roland’s weekend, but I didn’t expect to see him either. He didn’t come in on weekends; sometimes he didn’t even work on weekdays.

The hallway was cold and colorless, one smoky lightbulb flickering in and out. I used another key to let myself into my office, then frowned at my neatly arranged desk. In the movies, police officers always had messy desks because they were too busy out in the field to deal with paperwork. But most days, I had more than enough time to finish my work and clean my office, too.

The organization in my office felt like a niggling sign of failure.

I took a seat behind the desk and fired up my computer. At home, my searches were more limited. I needed to know more about Nova Nesbitt. Needed to see that police report from when she was charged with all those awful crimes.

The computer was taking forever to load, probably installing some useless update. That’s when I heard the front door to the building click open and shut. Hadn’t I locked it behind me?

“Yooo-hooo!” a man’s voice bellowed. Roland. He’d probably seen my cruiser parked out front and decided to stop in just because. I released an internal groan.

Roland was nearly forty, and balding, but still acted like a frat boy, always telling inappropriate jokes and flirting with the women he was supposed to be protecting.

“What’s up, Sharp?” Sharp was short for Sharp Shooter, another stupid nickname because I wasn’t as experienced or interested in guns as some of my male compatriots. And also, a more sinister reference…they still looked at me as that cop, the one who had shot a fellow officer. A superior officer, to make matters worse.

It didn’t matter that the shooting was justified…no one seemed to care about the actual details of what happened that day with Ezra Clark’s death…they simply wanted to blame the newbie that had killed a veteran officer.

When they looked at me, I could see it in their eyes…She killed a cop. She killed one of us. She can’t be trusted.

But I did the right thing, didn’t I? Sometimes they made me doubt myself…and plans to join a big city force had dissipated. If I couldn’t make it in this small town, I couldn’t make it anywhere…

Roland’s head popped through my door, his smile wolfish and mean. “Whatcha doing here on a Sunday, huh? Looking up online pointers for your shooting exam?” He chuckled at his own joke, hard enough that his laughs evaporated into wheezy coughs.

I was seized by the sudden desire to stand up and punch him.

“Working on a case,” I grumbled, shifting unimportant papers around on my desk. He made me uncomfortable and for a brief moment, as he stood in the doorway surveying me, I forgot why I’d come in in the first place. “What can I do for you, Roland?” I sighed.

“Saw your car. And that reminded me. There were a few messages for ya, on Saturday. From some girl.”

I gripped the edge of my desk with both hands. “Why didn’t you call my personal cell? By girl, do you mean a woman? Was it Nova Nesbitt?”

“Well, I didn’t get the messages until this morning. But yeah, I think that’s the name she said in her message.”

“Roland! You’re on-call. That means you have to answer the phone when it rings. How hard is that to understand? What if it was an emergency?”

Roland shrugged, that lopsided smile coming back. “So, shoot me. It was an honest mistake.” His face flickered with anger on the word shoot.

His eyes were red-rimmed and glassy. He’d probably been down at Mick’s Lounge when the calls came in. Roland and some of the other guys spent their free time at Mick’s, or Prissy’s, the strip club on I-90. Sometimes they spent their on-the-clock hours there too. They weren’t all bad guys, but Roland was definitely the worst in the group. He’s the reason some male cops get bad raps, I thought, shaking my head.

In a town where there were more bars than restaurants, and the closest thing to a strip mall was a strip club with a Dollar Tree attached, what could I really expect? Twenty-five years ago, Roland was playing football, or some other meathead sport that made him look cool, while I was being ignored and/or teased by guys just like him. Now he was just an older, fatter version of himself, but he had the power and authority that came with being a cop.

“Welp, if it was an emergency, she should have called 911. Anyway, she mentioned your name in the message, so I thought I’d pass it along. Something about a dispute with the husband and kid? Sounds like a domestic dispute that the courts should be handling…”

My jaw clenched. It was a terrible habit that often resulted in midnight migraines.

I clicked my computer screen off and gathered up my bag and keys, then I locked the door to my office behind me, nudging him aside with my purse.

I was going to walk out, but then I changed my mind. Turning around, I narrowed my eyes at Roland.

“You know what? I’ll take that on-call cell phone,” I snapped.

Another shrug. “Hey, that works for me.” He took the cell phone out of his back pocket and held it over my head, just out of reach. You must be fucking kidding me. I was far from petite, but I hadn’t grown an inch since middle school. Roland’s six-foot frame towered over my five-foot two-inches.

My fist struck the center of his abdomen and he let out a groan. Bent at the waist, I grabbed the cell phone as it clattered on the floor by my feet.

Roland looked up at me, smiling as he clutched his waistline. His cheeks were the color of cherry blossoms. “You got a thing for picking on other officers, don’t you? Maybe I should report you to the sarge for assault…”

“Go right ahead.”

Unlike some of the guys, Sergeant DelGrande was more supportive of me.

Moments later, I roared out of the parking lot, cussing myself for letting Roland get to me…and for not writing my personal cell number on the back of the business card I gave to Nova. The card had my office extension on it and the on-call number. But if she’d tried my office yesterday, then it would have just rung and rung, eventually going straight to voicemail.

Wildly, I drove around the twisty inclines of the Appalachians, afraid of what I might find. What if Nova found her daughter on the property and I wasn’t there to help? Images of bloody, bloated toddlers sliced through my head like razors. What if her husband showed up and tried to hurt her? I clenched my teeth together so hard I could almost hear the enamel cracking.

Someone should have been there to take her call, dammit!

Despite the beauty of the rugged, flat-topped highlands and majestic mountain ridges that seemed to reach the sun, the town itself looked like an ashtray. Like there was some sort of smoking giant, flicking its filth all over the city, and onto the people who lived here.

The houses were taped together, some barely standing. Boarded up windows and sagging roofs. Windows plastered shut with cardboard or old blankets. And the rivers and creeks were so full of garbage you couldn’t swim or fish. It seemed so wrong to see so much poverty amongst such a beautiful backdrop, but this town was poor. Most of its income came from tourism in the summer and springtime, thanks to hikers and ATV enthusiasts.

I couldn’t breathe when I pulled up in front of the house. Please let Nova be okay…I can’t afford to make another mistake that keeps me ostracized even more by my peers…

The cabin was quiet and dark, and there was something off about the place as soon as I put my cruiser in park.

I approached the cabin, taking in more details than I had on my first visit.

The grass was a soupy wasteland after last night’s rain and mosquitoes buzzed around my pant legs as I made my way up to the door.

I could still see Nova, the way she’d looked two days ago, desperation in her eyes as she ran out to meet me in her robe. She’d been so scared…but I didn’t know what to do for her then. And I still didn’t, I realized.

I knocked softly at first. But then, when no one came to answer, I gave the door a hard, authoritative rap. Her Celica was parked in the same spot it had been the night before.

There were two windows on either side of the front door. I tried to peek through both, eager to spot some sort of movement through the off-white curtains. Nothing. A sick feeling rose in my stomach.

Slowly, I moved around the right side of the house, looking in side windows and peeking in the car as I passed it.

Maybe Nova was still asleep? After all, it was Sunday. Most people, besides church-goers like my mom and her parish, liked to sleep in on the weekends. I silently prayed that that was the case with Nova.

As I reached the backside of the cabin, I immediately noticed that the back door was ajar. A tiny sliver of light peeped out through the crack.

I knocked harder, jarring the door, and I willed myself to be patient. I’d never barged into anyone’s house before, and I didn’t want to start now. Without a warrant, I had no business letting myself inside.

But if something horrible had happened to her…if that dangerous husband of hers had showed up…then it was on me for not taking her more seriously.

“Nova?” I shout-whispered through the crack.

I put my hand on the knob and nudged the door open a few more centimeters. “It’s Officer Ellie James. I need to follow up with you.”

There were no sounds of movement inside and I couldn’t see anything through the crack besides the tiny bit of light coming from the kitchen.

“I’m coming in, ma’am,” I warned. The proper protocol would be to call for some sort of back-up, or at the very least, take out my firearm. But the last thing I wanted was to call the very colleagues who didn’t trust me, and probably wouldn’t have my back anyway.

“Damn you, Nova,” I mumbled, stepping back from the door. Clumsily, I unholstered my pistol and flipped the safety off. I gripped it in my right hand, praying I wouldn’t need to use it ever again…

“Nova, I’m coming in now.” I kicked the door and was instantly met with some sort of resistance.

“What the hell?” I nudged it again with my foot, grunting against whatever weight was pushed up behind it. There was something heavy laying on the other side of the door.

I couldn’t get in the house without squeezing through the crack, and I wasn’t sure what—or who—was behind the door. I took a deep breath and pushed my face up against the crack, trying to see what was jamming up the entranceway.

Instantly, I recognized the black duffel bag. It was the same one I’d seen laying in the middle of the kitchen floor the first time I’d met with Nova. But why was it so heavy? It was almost like it was filled with stones.

Using both hands, including the one with the gun, I gave the door another hard shove. The bag scooted forward a few inches, just enough for me to slip inside the cabin.

I called out for her three more times, then entered the kitchen. Glancing down at the bag, I saw that it was open and filled with hard, fist-sized rocks. Tentatively, I bent down to get a closer look. The rocks were smooth and all the same size.

Next to the rocks were three cylindrical containers with metal latches on top. They were empty but had some scummy red marks around the lids. What the hell?

I gripped the gun in both hands now, my voice shaky as I called out again, “It’s Officer Ellie James, and I’m coming in.” How many times am I going to say that? I wondered, clenching and unclenching my jaw. As I scooted, little by little, across the kitchen floor, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. Something was seriously wrong here, I could feel it in my bones…

It only took a few more seconds to find out what it was. I gasped as I entered the living room, instantly lowering my gun. A puddle of blood, wide as a coy pond, and so red it was almost purple, spread out from the center of the floor. My body swayed and shook as I stared at tiny white fragments at my feet. Kneeling for a closer look, I discovered the fragments were bone. Not just bone—they looked like human teeth.

CHAPTER EIGHT
The Neighbor
CLARA

In a perfect world, the FBI would have showed up at my rental property. But the blood had gone dry by the time two experts showed up to process the scene, and let’s face it: the FBI doesn’t give a damn about people in Northfolk.

I waited outside next to Officer James’ police car, smoking a Camel. I’d gone all night without a cigarette, but this incident gave me the perfect excuse to fire one up. Smoke filled my lungs, sending little shocks of warmth to my head and my toes.

Officer Ellie James had asked me to stay. After all, I owned the cabin that was now the scene of a crime.

Leaning against the hood of my tenant’s car, I puffed while watching the chaos around me unfold.

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