PROLOGUE
Beverly Sinclair had finally done it. After years of working to get her life on track, she finally had a decent job, a great husband, and the smartest, most beautiful baby boy ever born. He was only three weeks old, but she was certain he was destined for great things.
She could hardly wait to show Cory off to her friend Isabelle.
The doorbell rang five minutes early, but that was just like Isabelle. She was never late a day in her life.
Beverly rushed to the door, filled with a proud, maternal excitement she’d never known existed before Cory was born. Isabelle was going to love him.
She swung the heavy wooden door open, wearing a welcoming smile.
A masked man rushed forward, pushing her inside before she had time to react. His weight slammed into her, knocking her against the wall.
Shock jolted through her, making it hard to breathe. A scream formed in her mind, but that was as far as it got. Her lungs heaved, filling with air scented by a faint hint of men’s cologne.
He kicked the door shut behind him with a final, sickening thud.
From the nursery, Beverly heard the squeaky beginnings of her baby’s cry.
She had to get Cory out of the house. Run away.
Panic flooded her body with strength, and she shoved hard against her attacker. She let out a cry of outrage that made her throat burn with its ferocity.
The man rocked back on his heels enough that Beverly was able to slip out of his reach, but her freedom didn’t last long. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her back, catching her before she fell.
She saw a flash of silver out of the corner of her eye and turned toward it, praying it wasn’t a knife even as she brought her arms up to protect herself from a slashing blade. But the man held a small aerosol can in his gloved hand. Something wet and cold hit her face as a sharp medicinal stench filled her nose. Her body crumpled like rag doll, and her captor’s arms tightened around her, keeping her from hitting the hard tile floor.
Beverly tried to move, but her body didn’t respond. She could see and hear perfectly, but nothing else worked. Her arms and legs buzzed for a moment, then went numb. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t even twitch.
The man settled her gently to the floor. “We can’t have you bruised,” he said in a clinical tone. “That would ruin everything.”
A thick, suffocating fear settled over Beverly. She had no idea what he meant by that, but it couldn’t be good. Not for her. Not for her baby.
Cory let out an angry wail, giving away his presence in the next room.
Beverly struggled to move something—her arm, her finger—anything.
A hoarse moan floated up from her chest, but it was all she could manage, and even that wasn’t loud enough to be heard in the next room, much less by her neighbors.
The man smoothed her hair away from her face and leaned over her so she could see right into his bright blue eyes. “Everything’s going to be okay. You’ll see. I’m going to take good care of you.”
Helplessness made it hard to breathe, impossible to think.
He left her there, lying on the floor, struggling to make a movement or sound. Only the knowledge that Isabelle would be here at any minute kept her sane. Isabelle would save her.
She heard water running in the bathroom. The antique clock on the wall bonged, telling her it was two. Isabelle would be stepping through the door at any second.
Cory’s cries got louder. Maybe the neighbors would hear him.
Please, let them hear him.
The man came out of the bathroom and hovered over her. It made him look huge. Monstrous. He was a giant black shadow ready to devour her.
“We don’t have much time. Let’s get you out of those clothes.”
Beverly’s heart gave a hard, fearful kick. She struggled not to panic. She had to stay calm for her baby and get him out of this any way she could.
The man picked her up as if she weighed nothing and carried her into the bathroom. The air felt warm and humid, and she heard a drip of water landing in the tub.
A tingling sensation began along the bottom of her feet, and hopeful excitement made her break out in a cold sweat. Maybe whatever he’d done to paralyze her was wearing off.
The man unbuttoned her blouse. “This would be faster without the gloves, but we wouldn’t want to leave any fingerprints behind, would we?”
He stripped the shirt off her body and reached around her to unfasten her bra. A new kind of panic found its way to the surface as Beverly realized that he might be here to rape her.
Then again, if that was all he wanted and he left Cory alone, she’d count herself fortunate.
He continued stripping her clothes away, talking to her in a calm voice. “I have too much work to do. Too many people to help.”
A warm, buzzing sensation worked its way up her legs, and she began to get the feeling back in her hands, too. As much as she wanted to fight him, she remained still, not letting him know that she could move. Surprise was the only advantage she might have, and she didn’t want to give it up.
She still wore her stretchy maternity pants because they were more comfortable, and he slid them and her panties down and off her legs without any trouble. He didn’t even look at her nak*d body. There was no hint of lust in his eyes, only clinical detachment as he lifted her into the bathtub.
Warm water sloshed around her as he arranged her limp arms along the sides to hold her head up.
Beverly lay there, nak*d. Helpless. She cringed every time he touched her, barely restraining the urge to jerk away from him.
Cory was screaming his little head off in the next room, and she silently willed him to quiet down. To not draw attention to himself.
Where the hell was Isabelle? She was never late, unlike Beverly, who was late so often her husband had set every clock in the house fifteen minutes fast.
Oh, God.
Isabelle wasn’t due for another ten minutes, at least. A lot could happen in ten minutes. Too much.
The man left the bathroom. His heavy footsteps moved down the hall toward her son’s room.
Cory stopped crying. What had he done to her baby?
Beverly panicked and tried to crawl out of the tub. Her limbs thrashed around clumsily, making water spill over the side. She lost her precarious balance and slipped under the water. A scream tore out of her throat and water rushed up her nose, choking her.
She was not going to drown. Not while her son was out there with that maniac.
Her lungs burned as she tried to push her head above water on weak arms. She slipped twice more before she was finally strong enough to break the water and draw in a desperate breath.
She coughed violently, spewing water out of her airway. Her arms shook, but they held her weight, barely. Her body was stronger now, though still wobbly. Whatever he’d sprayed on her was wearing off almost as fast as it had started working. Thank God.
Water ran into her eyes, but she didn’t dare wipe it away and risk falling into the water again. She blinked several times to clear her vision, and when she could see, the sight that greeted her made her blood run cold.
The man was holding her baby, cradling her son in one burly arm while he held a gloved hand around the boy’s throat. The threat was clear. He would kill Cory.
“Stop,” was all he said. It was all he had to say.
Beverly froze, afraid to even blink. “Please don’t hurt him.” Her words came out slurred, but he seemed to understand.
“I don’t want to hurt him. But I will.”
“Just tell me what you want me to do.”
The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a bright orange box knife. He set it on the edge of the tub. “You’re going to use this.”
Beverly had no clue what he meant. What did he want her to cut? “Use it on what?”
“Yourself.”
Her stomach lurched even as her mind tried to grasp onto some sane part of what he was saying. “You’re crazy.”
She couldn’t be certain, but behind the mask, she thought she saw his mouth tighten in anger. His hand went back to her son’s neck. When he spoke, his voice was clipped and harsh. “You will end your suffering before you can inflict any on your child.”
“I’d never hurt my baby.”
“You wouldn’t mean to. Parents never mean to.”
“Please. I don’t understand. Who are you talking about?”
The man’s fingers tightened around Cory’s fragile neck. “Your life or your son’s. Which will it be?”
This made no sense, but as crazy as this man was, he was deadly serious. She had no doubt he’d do what he said and hurt her baby. If she could stall for time . . .
“Can’t we talk about this? Tell me why you’re doing this.”
“No more talk. We don’t have much time. Isabelle is coming.”
How did he know that? “You can give her my baby. She’ll take good care of him.”
“Enough talk! Do it and I’ll let the child live. Fight me and I’ll end his suffering before it can start. I swear I will.” He gave Cory a small shake and Beverly’s chest squeezed with panic.
Cory’s face turned red and scrunched up as he wound up to let out a cry. He was so beautiful. Tiny and perfect. Beverly loved her husband, but she’d never known love like she had the moment they placed Cory in her arms. It had been overwhelming. Consuming. She would do anything for her baby.
Anything.
Tears streamed down her face as she picked up the knife. Her weak, wet fingers slipped on the plastic, but she managed to slide the blade open. Sunlight from the window shone along the razor edge.
“Nice and deep,” said the man. “You’ll just float away. Free after all these years.”
Not free. Dead. But her son would live. She had to believe that.
Beverly positioned the blade on her wrist, looked at her baby one more time, and held that image in her mind as she made the first cut.
CHAPTER ONE
T hings have been a little . . . weird here lately. Watch your back, okay?”
Grant Kent always did—it’s how he’d survived nearly a decade in Delta Force—but in the week since hearing Isabelle’s odd message, he hadn’t been able to get those words out of his head. Nor had he been able to forget the way her voice shook when she spoke them.
It was the first time she’d ever called him, and it hadn’t been to catch up on old times. Something was wrong, and Grant had driven three hundred miles out of his way to find out what it was.
His Mustang slid through the quiet residential streets as he searched for the right house. He only hoped that the return address on the Christmas card she’d sent him last year was still good.
It didn’t matter that he was starting a new job tomorrow and had to be in Denver by morning. Nor did it matter that he hadn’t seen Isabelle in fourteen years. What mattered was Isabelle had called him, and although she hadn’t asked him to come, there was something about the slight vibration of fear in her voice that made everything else seem unimportant.
So, here he was, in Springfield, Missouri—the home of bad memories—where he promised himself he’d never go again. All because little Isabelle Carson was afraid and Grant couldn’t let that stand.
He figured he had about two hours to find out what was freaking her out, fix it, and get back on the highway if he was still going to be sitting at David Wolfe’s breakfast table by morning.