“It’s been a long day,” Lauren admitted. She wondered what the psychologist would have to say if she related her afternoon’s drama. Anne Leone would probably write her a prescription for a long stay in a padded room.

She took a sip of the wine. It was warm and velvety on her tongue, and went down as smooth as silk. She looked to the playroom to see Leah and Wendy laughing at the antics of Anne’s little boy as he danced around in a sea of large, colorful plastic balls.

“That’s nice to see,” she said. “Leah hasn’t found a lot to smile about lately.”

“That’s a tough age to move,” Anne said. “I’m sure she misses her friends. But she’s found a good new friend in Wendy.

“Wendy’s been through a lot in the last few years too,” Anne explained. “I was her fifth-grade teacher. She and several of her classmates stumbled onto a murder victim. It was a rough time that opened a Pandora’s box of trouble. She lost her best friend. She was attacked by another student. Her parents ended up getting divorced.”

“That sounds like a lot of damage done,” Lauren said.

“No doubt about that. And it’s hard for kids who have gone through these kinds of things. All they want is to be like everyone else their age, but they’re not. They’ve had experiences other kids can’t understand or relate to.”

“I feel the same way,” Lauren confessed. “And I’m forty-two.”

“You belong to a club nobody wants to join.”

“The dues suck,” she pointed out.

“And there are no benefits,” Anne added.

“Aren’t we lucky?” Lauren said, giving a little toast with her glass.

“Speaking for myself,” Anne said, “yes. My alternative was to be dead. I’d rather be a live victim than a dead one. At least there’s room for things to improve.”

And I’d rather be dead if it meant bringing Leslie home safe, Lauren thought, but didn’t say. She’d shared enough for one night.

Chapter 6

6

“She didn’t start out a bitch,” Tanner said. “I’ll give her that. You had to feel for her. I can’t imagine going through that—your kid just disappears, you don’t know what happened, you don’t know if she’s alive or dead or what some sick son of a bitch is doing to her. What else would matter to you? Nothing. Fuck everybody.”

She took a long drink. Vodka and tonic with three wedges of lemon.

They sat at a prime window table at one of the best restaurants on Stearns Wharf. Tanner’s choice. A well-dressed older woman at the next table gave Tanner a dirty look for her language. Tanner rolled her eyes.