Dedication

To Christine. I’m so glad I have you in my life.

As always, to Martin. I love you.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Erica and Penny Singleton for telling me your story. Penny, I’m so happy that your beautiful heart continues to beat. Erica, we’re all blessed because you kept a clear head and knew just what to do. Wishing you both happiness and health. You already have love.

Geoff Symon for all the forensic know-how. (Even though I sometimes have to rewrite scenes and replot clues because forensic TV shows have lied to me all these years.)

Marc Conterato for the medical assistance in all things. Thank you for never being too busy to talk to me.

My lovely Starfish for all the plotting.

Sarah Hafer for your editing expertise.

Caitlin Ellis for all the things you do to keep the biz (and me) running.

Claire Zion, Jen Doyle, and Robin Rue for all your support.

As always, all mistakes are my own.

Prologue

Cincinnati, Ohio
Saturday, March 9, 1:30 a.m.

Run. Don’t look back. Just run.

Michael Rowland clutched Joshua tighter and gritted his teeth against the sharp rocks and twigs digging into his feet. And he ran as fast as he could.

Blinking away tears, he focused on reaching the end of the driveway, at the bottom of the big hill.

Get to the road.

And then? He didn’t know. He’d figure it out when he got there.

He’d figure it all out when he got there.

Where is “there”?

Shut up. Shut up and run.

He fought the urge to look behind him. He wasn’t sure if he’d knocked Brewer out or not. Even if he had, the asshole could come to, and the minute he did, he’d be coming after them. Checking to see wouldn’t make a bit of difference. It would only slow them down and make it easier for Brewer to catch them.

He’ll kill me, Michael thought. Of that he had no doubt. But he’d do worse to Joshua. Joshua, who was only five. So Michael kept running.

He was approaching the cluster of trees that Joshua called the “forest.” At one time it had been an orchard. Now it was totally overgrown. Branches grew every which way and bramble bushes had nearly taken over.

Damn bramble bushes. Michael’s feet were bleeding now. It doesn’t matter. He ignored the pain, welcoming the cover of the trees. Move. Move.