I hated driving downtown: endless bumper-to-bumper traffic; aggressive assholes behind the wheel; idiot pedestrians racing out into busy intersections, their overcoats flapping behind them. But sometimes it was a necessary evil to venture into the belly of the beast. Especially when you were about to meet with a potential business investor.

Everything was ready to fall into place . . . before everything was about to fall apart. I had drafted the bank-requested proposal for my health and wellness company—Workout Wonder, Don’t wonder if you can get healthy when we’ll help you do it!—networked and found someone with loaded pockets who was equally excited about the prospect, even located an affordable start-up site. Tony had given his stamp of approval, willing to work whatever extra hours were needed to supplement our income until I got things up and running. My dream was becoming a reality, with only one step remaining.

The contract sat on the passenger seat, ready to be signed by my new partner—who I was ten minutes late to meet. I had circled the same block three times with no luck finding a parking spot until, lo and behold, Lady Luck smiled on me. A spot right in front of his office, and I’d be damned if I let anybody else get it before I did.

I inched my car forward at the red light, cussing the knot of businesspeople rushing through the crosswalk. My front fender skimmed the intersection when the truck slammed into the side of my Honda Accord, smashing through the passenger side and hurling my car into oncoming traffic. My neck snapped to one side. My airbag crushed my cheek. The competing forces twisted my body into a Z. The pedestrians and skyscrapers spun crazily like a carnival ride.

As the car slowed to a stop, everything else stopped with it. My dreams. My future. My health. My marriage. That day was the beginning of the end.

Chapter 23

Robin

THURSDAY

I hadn’t recognized Geoffrey Faust’s voice when he called to tell me he had Willow. Why would I? It had been nineteen years ago, after all. Nineteen years of burying his face somewhere in the tar-black depths of my mutilated soul. Nineteen years of erasing him—his voice, his body, his smell, his ghost. And now here he was, back from the dead to haunt me. As if he hadn’t destroyed me enough, now he was with my daughter.

The drive to the address I had scribbled down on a scrap of paper was a blur of passing trees and houses. I couldn’t tell you if I ran any red lights or sped through any stop signs. I drove with red fury guiding me, set on getting Willow back from the last person I had ever expected to see or hear from.