She looked up at me with liquid blue eyes. “No leave. Tell Mommy,” she whispered.

Reprimand delivered, I gave in to the past ten minutes of terror, scooped her back into my arms, and held her tight. “Don’t scare Mommy like that,” I whispered against the top of her head. “Seriously, Sophie. I love you. I never want to lose you. You are my Sophie.”

In response her tiny fingers dug into my shoulders, clutched me back.

After another moment, I set her down. I should’ve set the bolt lock, I reminded myself. And I’d have to move my keys to the top of a cabinet, or perhaps add them to the gun safe. More things to remember. More management in an already overstretched life.

My eyes stung a little, but I didn’t cry. She was my Sophie. And I loved her.

“Weren’t you scared?” I asked as I took her hand and led her back to the apartment for our now cold dinner.

“No, Mommy.”

“Not even locked in the dark?”

“No, Mommy.”

“Really? You’re a brave girl, Sophie Leoni.”

She squeezed my hand. “Mommy come,” she said simply. “I know. Mommy come for me.”

I reminded myself of that evening now, as I lay trapped in a hospital room, surrounded by beeping monitors and the constant hum of a busy medical center. Sophie was tough. Sophie was brave. My daughter was not terrified of the dark, as I’d let the detectives believe. I wanted them to fear for her, and I wanted them to feel for her. Anything that would make them work that much harder, bring her home that much sooner.

I needed Bobby and D.D., whether they believed me or not. My daughter needed them, especially given that her superhero mother currently couldn’t stand without vomiting.

It went against the grain, but there it was: My daughter was in jeopardy, lost in the dark. And there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.

One a.m.

I fisted my hand around the blue button, held it tight.

“Sophie, be brave,” I whispered in the semi-darkened room, willing my body to heal faster. “Mommy’s coming. Mommy will always come for you.”

Then I forced myself to review the past thirty-six hours. I considered the full tragedy of the days behind. Then I contemplated the full danger of the days ahead.

Work the angles, anticipate the obstacles, get one step ahead.

Brian’s autopsy had been moved to first thing in the morning. A Pyrrhic victory—I had gotten my way, and in doing so, had certainly stuck my own head in the noose.

But it also fast-forwarded the timeline, took some of the control from them and gave it back to me.

Nine hours, I figured. Nine hours to physically recover, then ready or not, the games began.