He’d been worried; now he was shocked. Bree almost never cursed, and even stranger, she was threatening his job, which was insane. He was very good at what he did. Two or three times a year, he turned away headhunters who wanted to shop him to other firms or corporations. It was partly loyalty to Bree that kept him at this firm. All this over a car-pool ride, something he would do every day if she needed it.

“Of course I’m going to help you.” He meant it gently, but his surprise made it come out clipped.

“Don’t tell anyone,” she added.

“Don’t tell anyone what?” He was confused again. A secret stomach flu?

He heard a slapping sound, one, two, three times. It sounded like she was banging the flat of her hand into her forehead.

“Anything. Jesus, anything,” she said, so wild and high and crazy that her voice cracked.

“Bree, are you—”

She hung up.

4

I’d called Marshall from my car on instinct, even though he lived so far and our girls were not close friends. Greer’s mom was probably in the parking lot right now, and she’d have happily taken them.

But I didn’t want Peyton and Anna-Claire to ride off with some mommy. I wanted fierce, smart Betsy. Marshall was the next-best thing. They were the only cops I’d ever really trusted, and like most ex-policemen, Marshall owned guns. I hoped he had a gun on him right now, breaking every single zero-tolerance school rule. I hoped he had a hundred guns, because he knew how to use them. I wanted him and all his guns and knowledge and training to escort the girls to my mother’s secure building.

I pressed a shaking hand to my heart. It felt swollen, huge. It thumped and wheezed against the closing walls of my rib cage. At least the girls were with him. I’d heard their voices in the background. I didn’t care if he resented me or thought I was cashing in as if he owed me, as long as they were safe.

I looked down at the watch Trey had given me last Christmas, the delicate gold links so real and solid, and it seemed like someone else’s memory strapped to someone else’s shaking hand. It was 5:03 now. I was halfway to my house.

The note was on my passenger seat. My vision was too blurry for me to read it, but it didn’t matter. I knew exactly what it said.

If you ever want to see your baby again, GO HOME.

Tell no one.

Do not call the police.

Do not call your husband.

Be at your house by 5:15 p.m.

Or he’s gone for good.