Zoe fell into Selma’s arms.

Right on the small grassy area in front of her mother’s apartment building, she dropped the farmer’s phone and held fast to her mother. While Rand Cooligan stood uncomfortably by, she sobbed wildly and clung to her mother, relishing the smells of Selma’s perfume and smoke, the scents she’d grown up with. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and still the tears ran freely. During the phone conversation that had lasted from the second Selma had called back until this very moment with the afternoon sunlight streaming and people staring as they walked past, she’d learned that no one had heard from Chloe. Her twin was still missing. Zoe’s heart cracked. All her hopes that her sister had escaped had been dashed, and now, she was certain that Chloe was still in the psycho’s clutches.

Or dead.

Dear God, she couldn’t, wouldn’t think that was possible. If Chloe had died, Zoe was certain she would sense it. She would just know. Surely.

Her soul ripped a little at that thought, that she, like her mother before her, might spend the rest of her life without the comfort of her sister, the person she’d known since before birth, the sibling with whom she’d grown in the womb. Was it possible that the very part of her that was her center, how she defined herself, would be lost to her forever?

No!

She swallowed back a sob of despair.

“Oh, baby,” her mother whispered, tears running down Selma’s cheeks as she held her daughter in a surprisingly strong grip. “Thank God, you’re safe. Oh . . . honey.” Looking over Zoe’s shoulder as they held each other close, Selma said to the farmer standing awkwardly nearby, “Thank you, thank you.”

He nodded, looked away, then cleared his throat. “She said something about a twin sister,” he said, and Zoe felt Selma’s arms tighten around her.

“Chloe.” Zoe sniffed loudly and blinked against the wash of tears. “We have to save her. He’s got her.”

“Who?” her mother asked.

“I don’t know. The freak. This tall psycho who kept us in a basement out in the middle of nowhere and sang the birthday song and wore nothing but a rubber apron. A psycho freak! He’s got her and . . . and we have to save her.”

“We . . . we will,” Selma said.