She loved her house. It was welcoming and sheltering and safe, with none of the oppressive memories her childhood home had contained from her parents’ long unhappy marriage.

Vince led the way to the front door, laden down with duffel bags. Anne carried Haley, who was still a bit weak from her ordeal. Haley looked around with a critical eye, taking in the curved staircase with a glimpse of family room to one side and dining room to the other.

“Does your house have monsters?” she asked.

“No, honey. No monsters,” Anne said. “This is a safe house. No monsters will get you here.”

The little girl put her head on Anne’s shoulder, a thumb inching toward her mouth. “I’m tired.”

Anne carried her upstairs to the small guest room nearest the master. The room she had already pegged for a nursery. The walls were painted the softest blue. The double bed was too big for a toddler, but would hopefully give Haley the feeling of being on her own little island of safety with her stuffed animals.

She was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

Anne tucked her in and brushed a hand tenderly over her mop of dark curls. When she turned, Vince was smiling at her tenderly.

“You’re a natural at that,” he said softly, slipping his arms around her.

Anne hugged him back. “She’ll be out for a while. Want some breakfast?”

He nuzzled her neck and growled. “I want you for breakfast.”

“You’ll have to settle for scrambled eggs,” she said, ducking away.

They went downstairs to the kitchen and Anne set about the task of making eggs while Vince made coffee. She loved being domestic with him. They had a nice working rhythm together, as if they had been a team for years instead of months.

“What’s going on with the investigation?” she asked.

“They’re still digging for background on the victim. I have a feeling there was a lot more to her than met the eye,” he said. “She claimed she was from Rhode Island, but there’s no trace of her ever having been there. And records of her here in California only go back to 1981.”

“Haley was born in 1982,” Anne said.

“Yeah. So was Marissa Fordham invented for the sole purpose of being Haley’s mother? Who was she before that? And so far no clue to who her father is. And the one person I think can tell us that has gone missing.”

“Voluntarily?” she asked cautiously, a low-watt current of unease going through her.

“I don’t know. It appears that way,” Vince said. “But I admit I don’t have a good feeling about it. I think these two gals could have been in something together and it got one of them killed.”

“And the other one is missing.”