The buildings of the ranch seemed so far away. It seemed like her feet pounded the ground but gained no ground. In the distance, she could see the deputy running toward them, but not getting any nearer.

She could hear her own breathing, the air rasping in and out of her lungs. She could hear her feet thudding against the ground. And in the far, far distance she thought she could hear a siren.

She didn’t dare look back.

Then suddenly something hit her shoulder from behind and she was falling.

Trying to shield Haley, Anne twisted as she fell, hitting the ground with her shoulder. At the same time, the deputy planted himself and shouted for Bordain to drop the knife.

She didn’t.

“Drop the knife!” the deputy shouted.

Milo Bordain looked at the knife in her hand, some kind of terrible realization dawning.

“Drop the knife!”

Slowly her fingers peeled away from the handle. The knife fell to the ground. Bordain fell to her knees, emotions tearing through her. She opened her mouth to cry, but no sound came. She curled into a ball, her broad shoulders heaving as she sobbed silently.

Trying to suck in some air, Anne pushed herself up onto her knees. Haley flung herself into Anne’s arms, crying and crying.

“Mommy! Mommy!”

“It’s okay!” Anne panted, holding her tight. “We’re okay! We’re all right. It’s over.”

And then, somehow, Vince was there, holding them both, and they were safe.

Chapter 102

102

“No one was supposed to get hurt,” Gina began. “We never meant for that at all. We were trying to do something good, really. It was all supposed to work out for the best for everybody, but most of all for Haley.”

“Let’s start at the beginning, Gina,” Vince said. “Tell us about you and Marissa.”

They had gathered in her hospital room—Dixon, Mendez, Hicks, and himself. She was strong enough for it now.

She would be sent home in another day or so, though her ordeal was far from over. Her ankle would require more surgery and physical therapy, and would probably always be a reminder of what she had gone through.

For now, though, the more superficial of her physical injuries had begun to fade from view.

“At the very beginning,” she started, “Marissa—she was Melissa then—she and I became friends in the seventh grade. We lived in Reseda. I had a normal family. Marissa grew up in the foster care system.

“Her mother was killed in a car accident when she was eight, and her father became an alcoholic and couldn’t take care of her. It was really sad. He died when we were seniors in high school.”

“So family was probably really important to Marissa,” Vince said.