For the first time since the attack, she was alone in the house.

Take a breath. You’re a big girl. Get busy doing whatever you need to do.

What she needed to do was assure herself that she was alone. She went from room to room, checking closets, behind doors, tubs, showers, under beds, anywhere a person could hide. Sure, it was silly, but she had to do it. And each time she checked a room, she went to the window, scanning the street for anything strange: a parked car or a suspicious-looking person. She saw a woman walking her dog, an older couple strolling along. A courier truck passed by, then a marked patrol car, which gave her a measure of relief.

But as quickly as the police car came, it vanished.

She then saw a solitary runner—a woman in a ball cap, T-shirt, shorts—and felt a pang of envy. Lisa loved running. She’d kept her routine in the first days after they’d moved in, getting to know their pretty neighborhood through the jogging paths she’d chosen. She wanted to resume her running routine, wanted to explore the new trails in the links Michelle Judson had sent her.

But she was afraid to go running alone.

Because he’s still out there.

Her fear evolved into anger at her attacker for what he’d done to her life.

I’ve got to get past this.

Work.

She made fresh coffee and went to her desk to resume analyzing high survey-nonresponse rates and sampling errors concerning studies from regions with slightly higher-than-average traces of pesticides in drinking water. It had been days since she’d worked on this. She took her time rereading and reacquainting herself with the material, trying to recall where she’d left off on her draft report when her phone vibrated.

A text from Jeff.

How’re you doing?

Had it been an hour? She checked the time: closer to ninety minutes.

Fine, actually. How’re things there?

Good so far. Stay strong. Love you.

She sent him a heart and smiling face.

She loved him so much. It felt so right to be with someone who understood her. Their relationship was not like most others—they were welded by childhood tragedies.

Lisa never talked about everything that had happened the day Stacey was killed, but when she’d first met Jeff she had sensed something different about him, different from the other men she’d known. On their third date, she told him about Stacey, sobbing as she relived the horror of the car accident.

Stacey’s dad was driving them home from Tiffany’s ninth-birthday party. Lisa and Stacey were in the back seat of Stacey’s dad’s car, laughing, teasing each other, when her father cursed, the brakes screeched, the car crashed and Stacey shot from the vehicle.