THE FIRST THING I saw when I barreled out of the police station was Cody Radu’s house. Empty now, every window dark, a swing on the front lawn swaying forlornly in the wind. I thought of their three little girls. Orphans now. I don’t know what kind of father Cody had been, but I knew one thing—three young witches were going to grow up thinking they were the daughters of a serial killer. Being treated like the daughters of a serial killer.

I turned away. As Adam fumbled to get my door open, I noticed Kayla down the street, coming out of a building. I blinked, sure I was seeing wrong. A woman in a business suit stepped out behind her. A social worker.

I saw the backpack over Kayla’s thin shoulders and the battered suitcase the woman carried. With her free hand, she guided Kayla to a sedan idling in front of the building. Kayla walked with her head down, gaze fixed on the sidewalk.

“Kayla!” I shouted as I ran toward her.

She glanced up. Then she looked away, opened the back door to the car, and got in. When I called again, the social worker shielded her eyes and squinted at me.

“This is a mistake,” I said as the woman put Kayla’s suitcase in the trunk.

“Are you a relative?” the woman asked.

“No, but it’s a mistake. You don’t need to take her. Paula will get out on bail and it’ll all be cleared up—”

“Paula Thompson has been charged with her daughter’s murder. Bail or not, the girl can hardly stay with her, can she?” The woman handed me a card. “You can contact my agency if you have any concerns. Right now, I need to get this little girl to a home.”

“You have a placement for her already?”

“I meant a residential facility.”

She brushed past me and got into the car.

“Savannah,” Adam called.

I glanced over to see him a few yards away. I hurried to Kayla’s door. She sat rigid, staring forward, backpack on her lap.

I rapped on the window. She ignored me.

“Kayla,” I said. “Please. It’s a mistake. I never meant—”

The car started rolling away. I jogged alongside it. Adam started walking fast, closing the gap between us.

“Kayla, please. I can explain. I didn’t do this. I’d never—”

The woman hit the gas. I lurched forward. Adam caught me. I pushed him away, but the car was already too far gone to catch.

“Savannah,” Adam said, reaching for me.

I circled around him and headed back toward the Jeep. I passed it and kept walking. Adam jogged after me.

“For a sick woman, you’re running away pretty good,” he said.

“I’m not—”