Circling the block, she came upon a park. So strange that she hadn’t noticed it the first time she’d been here. Then again, it was hidden back behind a lot of trees, and Whitney hadn’t been looking for a park then. It wasn’t a traditional one. It didn’t have a playground. It had a soccer field, some picnic tables, a few barbecue pits, a lone blue safety light or two. It also had a parking lot shaded by large, leafy trees. Whitney parked in the night-black back corner. After hiding her purse on the floor in the backseat and tucking her keys into her pocket, she locked her car and pulled the hood of her sweatshirt over her head. Then she hurried across the street and hoofed it up the sidewalk. She stood in front of the house a moment, gathering courage.

It felt like a lifetime ago when she’d sat in her car, watching Amelia walk up to the front door. She remembered that awful feeling. The way she’d reached down to unlatch her seat belt. The way she’d fought the urge to run after her daughter.

If only she had.

If only she’d listened to her gut. Followed her instincts.

She was positive this was the house. There was no doubt in her mind anymore.

Lauren standing in the kitchen doorway, watching her make French toast.

Something is off about her.

Whitney shuddered, stepped forward. The street was serene, dimly lit by streetlamps. Exhaling, she made her way to the front door. There was a tiny sliver of beveled glass, a pretty accent for the oak door. She squinted, trying to peer through. But all she saw was a kaleidoscope of colors. As she stepped back, spots filled her vision. Little floaters that made her momentarily disoriented.

She blinked. In the distance a car engine rumbled.

She scurried away from the door and lowered to the ground behind a cluster of bushes under the front windows. A twig scratched her hand on the way down, but it was a superficial scrape. Hadn’t even drawn blood. When her butt hit the dirt, a rank smell filled her nostrils. She hoped she hadn’t sat in dog crap or something.

Tires buzzed along the asphalt. She stayed hidden until it was silent again.

As she stood up, she brushed the dirt off her pants. The front windows were shuttered, and the slats were too close together to make out anything. She moved to the side of the house. It was the same in those windows.

Dammit.

After looking around, she carefully unlocked the back gate. It creaked loudly. A dog barked. Wincing, she froze, expecting a dog to leap out at her. Instinctively squeezing her eyes shut, her entire body tensed. But nothing attacked her. Opening her eyes, she scoured the backyard.

No dog.