“When am I going home?” she asked.

Damian smiled and shook his head. “You’re staying here tonight. I just spoke to your mom, and she said it was okay.”

Her eyes lit up. “Like a sleepover? Does that mean I don’t have to go to school tomorrow? But I didn’t bring any of my stuff.”

“It’s okay,” Damian said. “We have stuff.”

She sipped her Gatorade. “Oh, okay. Cool.” She stared at the front door.

Damian saw this and walked to it, then locked it. The sound of the door clicking made her gasp.

“It’s okay,” he said. “Don’t be scared. I’m a police officer, remember? Gotta protect my family against criminals. Can’t have no robbers and burglars and such come in here and hurt my loved ones, okay?”

“I’m family?” she asked, puzzled.

He nodded. “Yes, Kitty. You are now. You live here with me. You’re part of this family. Our family.”

“But I already have a family,” she said, suddenly feeling panic set in at the thought of not going home to her mother. “I… I have a mom. I miss my mom. I want to go home now, please.”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, sweetie. Your family didn’t want you anymore. That’s why they sent you here. They want you to come live with me. You belong to me now, you hear me?”

Belong to him? What did that mean? Why was he sounding so angry all of a sudden? He never sounded like that before.

Kitty tried hard not to, but she couldn’t help herself. She began to sob. Tears ran down her cheeks, and her torso was jerking.

“No, no, no crying,” he said, lifting his finger in the air. “There will be no crying in this family, do you hear me?”

That just made her cry even harder. She didn’t know what else to do. She felt so helpless. Soon Officer Damian lost his temper, and he slapped her across the face. Kitty gasped and stopped crying immediately. She stared at him with eyes wide, her cheek burning from the slap.

“Now you shut up, do you hear me?” he said, panting.

Kitty looked into his eyes. They had changed. They didn’t look at her the same way, like he thought she was pretty. No, they were angry and harsh and cold as stone. Kind of like Cole when he got very drunk. He could get mean like that. Well, not completely like this. This was more. She knew she needed to get out of there. She took her Gatorade and spilled it on purpose on the wooden floors.

“What the heck? Oh my God, you’re clumsy!” he growled.

He went to get a towel. When he turned his back at her, she sprang for the front door. She grabbed the lock and flipped it, then opened the door and leaped outside. But as she did, an arm grabbed her around the neck and pulled her back. Officer Damian then took out a stun gun and tased her. It felt like a stunning jolt, like putting a finger to a light socket or on the fence when feeding the horses at the farm down the street, only this didn’t stop. It continued. Shocks of electricity shot through her small body till the pain made her pass out.

TWENTY-NINEBILLIE ANN

It was late before I made it home. I drove through the town in the darkness, wondering about Ashley Wittman and where she could be. I had finished my report on the murder of Bryan Henderson, and I couldn’t—for the life of me—figure out what his connection was to Cassandra or Emma. Tom had done a great deal of work, and we could strike out several leads. Bryan Henderson didn’t work with anyone in connection to the girls; he had no relation to the Perez family or Marissa; he had never stepped foot at Cassandra’s school; and he had no links to the area where they lived, or where Cassandra’s body was found. Nothing seemed to connect them. A neighbor had called in and told us that she had seen a man come and go regularly from Marissa’s house, and I couldn’t help wondering if Marissa had a boyfriend she hadn’t told us about.

In a moment of exhaustion Tom suggested that our guy was just a random murderer who killed for the fun of it, toying with us, by choosing victims that were very different and had no connection. Then he once again questioned whether or not Emma even existed.

That’s when I decided it was time for us all to go home. We were tired and nothing good came of that. We needed rest.

I had driven up my street and into my driveway, when I realized my mother’s car was in my spot.

What’s she doing here?

I wasn’t exactly in the mood for company and especially not hers.

I exhaled and braced myself, then walked inside. I spotted Joe sitting at the dining room table, a beer in front of him. My mom was in the kitchen doing the dishes. The house smelled like food, and I saw that there was a meatloaf on the counter.

“Mom?” I said, putting down my keys. “What are you doing here?”

“Joe asked me to come.”

She smiled. It came off as very forced and uncomfortable. I knew that smile. She wanted to talk. She had that look in her eyes—of compassion, but also like she was about to tell me the hard truth about something.

“Come sit.”

I felt like a child in trouble. I opened a bottle of white wine, poured myself a glass, and then sat down at the table with Joe and took a long sip. I knew my mother well enough to know that the conversation she was about to have would be a heavy one.

“Did the kids eat?” I asked.

Joe nodded. “Your mom cooked. They’re in their rooms.”

“Good.”

“Sweetie, we need to talk,” my mother said, sitting down at the table across from me. Her voice was soft, but I could hear the edge of worry in it. She looked at my wineglass with concern, and it made me feel guilty.

I sat up straight, bracing myself for whatever was coming. “Okay, it’s been a long day, so I’m really tired. You know, with trying to solve a double homicide and all that. But by all means. Let’s talk now. No time like the present, right? What’s going on, Mom?” I asked.

Joe looked up at me, his eyes sympathetic. I didn’t want his pity.

“What’s going on?” I repeated.

My mother exhaled. “Honey. Joe has told me everything.”

I frowned. “Everything? What do you mean?”

I sipped my wine.

My mom’s lips shivered nervously. “He’s told me… he’s said that you and he are… um…” She paused, unable to get the words out. I knew she was against divorce and thought people today didn’t do enough to fight for their marriages, like she had done with my father. I knew this was going to be a blow for her, and that was probably why I hadn’t been able to tell her yet. I needed to deal with my own emotions first.

“Separating, yes,” I said. “I was going to tell you but haven’t gotten around to it yet. We haven’t exactly seen each other in a while.”

She looked at me like she felt sorry for me, her shoulders slumping, her head tilted, eyes concerned. Like I had just told her I had been fired or lost someone dear to me. It almost seemed condescending, and it infuriated me. Why did she have to worry? Couldn’t she just be proud of me for once? If for nothing else, then for the hard work I’m doing? Trying to stop a murderer?

“Yes,” she said, bobbing her head. “He told me that.”

“Okay,” I said. “I can understand why you’re upset, but in all fairness, I was going to tell you eventually. I just wanted to do it face-to-face. And I wanted to tell you so myself, but apparently Joe thought he could just blurt it out—”

She placed a hand on my arm. “He told me everything, Billie Ann. And I’m grateful he did.”

Everything? As in everything?

My eyes grew wide. I stared at her, then at Joe, then back at her, baffled at this news.