Chapter 1
At first, Daniel Mercer thought the mower blade had thrown a stone against the side of the house.
The sound was sharp enough to make him lift his head, but not unusual enough to kill the engine. His backyard had been neglected since Lauren died. Weeds crowded the fence. The grass had grown uneven around the maple tree because Sophie still refused to let him mow over the patch where her mother used to spread a picnic blanket.
Then the sound came again.
Not a stone.
A scream.
“Sophie!”
Daniel released the mower handle and ran.
He crossed the patio with grass clinging to his faded jeans and entered through the unlocked kitchen door. The bright suburban kitchen looked as if someone had jerked the room sideways. A chair had been overturned near the island. A glass of lemonade had shattered across the tile. Sticky yellow liquid spread beneath the table, carrying thin shards toward the hallway.
From the living room came a muffled cry.
Daniel rounded the corner.
Patricia was kneeling on the carpet over Sophie.
His mother-in-law’s cream blouse had pulled loose from her navy trousers. Her styled blonde-gray hair had fallen across one eye. One hand pressed over Sophie’s mouth while the other pinned the child’s wrist against the floor.
Sophie’s pale-yellow shirt was twisted at the shoulder. Her sneakers scraped uselessly against the carpet. Her frightened blue eyes found Daniel’s.
For one stunned second, his mind rejected the scene.
Then he moved.
“Get your hands off my daughter!”
He seized Patricia by the forearm and pulled her away. He did not throw her, though every nerve in his body wanted to. Patricia stumbled into the couch and struck one hand against the cushion.
Sophie scrambled behind him.
Her fingers closed around the back of his grass-stained gray T-shirt, then slid down and gripped his jeans. Daniel could feel the violent tremor running through her arms.
Patricia recovered quickly.
“She was having a tantrum,” she said.
Daniel stared at her.
“A tantrum?”
“She became hysterical when I tried to calm her.”
“You were covering her mouth.”
“She was screaming.”
“That isn’t an explanation.”
Patricia’s sharp blue eyes flicked toward the coffee table.
Her large brown leather purse sat beside a half-finished cup of tea.
She moved for it.
Sophie tightened her hold on Daniel’s jeans.
“She hurt me,” the girl sobbed. “Dad… check her purse.”
Patricia stopped.
The change in her face lasted less than a second, but Daniel saw it.
Not indignation.
Not confusion.
Panic.
Patricia lunged for the coffee table. Daniel reached it first and caught the purse by its handles.
“Give that back,” she snapped. “You have no right.”
“You’re in my house.”
“That is my private property.”
“My daughter just told me to look inside it.”
“She doesn’t understand what she’s saying.”
Daniel opened the purse.
At the top lay a leather wallet, reading glasses, tissues, a bottle of hand lotion, and a ring of keys. Beneath them was a clear plastic document sleeve.
He pulled it out.
Sophie’s birth certificate stared back at him through the plastic.
Under it was her Social Security card.
Daniel’s fingers went cold.
He removed the sleeve and found another document beneath it: Lauren Mercer’s certified death certificate.
His wife’s name appeared in black type above the date that had divided his life into before and after.
Eight months earlier, Lauren’s car had left a rain-slick county road and struck a concrete drainage barrier. She had died before the ambulance reached the hospital.
Daniel looked at Patricia.
“What are you doing with these?”
Patricia’s mouth tightened.
“You aren’t capable of understanding.”
Daniel reached deeper into the purse and found a thick blue folder labeled EMERGENCY GUARDIANSHIP PETITION.
The first page named Patricia Caldwell as the proposed guardian of Sophie Mercer.
Daniel was described as mentally unstable, dependent on alcohol, and unable to provide a safe home.
Attached to the petition were photographs of unwashed dishes, an empty whiskey bottle, Sophie sitting alone outside her school, and Daniel asleep on the living room couch.
His shame recognized each image before his anger could deny them.
The photographs had been taken over several months.
Some from inside his house.
Some from across the street.
Then two white slips slid from the folder and fell onto the carpet.
Bus tickets.
Denver to Phoenix.
Departure: 4:40 that afternoon.
One adult.
One child.
Sophie whispered from behind him, “She said we had to leave before you came inside.”
Daniel turned slowly toward Patricia.
“You were trying to steal my daughter.”
Patricia’s composure fractured.
“I was trying to save her.”
She darted toward the front door.
Daniel stepped in front of it, closed his hand around the lock, and raised his phone with the other.
Patricia’s voice dropped.
“Think carefully before you make that call.”
Daniel began dialing.
“Why?”
“Because once the police see what is in that folder, they won’t only be asking questions about me.”
She pointed at the guardianship petition.
Near the bottom of the page, beneath a declaration consenting to temporary custody, was a signature.
May you like
Daniel Mercer.
It looked exactly like his.
