She had thought that Will was hers and would be forever. She thought that he had a young mother somewhere and a wandering father. She thought that they were gone for good, a young couple who made a mistake. But it had been a fantasy, created by a writer's imagination. All of it was fiction. And now Ellen was deathly afraid of what was true.

Her hands gripped the wheel. Her heart thundered. She skidded to a stop at a traffic light, the burning red circle searing into her consciousness like a hot poker. She was too emotional to think straight. She didn't know where to go or what to do. She couldn't go to the police because she'd lose Will. She had been going it alone for so long, she couldn't do it for another minute. She picked up her cell phone and pressed in a phone number.

"Please be there," Ellen was saying, when the call connected.

Chapter Sixty-nine.

"Come in, what's the matter?" Marcelo swung open his front door, and Ellen hurried past the threshold, compelled by a force she didn't understand completely, whether pulled or pushed inside she didn't know. It had taken her an hour to get to his house in Queens Village, but the ride over hadn't calmed her down. It had been all she could do to hide her panic when she'd called Connie and asked her to stay late.

"There's a problem but ... I don't know where to begin." Ellen raked a hand through her hair and found herself pacing back and forth in his neat living room, a blur of exposed-brick walls, gla.s.s tables, and black leather furniture. Marcelo closed the front door behind her, and she spun on her heels to face him. "I don't even know where to begin."

"It's all right," Marcelo said softly, his dark eyes steady. "Try the beginning."

"No, I ... can't." Ellen didn't know why she'd come here. She wasn't sure it was the right thing. She knew only that she needed to talk to someone. "I think I'm in the middle of something ... I don't know what."

"Did you do something illegal?"

"Yes, and no." Ellen didn't know how to answer. She didn't know what to think. Her hands flew to her face, and she felt her fingerpads burrow into the flesh of her cheeks. "No, but ... I think I stumbled onto something ... I wish I never started. It's the worst ... the worst thing that could happen."

"What could be so bad?" Marcelo asked, disbelieving, stepping closer to her and taking her by the shoulders. "What is it?"

"It's too awful, it's just ..." Ellen couldn't continue, afraid to give it voice, as if she'd fall into an abyss, a darkness that would follow as inexorably as nightfall. She felt something tear loose in her chest, as if her heart were actually ripped from its moorings, untethered from everything that held it in place, everything that kept her alive, and she heard herself erupt in a sob that came from deep within and burst free. The next thing she knew, she was crying and Marcelo had put his arms around her, wrapping her in a strong embrace, and she could feel herself sagging against his soft shirt, hiccuping in the civilized office smells clinging to him, the remnants of her life before.

Marcelo was saying, "Whatever it is, we can figure it out. Everything is going to be all right, you'll see." He held her tight, rocking her slightly, and she heard him saying again that everything was going to be all right, and she listened to his words as if she were a small child, permitting herself to be told a fairy tale.

"I made a ... a mistake, a terrible mistake." Ellen looked up at him through her tears and she could see in his expression that he had let his guard slip away, and all that was left was a naked pain that must have mirrored her own. He stroked her cheek gently, brushing away her tears, and Ellen felt his other arm behind her back and leaned against it fully, letting him support her. His eyes met hers, so full of feeling that she felt a kind of wonderment, and she couldn't remember anyone ever looking at her that way, and in the next instant he lowered his face and kissed her softly on the lips, once, and then again.

"Everything's going to be all right," he murmured. "You're here now, and we'll make it right."

"Really?" Ellen asked, still wondering, and when Marcelo leaned down to kiss her again, more deeply and with urgency, she had her answer. In that moment she gave herself over to him and her own emotions, kissing him back deeply, drawing from him comfort and strength, escaping into the delusion of his embrace, just for now, for the few moments before he learned the truth and understood that everything was most decidedly not going to be all right, but that all of her worst fears were about to happen and there was nothing and n.o.body who could stop them.

And in the next minute Ellen felt her own hands reaching up Marcelo's back, her fingers rough against the thin fabric of his shirt, pulling him as close as she possibly could, and he responded, holding her tighter, kissing her with more urgency, his breath quickening as they sank, fumbled, and stumbled together onto the couch.

Ellen felt him press her backwards against the leather, or maybe she pulled him up and onto her, almost embarra.s.singly eager to lose herself in him and forget about everything else. About Amy. About Carol. Even about Will. For a moment she wasn't a mother anymore but simply a woman, and the heat of Marcelo's kiss and the weight of his body chased every thought from her head and obliterated every worry. In the soft light, she saw him smile with pleasure as he helped her wriggle out of her coat and they shoved it slip-sliding off the couch and onto the rug.

"Here, allow me," Marcelo whispered, and Ellen eased partway up and put her arms in the air, letting him pull her sweater over her head, and when her head popped out of the black neckline, she saw the softest expression cross his face, and he stopped for a second, halting the urgency of before, and his gaze traveled from her face, lingering at her neck and finally coming to rest on the black lace of her bra.

"Meu deus, voce tao linda," Marcelo said softly, and though she didn't know the translation, the way he said it communicated so much desire that it slowed her down and stopped her teenaged clawing. She eased backwards against the cool leather and lay with her head back and throat open, her chest rising and falling with need, her heart pounding in her ears, looking at him through tears that had stopped flowing, taking him in with her eyes.

"You are so beautiful," Marcelo said, and for a second, they were both suspended in place and time, letting the frank l.u.s.t of their first kisses cool and ebb away, and they regarded each other as two mature adults, each sensing that they were starting something real by whatever came next. Marcelo looked down at her with a grave smile, then he c.o.c.ked his head in what could only be a question, silently asked.

"Yes," Ellen whispered, raising her arms.

Marcelo lowered himself onto her in reply, and they kissed deeply and slowly, wrapping their arms and legs around each other, their tongues flickering and teasing, and in time, their clothes peeled off layer by layer until skin met skin, warmth met warmth, and heart met heart.

Until there was nothing between them at all.

Chapter Seventy.

Ellen woke up naked, her limbs intertwined with Marcelo's and her head resting on a musky patch of his chest. She wondered what time it was, disentangling herself. Marcelo had turned out the lamp at some point, leaving the room dim except for the glow of a streetlight, bleeding through the slats in the window shutters. She propped herself up on an elbow and squinted at her watch. Nine o'clock. Her life rushed back at her like a freight train, full of noise, power, and something else. Fear. Suddenly she knew what had happened, all at once, as if she had seen it in a nightmare.

Amy was murdered. So was Karen Batz. Rob Moore is killing everyone who knows that Will is really Timothy.

Ellen sprang from the couch, looking for her clothes. She wiggled into her skirt, slid into her sweater, jumped into her boots. Marcelo slept on, his snoring soft and regular, and she didn't wake him to explain. She didn't have a minute to lose. She grabbed her coat, found her purse, and fumbled for her car keys, her heart beginning to beat fast. She crossed to the front door, and something was telling her that she had to hurry home.

Right now.

Chapter Seventy-one.

Ellen shut Marcelo's front door behind her, clutched her coat closed, and hurried down the stoop into a snowstorm, keeping her head down. Flakes fell like hail, driven by an angry wind, biting the flesh of her cheeks as she hustled down the sidewalk. Snow covered the sidewalk, and she almost slipped on the way to the car.

She chirped the door open, jumped inside, and turned on the ignition and windshield wipers. Ice clung to the windshield in patches, but she wasn't waiting for it to thaw. She cranked the defrost, backed out of the s.p.a.ce, and reached into her purse for her BlackBerry. She pulled it from her purse and pressed speed dial for Connie as she pounded the gas. The car zoomed down the dark street, and the call connected.

"Connie? You hanging in?" Ellen asked, trying to keep the nervousness from her tone. She didn't even know what she was nervous about. She just knew she had to get home.

"Sure. I'm watching TV. You said you might be late."

"Not this late." Ellen felt a twinge of guilt, but tried to pay attention to her driving. She switched lanes to pa.s.s a truck, took a right, then a left in slow traffic, everybody cautious in the snowstorm. Her windshield wipers flapped madly, a frantic beating that reminded her of her own heart.

"Take your time, El. Chuck had to work late, too."

"How's my boy?"

"He's out like a light."

"Good." Ellen waited for the familiar easing in her chest when she heard that everything was fine, but there was no easing tonight. She steered around a sluggish Toyota and switched lanes, heading for the cross street to the expressway.

"Oh yeah, the cat's throwing up, so I had to put him out back for a while."

"Okay. I'll be home in less than an hour."

"Drive safe. It's really coming down out here. We already have six inches."

"I hear you, 'bye." Ellen pressed End, tossed the BlackBerry aside, and flew around a pickup truck pulling into a parking s.p.a.ce. She fed the car gas to the intersection, where the traffic light was turning red, then blasted through the intersection, heading home.

By the time she reached the highway, she knew exactly what he was going to do.

Chapter Seventy-two.

Ellen hurried to her front porch in a full-fledged snowstorm, keeping her head down and barreling into the wind, her heels punching footfalls into the freezing, wet snow. She'd thought about calling the cops but didn't want to blow her cover. She was on her own.

She ran up the snowy porch steps and willed herself to get calm, arranging her face into a mask of normalcy. She plunged her key into the lock and twisted, opening the door onto a comforting scene that brought her no comfort.

Connie greeted her from the couch, with a big grin. "It's Nanook of the North!"

"Cold out there." Ellen fake-smiled and slid out of her coat. The lamps lent the living room a homey glow, the toys had been put away, and the TV played on mute, a plastic-surgery show. She grabbed Connie's coat and handed it to her, barely able to hide her urgency. "You'll be safe going home, right? You have four-wheel drive?"

"Sure, it's no problem." Connie put on her coat, flipping her ponytail over her collar, then got her tote and purse from the windowseat. "No way he's having school tomorrow."

"Then it's good I'm home, huh?" Ellen opened the door to let Connie out. "We'll just hibernate and make some cookies."

"I vote for chocolate chip."

"You got it." Ellen managed another smile as Connie picked up her stuff and crossed to the door. "Seriously, be careful out there."

"No worries, I'm invincible." Connie flashed her a final smile and headed outside, and Ellen shut the door, locked it, and threw the deadbolt.

Go go go.

Ellen didn't know how or why, but she knew what she felt inside. If Rob Moore was killing people who knew about Timothy, then she and Will had to get out of there immediately, tonight. She hurried up the stairs, hustled into Will's room, and hurried to the bed.

"Will, wake up, honey." Will slept on his back, his arms open and askew, stirring. Oreo Figaro didn't move, a black-and-white ball at the foot of the bed. She lifted Will up, hoisted him to her shoulder in his Elmo thermal pajamas, and he made a snuffling noise.

"Mommy?"

"Hi, honey." Ellen rubbed his back. "You can just stay asleep, I want to put you into something warmer."

Will put his arms around her neck, and Ellen moved quickly to the bureau, dipped sideways to yank open the bottom drawer, and grabbed one of his snowsuits. She crossed back to the bed, unfolded the snowsuit with a quick snap, and fumbled to stuff Will's feet into the legs. "Mommy, what?"

"Everything's fine, sweetie. We're just going out for a little bit." Ellen pulled the snowsuit up and unwrapped his arms from her neck, then stuck on his sneakers. "Hold on around my neck. We're going for a ride."

"Okay," Will said sleepily, holding tighter as she picked him up again, left the room, and hurried down the stairs, keeping a steadying hand on his back. She reached the bottom and glanced at the clock on the entertainment center-10:15. She had to get going. She grabbed her purse from the windowseat, then remembered she needed cash. She kept two hundred bucks in the kitchen drawer for emergencies and she was pretty sure this qualified.

She hurried through the living room, noting that the Coffmans' station wagon wasn't in the driveway and their windows were dark. It was a lucky break that they weren't home, because if they spotted her going out this late in a snowstorm, they might have a question or two. She hurried with Will through the dining room and turned the corner into the dark kitchen.

She went to flick on the light switch, but all of a sudden there was a shadowy blur and the back of her head exploded in pain.

Her arms released their grip. Will slipped through her fingers. Everything went dark, and the last thing she heard was Will's scream.

"Mommy!"

Chapter Seventy-three.

Ellen regained consciousness, lying on her side on the kitchen floor. Her head thundered and she tried to scream. Tape covered her lips. She tried to move her hands but they were wrenched behind her back, stuck together. Pain arced through her shoulder joints. Her ankles were bound. She was facing the dining room, her back to the kitchen.

Will.

Ellen felt a bolt of terror rattle through her very bones. Her BlackBerry rang in the living room, the sound of another place and time. She heard a noise behind her, a harsh ripping sound. She rolled herself over on the floor, in horror at the sight.

Will lay on his side facing her, a strip of duct tape over his mouth. He was crying hard, his small body shaking with sobs. A man bent over him, wrapping duct tape around his ankles in his blue snowsuit.

"Good morning," the man said, looking up with a sly grin.

It was the man from the beach. Rob Moore. He had a droopy brown mustache and he looked older and craggier than he had in the photo with Amy, but it was the same man. s.h.a.ggy brown hair curled over the collar of an old black coat he had on with jeans and snowy Timberlands. A red plastic jug with a long spout sat next to him on the floor. It had to be gasoline. The kitchen reeked of it. Ellen screamed in her throat, a mother's howl of outrage and dread.

"I second that emotion," Moore said, chuckling again as he tore off the duct tape with the side of a crooked incisor.

Tears poured from Will's eyes, and they widened in fear. Ellen shimmied closer to him, making noises.

Moore straightened, a smile twisting his lips. Suddenly he lifted his foot in the heavy boot and put it down hard on Will's head. "Move and I'll squash him like a bug."

Ellen felt paralyzed by fear. Will burst into new tears, his cheeks turning a violent red. Moore leaned forward and stepped harder on his head.

Will squeezed his eyes shut, his small forehead buckling with pain. Dirt and snow from the boots dumped onto his little face. Moore was crushing his skull.

Ellen screamed and screamed, shaking her head frantically.

"Lady, get back and shut the h.e.l.l up."

Ellen scrambled backwards, writhing this way and that, finally b.u.mping the back of her head on the stove. She looked up at Moore, begging him to stop.

"Is that the look of love you're givin' me?" Moore kept his boot on Will's head but eased backwards slightly. The redness ebbed from Will's cheeks. He was choking under the duct tape.

Ellen prayed to G.o.d he could breathe. That his skull wasn't injured. That his heart could withstand the pressure.

Moore said, "I woulda thought you got your fill with your boyfriend."

Ellen struggled to think through her panic. Moore must have been following her. Had he been to the funeral? What was he going to do with the gasoline? She refused to go to the obvious answer. Her throat emitted primal noises.