She was a nice little piece, and he had a thing for bad girls. They needed to be punished. If she ventured a little closer, maybe Donnie would take her for a little ride. One-way, of course. He hadn't had anything that young and innocent since before he went to prison.

The fact that his new girlfriend actually liked the pain and humiliation he dished out took some of the excitement out of their sessions. So did her age. b.i.t.c.h was at least thirty. But this little thing was fresh and would be terrified. Picturing her screams stifled in her throat by a ball gag, he touched his groin. She'd also be an excellent bargaining piece. Donnie bet her mom would do anything for him if he had her daughter.

Donnie licked his lips. The brunette started down the sidewalk toward him.

Yes.

Finally, he was going to have some luck go his way. Patience. She had to come closer. So close he could grab her without risking her getting away. The last thing he needed was one more loose kid who could identify him. He reached for the door handle.

Almost.

Come here, baby. I have something for you.

Grant lapped the downstairs, pa.s.sing through the kitchen and family room for the hundredth time that night. Baby legs kicked restlessly as he shifted Faith to his other shoulder. She lifted her head and complained until Grant bounced on his toes and rubbed her back. He'd tried to put her in the swing earlier, but she was having none of that. Maybe he'd try again in an hour. Until then, he continued his forced nightly march.

On the bright side, he couldn't have nightmares while he was awake.

With a jingle of dog tags, AnnaBelle jumped to her feet and trotted to the front window. The fur on the back of her neck rose as she inhaled for a woof.

Grant caught her collar. He did not want Carson up, too. "Shh."

He tracked the dog's line of sight. A dark figure stood in the shadow of a tree on the front lawn. Anger bristled in Grant's chest. He hurried up to Hannah's room. He knocked softly and opened the door.

Hannah lifted her head. "What's wrong?"

"Someone's out front." He held the baby toward her. "Take Faith."

Hannah swung her legs off the bed. In flannel pajama pants and a Syracuse University sweatshirt, she looked like a college student. "Got her. Do you want me to call the police?"

"Not yet." Grant headed for the door. "Could be anyone." Plus, whoever was out there wouldn't stand and wait while the cops pulled into the driveway. Grant didn't want him to get away.

Hannah followed him downstairs into the foyer, jiggling the baby in her arms as Grant stepped into his boots. He stopped at the front door to peer out the sidelight. The shadow was still there, unmoving, waiting. Grant went to the kitchen and slipped out the back door. He gave his eyes a minute to adjust to the lack of light, though the snowy ground brightened the landscape. Hiding behind the tree trunk, the tall, thin figure looked male from his posture and size. His dark clothes stood out in stark relief against the dirty snow. Beyond him, another figure, smaller and more slender, walked in the opposite direction on the sidewalk.

"Psst," the figure whispered.

He was definitely not walking a dog or doing anything else innocent.

Grant stepped into the yard. Snowpack crunched underfoot. Sneaking up on the watcher would be impossible. He sprinted in a crouch. The guy whirled to face him. Under a black knit hat, his shocked eyes widened. He threw a panicked hook punch. Grant ducked under the wild arc, caught him in a tackle, and took him down to the ground. Grant landed on top. Levering a knee under his body, he flipped the guy onto his belly, locked an arm behind his back, and patted him down.

"Are you armed?" Turning pockets inside out, Grant discovered a wallet and keys. No weapons. No drugs.

"No, man," the guy panted. "What the f.u.c.k? Who are you?"

"I'll ask the questions," Grant said. He applied weight to the knee on the guy's back. "What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?"

"Nothing," the guy in the snow whined. "Ow. That hurts, man."

Grant levered his arm higher. "Don't lie to me."

"OK, OK. Stop." The guy's voice rose in nervous pain. "I'm here for Julia. We're supposed to go out."

Ah, s.h.i.t. Grant had interrupted a late-night rendezvous. "At midnight?"

Silence answered his question.

Grant had just been sucked into a situation that would be awkward with a capital A. After he'd refused to give her Lee's files earlier, the last thing he needed was more conflict with Ellie. "What's your name?"

"Taylor."

Grant didn't need the rest explained. Julia was sneaking out to meet this boy. Footsteps sc.r.a.ped on pavement. Julia stood on the sidewalk. The porch light spilled onto the snow in the front yard, highlighting the horror and humiliation on her face.

"Get up." Grant stood, pulling the young man to his feet but keeping his arm behind his back. He frog-marched him across Ellie's lawn.

"You can't." In the yellow light, Julia's eyes begged.

"I'm sorry, Julia." Grant released Taylor and knocked on the door. "I don't have any options here."

"She's going to kill me." The girl shrank back into the corner.

"I doubt that," Grant said, but he wasn't looking forward to delivering this bit of news to a woman who owned a shotgun.

Barely fifteen seconds pa.s.sed before Ellie opened the door. She took in the scene in one sweep of her gaze. Her eyes went from worried to p.i.s.sed in the span of one blink. She stepped back and gestured to the interior of the house. "Let's do this inside."

Yeah. There was nothing warm and fuzzy about Ellie tonight.

Taylor hesitated. His feet turned as if he was going to bolt, but Grant caught him by the collar. "No, you don't."

He guided Taylor to follow Ellie into the kitchen.

In pajama bottoms and an oversize T-shirt, she paced the kitchen. Anger pressed the blood from her lips. Her hair was tousled, her eyes shadowed with stress and fatigue that seemed too ingrained to be caused entirely by one night's activities. As much as Grant wanted to know what was keeping Ellie awake, first they had to deal with the disaster in front of them. One cl.u.s.terf.u.c.k at a time.

Ellie stopped and faced her daughter. "Would you like to explain why you were outside with this boy at midnight?"

"We were going out," Julia mumbled.

"So he didn't kidnap you from your bed?" Ellie asked in a wry tone.

Julia shook her head.

Still holding Taylor's wallet, Grant opened it. The bright kitchen light revealed Taylor's young age. Picking up a pen and a grocery store receipt on the kitchen table, Grant copied the boy's name and address from the driver's license.

"Do you want to keep him?" he asked Ellie.

Ellie looked over the license. "So you're Taylor. You're over eighteen. Did you know Julia isn't sixteen yet? I could call the police."

"You can't!" Red splotches colored Julia's pale cheeks. "It was all my idea."

Sweat beaded on the boy's forehead. He shoved shaking hands into his front pockets.

"Do you really think this is a police matter?" Grant almost kicked himself for asking when Ellie turned angry-mother eyes on him. Why was he getting involved? Because the kid was terrified and really, what had he done? If a pretty young girl agrees to sneak out, the average teenage boy isn't going to put much thought into his actions.

With one hand on the small of her back, Ellie exhaled with force and rubbed an eyebrow. "No. Not really."

Grant handed the identification back to the boy. He glanced at Julia, who retreated into the far corner of the kitchen. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the floor. p.i.s.sy teenage att.i.tude mixed with I-am-in-big-trouble on her face.

Grant escorted Taylor to the door before Ellie changed her mind. "Here's a piece of advice. Don't do this again. It's stupid."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"Don't make me regret this." Grant set him free.

"No, sir." The kid bolted through the opening, half running toward a car parked a few houses up the street. Grant went back into the kitchen.

"I can't believe you were sneaking out." Astonishment filled Ellie's tone.

"You never let me do anything." Julia's response exploded with long-built resentment. "None of my friends take the bus. They all get rides. I'm the only soph.o.m.ore not allowed to date."

"You can date boys your own age. Taylor is too old for you. Do you know how dangerous it is to go out in the middle of the night without anyone knowing where you'll be or what time you'll be home?" Ellie's voice cracked. "If something happened to you, I wouldn't even know where to look."

"Taylor is the only boy I like. If you just took the time to get to know him, I wouldn't have to sneak out at night," Julia retorted.

Sensing the conversation was just getting started, Grant cleared his throat. "I'm going to leave."

"Thank you, Grant," Ellie said.

"You're welcome. I'll let myself out." Grant left the house, feeling old and c.r.a.ppy. He remembered what it was like to get into trouble, though he hadn't experienced much teenage wildness, not with his father disabled. But this wasn't Grant's first disciplinary action. As an officer, he had plenty of young recruits who couldn't resist the occasional lure of stupidity. But none of them were a fifteen-year-old girl making a sad, you-ruined-my-whole-life face at him.

But Ellie was exactly right. Julia had to understand the risk she was going to take that night. The thought of her out there, alone, with a boy Ellie didn't know, going who knew where, gave Grant a cramp in the center of his gut. Considering everything that was going on in the neighborhood, he didn't blame Ellie for keeping her daughter close. And, after spending these past few days with full-time care of Carson and Faith, Grant could imagine far too clearly the soul-clenching terror a parent felt when a child went missing-and the despair when she didn't come home.

As he crossed the lawn, snowflakes drifted from the clouded sky. Heat enveloped him as he went into the house. Carson's and Hannah's voices, along with Faith's cries, poured down the hall. Everyone was up. Again. Grant shook his head. These kids never slept. A few white flakes fell from his hair onto the doormat. He toed off his wet shoes.

Chaos. Total chaos. Life in Afghanistan was less insane.

He trudged toward the kitchen. It was going to be a long night.

Family responsibilities and Julia's behavior brought his return to the military to mind. How was he going to make sure the kids were all right when he returned to Afghanistan?

Chapter Fourteen.

Lindsay December I push the brown bag with my lunch in it away. I'm not hungry. Fear is a great appet.i.te suppressant. I'm tired of this.

I stare down at my open notebook, but I'm only pretending to work on my calc problems. I used to love school. In California, I got straight As. Now I can barely think.

Maybe they're right. I am ugly. I am not worth the air I breathe. They say so every day, enough that I think it must be true.

I have no one to talk to. I've made zero friends since we moved here. Everyone is afraid of becoming the next target. I don't blame them. I'm not worth it.

My phone buzzes. I don't want to look at it. Technically, I'm not supposed to use my phone at school, but what can they do to me? Expel me, please. A phone number comes up on the display. I don't recognize it. I shouldn't open it. I know it's from them. But I can't help myself. It's almost like I want the punishment.

I look down at the screen: You should die.

My eyes fill. A tear slides down my cheek. I wipe it away with the back of my hand. I shouldn't cry in front of them. They get off on it. But I really don't care anymore.

I don't care about anything.

They aren't even in this lunch period, but they have minions that follow their orders. At this very minute, someone is probably taking a video of me crying.

My phone vibrates again. This time it says Drinking bleach should do it.

I power the phone down. I'll check for any messages from Jose later. I can't handle any more right now.

I just want to crawl in a hole and die. It would be a lot easier to do what they want. I can't win. I can't go on like this. I don't want to go on like this.

The bell rings. I pack up my stuff and join the flow of bodies toward the exit. Near the door, I toss my lunch in the garbage. A hand shoves me in the middle of my back, and I fall forward toward the trash can. I catch my balance at the last second, but my books flop into the can. Half-chewed fries and ketchup splatter over everything.

I reach down to pull my books out of the mess. Tears pour freely down my cheeks now. I don't even bother to wipe them away. My stomach flip-flops as I shake a glob of macaroni and cheese off my notebook. A second later, a teacher is beside me, helping. But she is too late-as always.

I am tempted to leave. My house is only a mile away if I cut through the woods. My parents don't think it's safe for a young girl to walk alone, as if I'm safe anywhere.

The rest of the day is quiet, though I can't focus on my cla.s.ses. I keep looking over my shoulder, waiting for the next strike. By the time I get home, I'm a mess. Forget homework. Needing a mindless distraction, I opt for TV. I settle on the couch and slip a disc of CSI into the DVD player.

Later that night, my mom asks, "Why are you so quiet lately?"

So I finally tell her about Regan and Autumn.

"Stand up to them," she says.

I don't think she gets it. I just shake my head. Words will not form. My throat feels like it's packed with cotton b.a.l.l.s.

"I'll call the school," she says.

"No," I say. "That'll just make it worse."

I know without a single doubt that getting Regan and Autumn in trouble is a very bad idea. They are hostile now, when their only motivation for tormenting me is amus.e.m.e.nt. I can't imagine being the subject of their revenge.

Chapter Fifteen.