PROLOGUE

P ROLOGUE

Behind the wheel of his silver Toyota Highlander, he sank into the seat, feeling meh about his job and life in general. The car’s brakes squealed as he came to a stop. The glare of the sun piercing through the windshield didn’t help his headache, the lingering effect from drinking too much wine last night. He and his wife had often talked about cutting back on their alcohol consumption, even quitting altogether, but it was just that—talk. Even as the rich, oaky flavors swirled around his tongue, he’d known they would never do it. Wine was one of the few things in life that helped to make the world tolerable.

It was lunchtime. Tired of eating at his desk, he had decided to run an errand, one of many on a never-ending list. He would grab a burger and eat in the car. As he drove toward town, he made a sudden right turn, hoping that the brief detour might shake things up enough to jolt him out of the rut it felt he’d been in lately. He inwardly laughed at how stupid the idea was. Basically, his “detour” was the short path to town, taking him through a less than desirable neighborhood. He’d been this way before. The abandoned street was littered with more grocery carts than cars. Nothing moved but a swirl of crumpled papers and plastic.

He blinked twice and nearly slammed on his brakes when he saw a toddler wobble out of a neglected, one-story house—a run-down structure with two broken windows and what looked like a bedsheet serving as a curtain inside. The kid teetered across the weed-choked lawn and headed for the street.

Panicked for the kid’s safety, he pulled to the curb before the child reached it. He looked over his shoulder, sure someone would run out their front door at any moment. But nobody came. The toddler had curly hair, was one or two years of age, he guessed. Boy or girl? He wasn’t sure. For some reason, he leaned toward boy.

The beat of his heart felt like a drumroll inside his chest as he glanced in the rearview mirror, then left to right. Nobody was around. He kept waiting for a harried parent or babysitter to shout from some distant nook or cranny, but that didn’t happen.

What should I do? His hands shook as he opened the center console, reached into one of two brown bags, and grabbed a lollipop, a cherry one. He opened the door right as the kid ran past, climbed out, and said, “Hey there. What are you doing?”

The child looked over his shoulder at him, giggling as if this were a game, and kept moving.

“I have candy! Want a lollipop?”

The kid stopped, looked his way again, his eyes locking on the lollipop.

“It’s yours if you want it.” His heart was beating so fast he was sure it would explode. If the kid had continued in the direction he’d been going, a car could have hit him. Or worse, someone with bad intentions might have scooped him right up. As he waggled the lollipop, he glanced about at all the houses with windows he couldn’t see through. “You don’t want it? Should I give it to another kid?”

The child turned away as if going over his options, then pivoted and headed straight for him. The kid was so damn cute. From the looks of things, judging by the hand movements and the trouble he seemed to have with balance and shifting his weight, he had been walking for only a few months. Hardly over a year old? His adrenaline spiked as the toddler wobbled closer, almost within reach.

He didn’t think, merely acted. He grabbed the kid and jumped into his car. Snug behind the steering wheel with the kid on his lap, and without another look around, he drove off.

The child squirmed in his arms but hardly made a peep.

Making sure to follow the speed limit, keeping his eyes on the road despite having an awkward hold of the child in his lap, he made a right at the stop sign. A few blocks later, he made a left. Upon reaching a deserted field of dead grass less than a mile from the entrance to the freeway, he pulled to the side, gravel pinging off the undercarriage as he came to a stop. He peered down and to the right as the kid looked up at him. The smile on the child’s face made something crack inside him. The corners of his mouth softened. His heart melted. The kid wasn’t afraid. Not one bit.

“Let’s put you over here, where I can buckle you in safely.” He lifted the child and set him gently on the passenger seat. The smell hit him like a tidal wave crashing against the shore—a soggy, poopy diaper. After snapping the child’s seat belt in place, he unwrapped the lollipop and handed it over. It was too big for him to choke on. The child was content; no reason to bother with the chloroform hidden away in the center console.

He took a long, deep breath. He’d done it. And yet it wasn’t over, not by a long shot. How long until the missing kid was all over the news? Shit. He needed to get going. What was he thinking, sitting here for so long? Another quick peek at the child brought a wave of new worries. It was illegal to have a small child in the front seat, wasn’t it? And without a safety seat, to boot. He needed to get home. Quickly. The freeway would be faster, but the thought of taking that route frightened him. More cameras. More policemen. Right? All those vehicles with drivers. No, he would avoid the freeway and take the longer route home.

What had he done? He’d been on his way to grab a burger and run a few errands, and now this. Everything was happening too fast.

Fifteen harrowing minutes later, the adrenaline pumping through his veins finally started to slow as the garage door rattled downward and clanked against the ground, shutting out the sunlight and the fear of being caught in the act of wrongdoing. He sat motionless in the semidark, his fingers still clamped tight around the steering wheel. Was what he’d done criminal? No. Whoever was watching over the child, letting the toddler wander off into the unknown ... They were the criminal.

As he worked on convincing himself he’d done nothing wrong, his breathing continued to slow and his palms finally stopped sweating.

The moment felt surreal. It was hard to believe he had done it.

“Gammy?” came a tiny voice from the passenger seat.

He looked at the child with the chubby cheeks covered with sticky goo from the lollipop and found himself mesmerized by how perfect he or she was, horrible poopy smell and all. “You and I,” he said to the kid, “are going to have a wonderful life together.”

The kid’s toothy smile caused his chest to swell with something he hadn’t felt in ages: Hope. Happiness. A chance for new beginnings.

As a kaleidoscope of thoughts swirled around inside his head, he zeroed in on the kid’s teeth. He had lots of them. At least eight. Maybe more. After Oliver was born, they had spent every day obsessing over firsts: First step. First tooth. First Christmas. Oliver had died from leukemia before his first birthday.

A tear slid down the side of his face at the thought of his baby boy. They’d never ever wanted to replace Oliver. In fact, he was irreplaceable, and yet he and his wife had always planned on having lots of kids. But it wasn’t to be. They’d tried everything—OI, IUI, IVF. Nothing had worked. Not even adoption, since their application was denied after discovering he’d failed to list a past bankruptcy. When he tried to explain that it had happened a long time ago and their finances had been healthy for many years, they told him it wasn’t about money but about being honest. In the end, he lost the battle. As far as he was concerned, those agencies were depriving parentless children of willing parents. The system was criminal. He’d fallen into a deep depression until one day, while showering, he got an idea. He began thinking—obsessing—over finding a child to bring home.

When he told his wife about his idea, he regretted it instantly. The shame he saw in her eyes was so humiliating he dropped the idea. Months later, unexpectedly, she asked him about his plan to find them a child, only this time she wanted details. Knowing it might be his only chance to sway her, he talked until he was blue in the face, promising her he would find a child in need, convincing her the child would be better off with parents who cared so much. They both knew they would be loving, attentive parents who would be able to give their son or daughter anything he or she needed. And that was that. Her nod spoke louder than words. Do it. She was ready.

And so began his search.

Every day he ate his lunch at parks and schools—anywhere small children sometimes wandered off. That was nearly two years ago. Somewhere along the way, his plan took a back seat to his rapidly increasing workload at the office. And thus, finding a child had been the furthest thing from his mind today as he drove to town to pick up the suit his wife had dropped off at the dry cleaner’s last week.

“Come on,” he said as he unsnapped their seat belts. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“Gammy?”

“Toys,” he said happily as if he hadn’t heard what the child said. “We have lots of toys inside. You’re going to be a very happy kid. I promise. Welcome home.”