Chapter 2

I pressed my ear to the floorboards. Silence. Desmond had gone to bed.

I dragged myself toward the small air vent near the ceiling. I kicked the metal grate. It bent inward. I kicked it again, bringing my heel down repeatedly until the screws tore free from the drywall.

Minutes later, I slipped through the hallway into Maeve’s room. She was asleep, shivering slightly over her covers. I grabbed her jacket, pulled her into my arms, and slipped out the back door into the freezing night.

We stumbled down the empty sidewalk. The streetlights flickered overhead. I held Maeve tight against my chest. My mind raced with Desmond's hateful eyes, Valerie's venomous insults, the antique dealer's violence.

I needed to know if I was losing my mind, or if this nightmare was real.

A woman stood at the upcoming bus stop. She wore a trench coat, taking a long drag from a cigarette.

I approached her, out of breath. "Excuse me."

She turned, raising an eyebrow at my disheveled state.

"Do you like this choker?" I asked, pointing to the ruby resting on Maeve's neck.

The woman leaned in. She didn't flinch. She even smiled. "It's beautiful. That’s a lovely stone."

My pulse hammered in my throat. I forced the next words out, watching her face closely.

"I bought it for her. I put it on her myself."

The cigarette slipped from the woman's lips, hitting the pavement in a shower of sparks. Her polite smile dissolved into a sneer.

Without a word, she lunged. Her hands slammed hard into my shoulders.

I stumbled backward off the curb. Blinding headlights flashed in my periphery. A horn blared. A night delivery truck swerved, its tires screeching on the asphalt, missing my back by inches. The rush of wind knocked me to the ground. Maeve cried out.

"You filthy bitch!" the woman screamed from the sidewalk, her face contorted with rage. "You deserve to die for what you did to that kid!"

She turned and marched away into the darkness.

My chest heaved. I stared at the truck's fading taillights.

It wasn't the jewelry. It was the action. The admission. I put it on her. That was the trigger.

I pulled Maeve up and ran.

We burst through the double doors of the local police precinct.

Sheriff Callahan sat behind the front desk. He had kind, tired eyes and graying hair. He immediately stood up when he saw my scraped knees and my crying daughter.

"Christ, ma'am, come sit down." He guided us to a wooden bench. He handed me a paper cup of water and patted Maeve's shoulder. "Who did this to you?"

I gripped the cup, my hands shaking so badly the water spilled over the brim. "Everyone. My husband. Strangers on the street. They've all lost their minds."

Callahan pulled up a chair, sitting knee-to-knee with me. "You're safe here. Nobody is going to hurt you or your little girl. Tell me exactly what happened."

For a second, the knot in my stomach loosened. I had found sanity. I pointed to the red stone on Maeve’s neck.

"I bought her this ruby choker. But whenever I tell anyone..." I paused.

"Tell them what, Rosalind?" he asked gently.

"Whenever I say I put it on her myself. That I fastened it. They attack me."

Callahan stopped breathing.

He didn't blink. He just stared at me.

He slowly placed his notepad on the desk. He stood up. He took three steps away from me, putting distance between us.

"Sheriff?"

He looked at a female deputy at the next desk. "Officer Miller. Take the child to the examination room. Strip her down. Check for injuries."

"Wait, what?" I jumped up. "No, she hasn't been hurt!"

Miller grabbed Maeve’s hand and pulled her down the hallway.

"Mommy!" Maeve reached back for me.

"Let her go!" I tried to follow, but Callahan blocked my path. His hand rested on his gun belt.

"Sit down," he ordered. The fatherly warmth in his voice was entirely gone.

The next hour was pure agony. I paced the waiting area, my nails biting into my palms. Callahan watched me with a fixed, hateful glare.

Finally, the exam room door opened. Officer Miller walked out.

"Well?" Callahan asked.

"Nothing," Miller said, shaking her head. "No bruises, no cuts. The kid is perfectly fine."

I let out a massive breath. The tension drained from my spine. "See? I told you. I haven't done anything wrong. Please, just give me my daughter back."

Callahan didn't relax. He sneered.

He marched toward me, grabbed my arm, and twisted it behind my back.

Pain flared through my shoulder socket. He shoved me through an open door into a small interrogation room.

"What are you doing? She said there are no injuries!" I screamed.

"You disgust me," Callahan spat. "I don't care what the physical exam says. You are a sick, twisted animal. What you did to that child is unforgivable."

He slammed me onto a metal chair next to the wall. He pulled a pair of handcuffs from his belt. The cuffs clicked tightly around my left wrist. He looped the other end through the exposed radiator pipe and locked it.

"Are you deaf? I didn't hurt her!" I pulled against the metal. It dug into my bone.

"You belong in a psych ward," Callahan said, looking down at me with utter contempt. "We're holding the girl. Child Protective Services will pick her up in the morning."

"You can't do this! I am her mother!"

Before I could say something, Callahan had left to make a call.

I yanked the handcuffs blindly. I pulled until my wrist bled, screaming at the door. Nobody answered.

Exhausted, I collapsed onto the cold tiles, gasping for air.

My cheek rested against the floor, inches from the peeling baseboard. Tears blurred my vision.

Except... a small sparkle caught the fluorescent light above.

I blinked, focusing on the narrow gap beneath the radiator pipe.

A diamond earring.

I stopped breathing. I stared at the teardrop cut.

It wasn't just a random piece of jewelry. I recognized that custom-cut setting. Valerie had bragged about it for weeks. She bought the pair at an exclusive auction last month and never took them off.

My best friend's earring. Hidden in the dirt of a police interrogation room.