PROLOGUE

It was a scene out of a horror movie. Detective Miller stepped carefully around the bloody footprints leading toward the front door, and over a doll lying in the hallway, its sightless glass eyes directed at the ceiling, its painted mouth curved in a smile. An eerie image of innocence lost.

“All three bodies down in the basement?” he asked the first officer who’d arrived on scene.

The young cop nodded and swallowed, looking as if he was barely holding back a throat full of vomit. The detective hadn’t even seen the worst of it yet, but knew this would be one of those scenes that changed the rookie. There was always the one. That first crime scene that suddenly made it all real, that gave you a glimpse of the infinite evil that existed in the world. You could read about it all day long, study case files until the cows came home, but until you were there, until the coppery scent of blood filled your nostrils and you looked upon the dead face of someone who’d been vibrant and alive only hours before, you didn’t really get it. You’d never unsee the expression frozen with the unfathomable terror they’d experienced in their last moments. How could you?

The detective walked around a picture book in the middle of the hall. Love You Forever. Yeah, this would be that one, all right.

“Neighbor called it in?” he asked the rookie over his shoulder.

“Y-yeah.” The kid cleared his throat but remained where he was, holding vigil in the living room as he waited for the crime scene unit. “The guy next door heard shots and came over to see if everything was okay. He said the front door was open. He went downstairs and . . .”

Great. The guy had probably disturbed the scene. He must be the one who’d been leaning on the back of the police cruiser breathing into a paper bag when Detective Miller had arrived a few minutes before.  

The basement was dim, the only light filtering in from a window high on the wall. The gray shaft of light illuminated the three forms on the floor—two adults and one child. Jesus.

The detective walked over to the bodies, careful of where he stepped, and then squatted on the floor next to them. The woman was nearest to him, curled on her side, blood puddled on the floor next to her.  Reddish-brown hair covered her face, arms extended toward the smaller of the forms. Her last act had been to reach for her child, despite the rope that bound her hands.

He took the pen from his shirt pocket and used the covered end to move the hair from her face. Her eyes were closed, expression peaceful, as if she were only sleeping. She’d been beautiful—he could tell even by her profile. Very beautiful and very young. He always had this vague instinct to apologize to them—the victims at crime scenes. But for what? For not being able to help them before this happened? For the depravity in the world that he was completely helpless against? He didn’t know exactly what he was sorry for, he just fucking was.

He began standing when the woman’s eyes shot open, her mouth widening in a silent scream. The detective let out a small yell, almost falling backward. Holy fuck! Had the rookie not checked her fucking pulse? Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ! He pulled his radio from his pocket, the static exploding in the silent space like a fucking bomb. The woman’s vocal chords started working and her high-pitched scream of terror and agony pierced his ears and his heart.

“Detective Miller. Goddammit, send me a medic unit. Now! We have a live one! Fucking hurry!”