Chapter One

Four Months Later

 

Robyn drew a deep breath, staring out at the bright August morning. Heat waves practically radiated up from the street, warning her not to step outside.

 

The pregnancy was kicking her ass. There was no other way to put it. She was just now reaching the end of her first trimester, but the morning sickness persisted, and her heat intolerance was bordering on clinical. She sipped at her extra-large ice water. This was going to be a long day. Four house visits in different parts of the city, and most of the time, the houses didn’t have air conditioning. She needed to take an ice pack and stick it down her shirt. Anything to ward off the all-consuming heat that made her wilt faster than a tender sprout.

 

Was this what the whole pregnancy would be like? She placed her hand on the door handle, her gaze flicking to the rearview mirror. Even four months later, she could still catch glimpses of that chiseled biker’s face. The one who’d given her a joyous but short-lived high in that back seat. The one who was responsible for all these hellish mornings ever since.

 

Of course he’d never showed up to her apartment that night. Why would he? Men like him didn’t come through. She barely knew him, certainly not enough to know what men like him really did, but it seemed somehow right. A guy she’d met on a whim during a sad night at the bar. Maybe it served her right – or at least served as a reminder as to what happened when she picked up guys at a bar.

 

A horrible hangover and a surprise pregnancy.

 

Robyn swallowed a knot in her throat. The pregnancy was giving her careening emotions, too, made worse by the fact that part of her really wanted to see Avon again. Even though he’d “dined and dashed”, part of her wondered what would have happened if they’d had more time together. If she could have gotten to know him better.

 

Avon felt like the one who got away. And she hated herself for thinking that way about the man who’d knocked her up and never looked back.

 

Her car door groaned as she pushed it open. Heat assaulted her, and she wiped at the sweat beads that formed immediately on her brow. This summer was hotter than hot, and she couldn’t wait for the crisp tinge of fall, or the chance to feel cold again.

 

She smoothed down her plain black smock as she headed across the street. She had just started to show, and her barely-there baby bump felt like a mountain already. But her bump wasn’t the only mountain – her libido was also sky-high. Robyn never guessed being pregnant would make her hornier than a teenager. She’d already worn out her vibrator, an embarrassing fact.

 

Almost as embarrassing as the fact that she still saw Avon’s face every time she climaxed. Imagining his tight grip on her ass cheeks as he came. The way he’d left bruises along the tender flesh of her neck.

 

Robyn sighed, fanning herself with the family’s paperwork. This home visit was a new family, one that didn’t have much experience in the foster care system. They’d been fostering a seven-year-old boy named Matt for a few months, and the case had recently been switched over to Robyn’s workload. She liked what she did, but sometimes her job just left her feeling like her hands were tied.

 

It was impossible to help everyone. Invariably, kids got left behind, or phased out of the system, or just generally neglected by an unavoidable chain of disinterested foster parents. She prayed, as she did before every new family, that the situation waiting for her on the other side of the door wouldn’t be one of those.

 

The house loomed, faded white clapboard and big windows that seemed to beg for a horror movie to be filmed there. Overgrown weeds sprang unbidden from a choppily mowed front lawn. The front door hung ajar as she approached. She frowned, looking around for signs of people.

 

“Hello?”

 

Nobody answered. She tried to peer inside the door, but couldn’t see much. She knocked once, then again. The door creaked as it opened further.

 

“This is Robyn, the social worker.” She used a loud, firm voice, listening intently for any sign of recognition coming from inside. Nothing. “I’m here for the monthly visit. This was scheduled last month.”

 

No response. She pushed the door, and it creaked open all the way. A white tiled foyer greeted her. She took a tentative step inside.

 

“Hello?”

 

There was a rustle from inside. She grimaced, stepping further, floorboards creaking as she traveled down the hallway. A strange scent wafted through the air, like someone had scorched their hair on an oven burner. She turned into the kitchen, gleaming linoleum tiles the first thing she noticed.

 

And then the body.

 

An older man, salt and pepper hair, face down on the kitchen floor. Blood pooled around him. Robyn’s voice caught in her throat, gaze careening around the kitchen for clues. For answers. For anything.

 

And then she saw him. Little Matt. Curled into a ball in the corner, his eyes glassy as he stared out across the kitchen. He hugged his knees to his chest, his sandy brown hair mussed. Robyn felt rooted to her spot, unsure what might have caused this scene. Was there a killer on the loose? Was this a kitchen accident? God forbid… was Matt at fault?

 

“Hi, honey.” Robyn’s voice trembled slightly, but she tried to keep it calm. “I’m Robyn. The social worker. I’ve come here to check on you.”

 

Matt buried his face in his knees.

 

“Honey, can you tell me what happened here?” She took tentative steps toward him, the only sound in the kitchen her slow steps and Matt’s muffled crying. He shook his head.

 

Robyn paused over the body, trying to see past the shock and notice details. Things that might help when the cops asked what the hell happened here. The man was unmoving, definitely dead. That blood could only have come from his body.

 

“Are you alone in here?”

 

Matt nodded, dragging his forearm across his face. He stared past Robyn. The poor thing was in shock. She knelt down next to the man and tried to roll him over. He was pure deadweight. She pressed a finger to his neck, blood smearing onto her hand. No pulse. She stared down at the man, running through her options.

 

She had to call the police. Immediately. Her hands shook as she reached for her cell phone.

 

“Don’t you worry, honey,” she said, drawing deep breaths as she dialed 911. She blinked down at the body and then slowly stood. Matt cowered just as the operator picked up the phone. She opened her mouth to speak, but her voice withered when she heard footsteps.

 

Her body froze as every part of her tuned into the sounds, trying to determine if these were friendly footsteps or dangerous. Did she need to hide, or was this help on the way? Matt buried his face once more into his knees, and Robyn turned ever so slowly toward the sound.

 

“Hello? This is 911, please state your emergency.”

 

She couldn’t force any words past her lips. Boots clunked closer.

 

And then a man crossed the threshold. Black leather jacket. Longish black hair tucked behind ears. Dark eyes that zeroed in on her immediately, sending a heart-wrenching thrill down her spine.

 

It was Avon.