Live to Tell (Live to Tell #1)(90)

There’s a click, and the line goes dead.



“What did you do to my baby?” Molly shrieks at Sharon, rushing to the crib and snatching her son from it.

Avery screams.

“I’m so sorry, Avery. Mama’s so sorry…” The physical contact against his skin must be excruciating; his little body scorched in a red, blistering burn.

“I didn’t—it’s just—it’s a sunburn, Mrs. Cameron.”

“Just a sunburn?”

“I’m so sorry. I had him out in the stroller yesterday, and—”

“You had him out where?” Molly demands over Avery’s miserable wails. “On the beach for hours without sunscreen? Where?”

“No, just around the neighborhood.”

“Where does a baby get a sunburn like this in the middle of Manhattan, in a stroller with an awning?”

“It was hot and sunny and—”

“And was he naked? Because his stomach is burned, and his legs—oh, Avery. Oh, my poor baby.”

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Cameron.”

“You dim-witted, idiotic… Get out!”

“You mean…”

“I mean get out. You’re done here. Fired.”

Sharon stares for a long moment, then hangs her head and leaves.

Why, oh why did I hire her? Molly berates herself as her son screams in pain.

But she knows the answer to that question.

She hired Sharon because she was impressed by her last position: caring for the daughters of a high-profile congressman, whose office had graciously provided a glowing reference.

Sharon was good enough for the Camerons, Molly figured, if she was good enough for Garvey Quinn.



Barring traffic, it takes almost half an hour to get from White Plains to Glenhaven Park.

Thoughts careening wildly, Lauren races to the elevator and punches the down button repeatedly.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry…”

She needs help. Desperately, immediately. Help from someone other than the police. She has no intention of risking her son’s life.

Dear God, why did she leave the kids? She hardly ever goes anywhere. Why, on the rare occasion the kids are home alone, did someone come into the house to harm them?

“Oh, Nick, why? Where are you? I need you.”

But Nick isn’t here for her. He hasn’t been here for her in ages…and he won’t be, ever again. She’s on her own. With this. This…

The thought drifting at the back of her mind barges forward. This is no accident.

Unless…

Is it some kind of hoax?

No. Remembering the strangled fear in Ryan’s voice, Lauren knows the danger is real.

Were they being watched all along? Was someone waiting to pounce the moment she left the house?

She couldn’t even tell if the voice belonged to a man or a woman. Someone was working hard to disguise it. Why?

Was the caller someone she knows?

If the children are being taken away— oh God, someone’s taking them away!— there must be a car.

I need a description, a license plate, something…

Still clutching her cell phone, she looks down at it in frustration. If only there were someone—a friend, a neighbor—who could look out a window and see what’s going on at her house without drawing any attention.

But they’re all gone. Trilby, the Hilberts, the Levines, O’Neals…

There’s no one around, she realizes in despair. No one at all.

Or is there?

It’s a crazy thought, but she’s desperate.

Flipping open her phone, she presses the call log button. There it is—the number is right at the top.

And Sam Henning answers on the first ring.



At first, Ryan thought it was a joke. Something his sisters cooked up, fake gun, very funny, ha ha.

How he wishes that was the case.

But this is real. He, Lucy, and Sadie are really being held at gunpoint by a lunatic who’s obsessed with some stuffed animal of his sister’s.

“But I don’t know where it is,” Sadie said—a few times now.

Ryan can tell that she’s lying. He only hopes their captor cannot.

“Sadie,” he says softly, keeping one eye on the gun as the three of them sit lined up on the couch, “you can hand over the toy. Seriously. Mom will get you a new one.”

“She didn’t give it to me. Daddy did.”

“Then Daddy will get you a new one.”

“Daddy moved away.”

“He’s not that far away,” Lucy assures Sadie, sitting between the two of them. “Right, Ryan?”

“Yeah, he’s just on vacation.”

“Mommy said they’re having a divorce and he’s never coming back.”

“Not to live with us,” Lucy whispers, “but we’ll see him.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

“What if he’s gone forever?”

“He won’t be,” Ryan tells Sadie.

“But Fred is.”

Ryan and Lucy exchange a glance.

Lucy clears her throat. “He’s not, sweetie. Daddy will find him, and he’ll get you a new toy. But right now, we really need you to go get the pink—”