“I went to pick Lyra up, and she wasn’t there. They told me her dad had her, so I called Keith, and that’s when the school clarified what they meant. At first, I assumed that ithadbeen Tomás. I hadn’t seen him in years, but he was always a smooth talker, always conning someone out of or into something. Then the school’s director pulled up some security footage, and I realized that the man who’d walked out of that school with my little girl—I’d never seen him before in my life.”
Someonehad taken Lyra—just not her father.
“We called nine-one-one, but my baby…” Lyra’s mother let go of her father’s hand to reach across the table. “Youwere gone, Lyra. They put out an Amber Alert, tried to identify the man’s car—and then around nine o’clock that night, they found you, barefoot on the pavement, on the street right outside the sheriff’s office.”
Lyra flashed back to running out into the night, but this time, as she attempted to grab on to the memory, to force it to solidify into something more than smoke and fog, she realized: “Running—but not away from the house where it happened.”
Had there been a car? She couldn’t remember.
“What house?” Lyra’s dad asked. “And whathappenedthere, Lyra? Your mom said that on the phone, you mentioned a gun.”
For years, Lyra had believed that her parents knew: what she’d seen, what she’d lived through. But it was clear now that theyhadn’tknown. They’d known she was taken. They’d known she’d come back, but that was all.
“The man who abducted me…”Not my father. It was never my father.“He took me to a house.” Lyra flipped back through Eve’s file. “Nine-four-seven Onomo Crescent. Three towns over.”
Lyra’s mother took possession of the file, and Lyra watched as her parents read through it. She knew the instant they got to the crime scene photos.
He blew off his own face.
Lyra’s mother visibly gritted her teeth but kept turning pages. And then she got to the driver’s license.
“Tomás.” Lyra’s mom drew in a shaky breath, then flipped intomystery-writer mode. “According to this report, authorities found this body two days after Lyra was taken and less than forty miles away. Level of decomposition was consistent with death thirty-six to forty-eight hours earlier. The deceased was a recent kidnapping victim’sbiological father, his death coincided with the timing of the kidnapping, and somehow that just never came up in their investigation?”
No one made that connection. Because no one dug deep enough to realize that Thomas Valasquez wasn’t his real name. Because this case was tied up with a billionaire’s bow. Because Alice Hawthorne was the Hand, and she wanted me kept out of it.
“The dead manwasn’tTomás.” Lyra was certain of that. “But whoever he was, he kidnapped me and brought me to that houseso thatI could witness his death.” Lyra tightened her grip on Grayson’s hand. “The bastard gave me a flower.” She didn’t specify what flower. “And a candy necklace.”With only three pieces of candy.“He wished me a happy birthday.”Lie-rah. Lie-rah. Lie-rah.“And then he walked upstairs and shot himself—twice.”
Once in the stomach.
Once in the head.
“I saw the body.” Lyra tried her best not to whisper. She tried her best to be strong. “I remember… I remember stepping in his blood.”
Not herfather’sblood but someone else’s.Whose?
“When the police found Lyra,” Grayson cut in, “was there blood on her feet?”
“No,” Lyra’s mom snapped. “There wasn’t a drop of blood on her.”
Lyra could feel her memory twisting, contorting.Bare feet on pavement. Blood on my feet.But was that one memory—or two?
“The authorities took her straight to the hospital.” Lyra’s dad was fighting tears now. “The doctors examined her, and she was fine. No sign of—anything. The medical team noted that she seemed confused about how she’d gotten there. She asked them why she wasn’t at school. She asked where her soccer cleats were.”
“She lost time,” Grayson summarized. “Did they do a tox screen at the hospital?”
“They did, and it was clear,” Lyra’s mom said fiercely. “There was nothing in her system. She had no memory whatsoever of what happened. She wasfine, and eventually, even her therapy team agreed that if she truly didn’t remember ever being taken, maybe it was a blessing.” She fixed her gaze on Lyra. “How long?” she demanded. “How long have you been living with this all alone?”
“Three years, Darby.” Lyra’s dad was the one who answered. “It’s been three years.”
Lyra’s throat felt so dry she thought it might crack and bleed, but somehow, she summoned the strength to speak. “I thought you knew.” Every breath she took burned her lungs. “I thought Tomás took me. I thought I sawhimdie. And I thought you both knew.”
As horrific as all of this was, Lyra felt like she was being pieced slowly back together, because her parents very clearlyhadn’tknown the worst of it. They hadn’t kept it from her.
“None of this makes sense.” Lyra’s dad stood abruptly, walked over to the kitchen window, and stared out into the night.
“Dad,” Lyra said evenly. “You can’t demand answers.” She knew Keith Kane very well. He was a man of action. “You can’t call the sheriff’s department and raise hell in the morning.”
“Why not?” her dad said calmly.