Authors: Wendy Corsi Staub
“You need to come with me, then. Both of you.”
“Why me?” the woman whimpered. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
“Not my problem. Let’s go.”
They took the elevator down to the basement and exited onto the side street, where the car was waiting. An SUV, rented, tinted windows.
The drive up to Greymeadow took almost an hour. What came next took five minutes—unless you counted the time it took to drag the bodies over to the pond, weigh them, sink them.
And now I’m going to have to do it all again…with four of them.
At least the kids are smaller. They’ll be easier to move when the time comes.
“Do you remember the boxes you donated for a tag sale, Lauren?”
“Yes…” On the other end of the phone line, she’s barely audible.
“In one of them—the one marked with black letters, your daughter tells me—is the pink stuffed dog. She put it there. Drive over to the church basement, get the dog, and bring it back to your house. Don’t talk to anyone.”
“But…what if someone is there? I can’t just barge in and—”
“Tell them your daughter wants her toy back. Nothing else. It’s very simple.”
It is, almost laughably simple—but it’s doubtful Lauren finds anything remotely humorous about her children being held for ransom.
“What about my kids?”
“When I get what I want, you get what you want.”
“How do I know?” Her voice is trembling, poor thing.
“We’ll just have to trust each other, won’t we.”
Listening to an endless speech about the evils of stem cell research, Garvey pretends to be riveted. He’s gotten quite good at feigning rapt attention.
But his thoughts are on his elder daughter. On the bitter irony that one day, stem cell research might result in a cure for her disease.
But Caroline is going to be all right regardless.
Thanks to me.
After the failed effort to conceive a savior sibling, Garvey knew he had to take matters into his own hands. If he didn’t do something to stop the death march through his little girl’s bloodstream, Caroline was going to die.
And so he made the decision that would come back to haunt him years later.
Yet, looking back, he knows he wouldn’t have done anything differently.
As a lawyer, he was well aware that the legal process to open sealed records was incredibly complicated—and hardly private.
He was on the verge of a congressional career built on family values. If the truth got out, his life would be destroyed.
But he told himself that wasn’t the main reason he opted not to go the legal route. No, it wasn’t about him. It was about Caroline. There was no time to waste.
For a man with Garvey’s connections, sidestepping legality was ridiculously easy.
It didn’t take him long to find out that the infant he and Marin had given up for adoption seven years earlier had been originally placed with a Rhode Island couple who already had four daughters and wanted a son.
But they changed their minds not long after accepting the baby and gave him back.
A real shame. Garvey was glad Marin didn’t know their son had wound up in the foster care system.
A few years later, he was adopted at last—and Garvey knew exactly where to find him.
Few cars are parked on the street in front of Glenhaven Episcopal Church today. Lauren easily finds a double space right out front, but it takes her several tries to pull in correctly.
How can she drive when she can barely breathe? She’s lucky she managed to maneuver the couple of blocks over from her house without crashing into anything.
The instructions were clear.
She hurries toward the door, remembering the last time she was here, with Ryan.
Now Ryan is out there somewhere with a gun to his head.
Please, please, please…
The church vestibule is dark and quiet. Lauren grasps her keys in a shaky hand as she descends the steps. What if he’s waiting for her here?
The basement is empty—or so she believes.
“Lauren!”
She jumps, startled by the voice.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you!”
She whirls around and spots Janet Wasserman in the far corner, waving, calling, “What are you doing here?”
Never mind me
, Lauren thinks,
what are
you
doing here?
Janet appears to be sorting through a box of clothing. Oh, that’s right. Janet’s in the Junior League.
Oh Lord. Why here? Why now? Why her?
Clenching her keys so hard they dig painfully into her palm, Lauren struggles to keep her cool. “I…you’ll never believe it, Janet, but I accidentally gave away something that I need back.”
“What is it?”
“One of Sadie’s stuffed animals.”
“What does it look like?”
“It’s a pink dog.”
“All the stuffed animals are over there.” Janet points at a table. “Let’s check it out.”
“Oh, I can do it. I don’t want to bother you.”
“It’s no bother.”
Yes it is, dammit. It’s a bother to me. Just let me do this. Please. My children’s lives are at stake.
Forced to swallow her fear, Lauren follows Janet over to a table piled with teddy bears, Beanie Babies, and enormous carnival prizes.
“Adorable, aren’t they?”
“Adorable. Yes.”
It doesn’t take long for Lauren to realize that the pink stuffed dog she seeks isn’t among them.
Sadie put it into one of the tag sale boxes, though.
Or so she claimed.
“Lauren?” Janet is asking.
Ignoring her, Lauren wonders if Sadie could have been lying.
It’s hard to imagine her parting with anything, given her attachment to her possessions.
Then again, she never wanted the dog. She said so just the other night, when Lauren was tucking her in.
Still, it doesn’t make sense. If she gave it away in a tag sale box, why isn’t it here?
“Earth to Lauren. Come in, Lauren.”
She looks up at Janet, wanting to kill her.
“I
said
,” Janet overenunciates, “I really don’t think it’s here.”
“Are you sure this is everything?”
“Positive.”
“But…maybe it got mixed in with something else.”
“I’ll keep an eye out for it, and I’ll call you if—”
“No, you don’t understand! I need it now!” Lauren cuts in shrilly.
Janet gapes at her, for once stunned to silence.
“I’m sorry, it’s just…you know how kids are when they’re attached to something. Sadie has been beside herself, and… I have to find it. Right now. Today. Or else…”
Or else my children will die.
Sitting in her living room with a cup of tea and the stack of photo albums, Elsa decides to begin today at the very beginning: Jeremy at four.
The first photo is one the foster agency sent.
She remembers her first thought upon seeing it:
That little boy has the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen
.
She knew, in that moment, that he was the one.
Brett wasn’t so sure—not after reading the file that came with the photo.
“This kid has serious problems, Elsa.”
“They all do.”
“Not like this.”
“He needs us, Brett. Please.”
To this day, she marvels that her husband agreed to try foster parenting in the first place, after years of infertility and failed adoption efforts. That he was willing to reach out to a troubled kid like Jeremy is even more surprising.
“I’m game if you are,” he said, and she made the call immediately, before he could change his mind.
The rest of the photos in the first album were taken after Jeremy came to live with them.
There he is in his new bedroom, outfitted with bunk beds for future sleepovers with friends he would never make. There he is on his swing set, with the teeter-totter that only Elsa ever shared with him. There he is as a Cub Scout, and a Little Leaguer—always standing away from the other children, never a part of the group.
There he is dressed as a Pilgrim for the Thanksgiving pageant and as a monster for Halloween.
He was supposed to be a clown that year, Elsa recalls. She sewed him an adorable ruffled costume out of bright gingham patchwork fabric. He hated it.
“I want to be a bad guy!”
Jeremy threw a violent tantrum, and she gave in.
That was the usual pattern.
She spoiled him. She knows it now. Knew it then, really. But she kept trying to make up for the suffering he’d endured before he came to live with them. The doctors kept telling her that his problems weren’t her fault. That his severe mood swings and frightening behavior were a combined result of genetics and the abuse he’d suffered before he came to live with the Cavalons. Elsa and Brett were told that the right combination of medication and therapy could turn Jeremy’s life around.
They never had a chance to find it.
As they comb through piles of discarded toys and clothes and household items, Lauren manages to hold up her end of the endless conversation Janet forces on her.
Yes, the kids loved camp.
No, she doesn’t know where the summer went.
Yes, the weather is lousy today.
No, she hasn’t heard the forecast.
“I’m thinking of throwing a little dinner party next weekend,” Janet tells her, “if you’re available. We have some new neighbors in Glenhaven Crossing and I thought it would be nice to introduce them around. Can you make it?”
This is positively surreal.
“Lauren? Are you free next weekend?”
“Maybe—I’m not sure.” She rifles through a pile of hats and mittens, looking for a sign of pink fur.
“You really should try to make it. It would be nice for you and Jennifer to become friends, since you both have young children.”
“Jessica,” Lauren corrects her. “And actually, we already met.”
“You met Jennifer? Where?”
“Jessica,” Lauren says again. “Her last name is Wolfe. I met her at the pool. She has a baby, right?”
“He’s not exactly a baby. Bobby is four. Sadie’s age. And their last name is Seaver.”
“I must be thinking of someone else.”
“Who?” Janet presses.
“I don’t know, there was a woman named Jessica who said she lives in Glenhaven Crossing.”
“But the Seavers are the only ones who have moved in lately.”
“It was a while ago. At least a year, maybe two.”
“I don’t know anyone in the neighborhood named Jessica.”
Wanting to scream, Lauren says, “You’ll meet her, I guess.”
“No. Trust me, I know what goes on in every house in the Crossing.”
Yes, I’m sure you do.
This is a nightmare. A living—
“Oh my goodness, look!” Janet is triumphant, pointing to several boxes tucked under a long table. “These haven’t even been opened yet!”
They’re Lauren’s. She can tell by looking at them. Alana was obviously in no hurry to sort through the Walsh donations.
Lauren dives under the table and looks for the one marked “FRAGILE.”
No…no…no… Yes! There it is.
Anxiously, she rips open the flaps.
No stuffed animal.
She goes through the whole box, just in case. Nothing.
Frantic, she tears into the others, tossing the contents into a pile on the floor.
“Whoa there, take it easy,” Janet protests mildly.
“It’s not here!” Her eyes are flooded.
“Relax, I’m sure it’ll turn up. Is there any chance it’s still at home? Maybe you were mistaken about giving it away.”
Lauren shakes her head. It definitely wasn’t in Sadie’s room.
She closes her eyes, picturing the barren dresser top. Unless it was someplace else in the room?
Suddenly, she realizes something.
She hadn’t seen Sadie’s Dora the Explorer pillow, either. Or her favorite Barbies on the nightstand.
Granted, she’d been distracted, but…
I don’t think they were there.
Sadie would never give away any of those precious possessions. So where are they?
“Lauren?”
“Hmm?”
“Are you okay?”
She looks up at Janet. “I have to go.”
“But—”
Lauren is already on her way out the door.
W
alking into the house again, Lauren can feel the presence as palpably as she could feel the earlier emptiness.
He’s here.
She doesn’t let on, treading cautiously across the floor.
“Chauncey?” she calls, unsettled.
Silence.
Her instinct is to go straight upstairs to Sadie’s room, to see if her hunch is correct. She fights it, though. She can’t do that.
The stuffed toy is her only bargaining chip. Once Sam has it, there will be no reason for him to return the children.
She makes her way to the kitchen, her eyes peeled for any sign of an intruder. She sees nothing, but knows he’s lurking.
Goosebumps prickle the skin on the back of her neck.
What if he already has the toy? Maybe he beat her to it.
But he couldn’t possibly know where to find it. Not unless someone told him.
Sadie had already lied about the toy being in the tag sale boxes. Would she suddenly decide to reveal the truth now?
If it is, indeed, really the truth.
What if Lauren is wrong?
I can’t be. If I don’t find that toy, he’ll kill them
.
She realizes she’s standing idly in the kitchen.
I have to do something. Anything.
She goes to the sink and runs water into a glass. Glancing out the window, she wonders if the bucolic backyard really does shield a predator. Does Sam Henning really live back there, on Castle Lane? Are her children being held there, a stone’s throw away?
Lauren turns off the tap and raises the glass to her lips, forcing herself to drink.
Then something catches her eye in the trees at the edge of the property line, and she nearly chokes on it.
Before she can react, a floorboard creaks behind her.
“Hello, Lauren.”
“It’s a slippery slope, my friends. If we allow human life to be devalued in this manner, what will be next?”
The speaker pounds the podium to make his point, temporarily startling Garvey from his reverie.
He glances at Marin.
She meets his gaze with a level one of her own, and as always, he can read her mind.
Such controversy over methods meant to save lives.
Stem cell research…
Savior siblings…
Medical tourism…
Garvey is well aware of the ethical implications that come with traveling abroad for surgical procedures and treatments difficult to come by in the States. These days, it’s a hot button topic.
Fourteen years ago, it wasn’t even on his radar—until he realized it was the perfect solution.
Only two people knew of his plan. He trusted both women implicitly—one with a truth so damaging that she could have destroyed him with it. He knew she never would.
Meanwhile, all he told Marin was that an overseas donor had been found for Caroline.
His wife rejoiced. She didn’t ask many questions. In the final trimester of pregnancy, she was not only preoccupied, but of course she couldn’t accompany her husband and daughter to India for the surgery. He was counting on that.
It was so long ago. Another lifetime, really. Caroline was a toddler. Annie wasn’t born yet. Nor was the city of Mumbai. Back then it was still called Bombay, and elephants walked the streets amid the filth and chaos.
He remembers Caroline’s wide eyes when she spotted one as they pulled up in front of their hotel on that first day.
“Doggy!” she trilled, clapping her hands together. “Big, big doggy!”
“No, sweetheart, that’s an elephant. When we get back home, Daddy will take you to the Bronx Zoo and show you lots of elephants.”
He remembers brushing tears from his eyes, praying he’d be able to keep that promise. Praying that the next round of lab tests would prove that the donor was compatible.
Traveling under fake passports, Beverly arrived in Bombay two days later with Jeremy.
Ryan would give anything for a flashlight.
That, or at least some fingernails. Too bad he’s chewed them all away.
Without them, it’s nearly impossible to claw at the wobbly board. He discovered it while feeling along the wall in the darkness of his wooden prison, looking for a way to escape before the lunatic comes back to kill them.
Ryan has no doubt that it will happen, thanks to Sadie.
When she realized what she’d done, she was filled with regret. But it was too late to change anything. They were already left alone, their captor off on a mission that wasn’t going to end well.
“It’s all right,” Lucy told Sadie, even though it wasn’t. “You didn’t mean it.”
Ryan couldn’t say anything at all. Partly because he was furious with his little sister, and partly because there wasn’t a minute to waste on talking.
There has to be a way out of here. It’s their only hope.
Sadie eventually cried herself to sleep on the dusty floor. Ryan can’t see her, but he can hear her even breathing in the darkness. He’s starting to feel bad about being angry with her. She’s just a little kid. No match for a crazy person with a gun.
Meanwhile, he’s doing his best to pry the plank loose, with Lucy’s help. There still isn’t much slack, but it’s getting a little better.
“I think we should try the door again, Ry. Maybe if we both throw all our weight against it…”
“We’ve tried that,” he reminds his sister. “There’s no way. It’s solid. But this wall isn’t. Here, feel this? I think it’s starting to give.”
“I think you’re right.”
“What do we do if we escape?”
“Are you kidding? Run like hell.”
“We don’t even know where we are.” Lucy’s voice is hollow. “We might be in the middle of nowhere.”
“It doesn’t matter. Anyplace is better than stuck in here, waiting to die.”
Ryan’s fingertips burn as he goes back to work on the board.
“How do you take your coffee, Congressman?” the waitress asks quietly, filling his cup.
“Just a little cream, thank you,” he whispers back, and focuses on the new speaker, a physician who is—surprise, surprise—opposed to stem cell research.
Garvey leans back in his chair, watching the speaker, but in his mind’s eye he’s seeing another doctor he once knew. A surgeon.
Dr. Pujari understood Jeremy to be Caroline’s sibling. That, of course, was the truth.
What he didn’t know was that the boy had been abducted from the home of his adoptive parents.
Garvey was fluent in Hindi. Of course, Caroline, Beverly, and Jeremy spoke not a word of it. The language barrier was a necessary measure of protection.
No one at the hospital thought it odd that Jeremy was frightened and crying for his mother. And no one had any reason to question that Garvey was his father—both Jeremy and Caroline looked just like him. Nor did anyone seem to suspect that Beverly, with her unusual golden eyes and fair hair, was not the children’s mother.
The tests had confirmed that Jeremy was Caroline’s blood relative and a capable donor. That was all anyone seemed to care about—and all they needed to know.
The surgery was a success.
Days later, Garvey and Caroline were on their way home.
When he bid farewell to Beverly at the hotel, he saw a glimmer of misgiving in her amber-colored eyes.
“You’re stronger than you think,” he assured her, as Jeremy played on the floor at her feet. “I believe in you.”
“I know.”
“You do what has to be done, and then you wash your hands and you move on. Right?”
Beverly nodded.
“Good. I’ll see you back in New York.”
Garvey kissed her on the cheek and walked away with his daughter in his arms, not allowing himself even a last glance at Jeremy, afraid he might change his mind.
The boy simply could not live to tell what had happened to him.
Lauren whirls at the sound of the voice behind her.
Stunned not to see Sam there, she fails to recognize the vaguely familiar face for a moment. Then she does, and she sees the gun, and the water glass slips from her hand, shattering on the floor.
Her visitor clucks her tongue and shakes her head.
“Who are you?” Lauren asks.
“Does it matter?”
“Your name isn’t Jessica.”
“Very clever of you. No, it isn’t.”
No wonder. No wonder Janet Wasserman didn’t know a new neighbor named Jessica.
“You don’t have what I asked you to get for me, Lauren.”
“How do you know?” Stalling for time, she glances down at the broken glass at her feet.
“You were supposed to bring it back from the church for me. You didn’t come in with it. I was watching you.”
“How do you know I didn’t stash it somewhere along the way?”
Jessica’s strange, amber-colored eyes narrow dangerously. The other day, sunglasses hid them. She looked for all the world like any other mom at the pool.
If Lauren had been able to see her eyes then, would she have been suspicious?
Possibly. But this isn’t about a delusional person fixated on a child’s toy. The woman’s expression is sharply focused; she’s completely sane and she means business.
So it isn’t just a toy. It’s something disguised as a toy, or something hidden inside a toy…
And she’s willing to kill for it.
“Where is it, Lauren?”
“Where are my children?” she returns, fighting to keep her voice from quaking. She can’t afford to lose her composure now. If she can stay focused, she might just have a chance…
“You’ll see your children when I get what I need.”
“What about Nick? Where is he?”
“Do you really care, Lauren?”
She says nothing.
“Nick and his friend won’t be making your life miserable anymore. You have me to thank for that.”
A chill slithers down Lauren’s spine. “What…what do you mean?”
“I took care of them. I met them at his apartment and I showed them this”—she brandishes the gun—“and then we went for a little ride. A one-way trip for the two of them.”
“Oh my God.” Lauren clasps a hand across her mouth.
“I wouldn’t be so upset if I were you. He sold you out, Lauren. You and the kids. And his girlfriend, too. I put a gun to her head and I asked him where the stuffed animal was, and he wouldn’t say anything. Not a word. Then I pulled the trigger, and wouldn’t you know, he started talking. He told me where to find what I needed. I guess he thought he had nothing to lose. Too bad he was wrong.”
“You killed him.” Trembling in disbelief, Lauren can’t seem to wrap her mind around it.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t know. He called you, at the end. Isn’t that interesting? I didn’t even realize he had his phone in his hand until it was over.”
Dear Lord, the phone call. He really was calling for help.
And I couldn’t help him. It was already too late.
Nick…oh, Nick. I’m so sorry.
Nick is dead. She can’t seem to absorb it, and yet…
Beth… Beth is dead, too.
And the body Lauren glimpsed out the window just now, lying on the ground amid the backyard trees…
It’s not one of the children. That was immediately, blessedly obvious from the size, and the clothes, and the hair…
Sam Henning.
He must have been sneaking over here, and Jessica saw him and shot him…
Oh God. Oh my God.
This woman is a cold-blooded killer. Lauren doesn’t stand a chance against her. Telling her what she wants to know didn’t save Nick; it won’t save Lauren and the children, either.
There’s only one way out of this…and no time to waste.
Fired.
Again.
Now what?
Sharon makes her way along Park Avenue amid the usual pedestrian horde: executives on cell phones, roaming groups of teenagers, nannies pushing their charges along in strollers.
Sharon was among them just this morning, pushing Avery over to the park and back for their daily stroll. He screamed the whole time, miserably sunburned.
“I’m so sorry, little guy,” Sharon told him over and over, brushing tears from her own eyes. “What have I done to you?”
But no—it wasn’t her fault. She wasn’t the one who had hauled him up to the suburbs and failed to sunscreen him before he spent hours in the sun and water.
You
were
the one who loaned him out for the day, though.
A favor in return for a favor.
“I helped you land the nanny job in the first place, Sharon, remember? I gave you a great reference when you needed it, and you asked me how you could ever repay me. Now you can.”
Yeah, right. She’d been a damned fool to go along with it. It had cost her a job that was even cushier than her last one: “babysitting” Congressman Quinn’s two teenage daughters—another job her cousin had managed to land for her.
So when her cousin called in the favor, accepting the offer had been a no-brainer. It seemed like a win-win situation—Avery would get to spend the day as a baby extra on a movie shoot; Sharon would receive a thousand dollars for letting him go.
Not bad for a day’s work—rather, a day off, lounging around the Camerons’ apartment watching the soaps.
The only hitch: Sharon couldn’t tell a soul. Not even Avery’s parents.
That was fine with her. She had a feeling Molly and Andrew Cameron wouldn’t approve. And it wasn’t as if they’d ever find out. Their son would be onscreen for only a few seconds, Sharon was told. Plus, he looks like a thousand other babies. What were the chances that Molly and Andrew would even see that movie or recognize him?
Anyway, Molly was away on business, and Andrew was never home during his son’s waking hours on week-days. Sharon was promised that Avery would be safely delivered back home again by five-thirty—and he was. No harm, no foul.
A few hours later, though, he fussed as she undressed him for his bath. That was when she saw the sunburn. He screamed bloody murder when she put him into the tub, and the water wasn’t even that hot.
By the time Mr. Cameron came home, the baby had cried himself to sleep. His father didn’t bother to look in on him. He never does.
Sharon tried to reach her cousin that night, to tell her what had happened and ask her what to do. But she didn’t pick up her phone, and she didn’t call back last night or today, and that isn’t like her.