If Michelle was involved, Ellie wanted witnesses before she wanted noise.

She took out her cell and called Walt Kerr, the retired deputy who lived two streets over and had

known her family since Brian was twelve.

He answered on the second ring.

“Walt,” Ellie said, keeping her voice low, “come to my house right now.

Bring your phone.

Don’t call ahead.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then: “I’m on my way.”

When she hung up, Tyler was staring at the back door.

“Are they coming?” he asked.

Ellie didn’t lie.

“I don’t know.

But if they do, I won’t let anyone take you out of this house.”

He looked like he wanted to believe her so badly it hurt.

Then headlights swept over the kitchen wall again.

This time they didn’t move on.

Tyler’s chair scraped backward so fast it nearly toppled.

He stood, all the color draining from his face.

“That’s her.”

An engine cut off in the driveway.

Ellie’s heart slammed once against her ribs, hard enough to sting.

She took Tyler by the shoulders and steered him into the laundry room off the kitchen, the one with the narrow folding door and no window.

“Stay here.

Don’t make a sound unless I call your name.”

He gripped her wrist.

“Don’t let her touch me.”

“I won’t.”

A knock sounded at the front door.

Three brisk taps.

Then Michelle’s voice, pitched sweet and worried through the wood.

“Mrs.

Parker? Are you awake?”

Ellie crossed the dark living room on feet that suddenly felt twenty years younger and twenty years older at the same time.