Page 2 of Bring Them Home

The request housed a threat, but she wasn’t about to back down now. “I said, leave us alone!”

The woman reacted like a cobra. Her blade swiped out.

She pulled back just in time. Heart pounding in her ears, time slowed, and her vision pinpricked. She swore she heard the swoosh of the knife as it sliced through the air.

“You need to mind your manners,” the woman told her.

She saw the trap, but she steamed ahead like a runaway train. “You’re one to preach about manners. You—” Her mother squeezed her hand so tightly her bones ached under the pressure.

“I see.” The woman smiled. “You have quite a bad attitude, little girl. One I don’t think came about on its own. It’s time for you to learn a lesson you won’t soon forget. It isn’t polite to talk back.”

“Please, just leave her alone,” her father petitioned.

Silence.

Time stretched out. Seconds turned into minutes. But without warning, it galloped ahead.

The woman flew across the room with superhuman agility and plunged the blade into her father’s chest in two quick jabs. His eyes widened and constricted. They connected with her and her mother, just as his legs gave out beneath him, and he crumpled to the floor.

“No!” she cried out and dropped to her father’s side. His chest was heaving for breath. He’s alive!

She looked at her mother and found her wailing, wide-eyed, with horror imprinted on her expression.

“Enough.” The man yanked her away from her father.

She fought like a street cat, swatting at him all nails. It didn’t seem to have any effect.

He pushed her across the room and flung her like a ragdoll into the corner. From there she watched in horror as the woman stabbed her father until his body became a pulpy, bloody mess.

Silent tears fell down her cheeks. He’s dead because of me! All because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut…

ONE

Three Days Later

Tuesday, August 25, 6:30 PM

Officer Traci Cochran was only a couple of hours into her evening shift when she got called out to Potomac Mills mall. She was just here yesterday on the hunt for the perfect neon pink nail polish. Something summery to match the season and lift her mood. But today she was here about a bright-orange Dodge Charger.

She’d received a call from dispatch, who had received a call from the mall’s management. The Charger had been in the lot for over seventy-two hours. Probably an out-of-towner who thought they could take advantage of free parking and walk from here to somewhere else. A darker possibility was it had been stolen and dumped here. Either way, it piqued Traci’s curiosity, and being here was more exciting than the start of her patrol shift had been, which wasn’t saying much. Nothing was going on tonight. Good in one way, but it made time slow down.

Pulling into the lot, she headed where she was directed, which was a straight shot down from the main entrance. Even though evening shoppers were out and the lot was rather full, it was easy to spot the vehicle with its bright color. She netted a parking spot in front of it and brought up the plate on her onboard computer.

The vehicle was registered to Valerie Archer of Dumfries, a small town only ten minutes down the road. No reports of it being stolen. Huh. So what would have a local leaving her car here for so long?

Traci called the number on file with the Department of Motor Vehicles. It rang several times before shuffling her to voicemail.

Next, Traci turned her attention to three other individuals associated with the same address as Valerie. The system didn’t disclose relationships, but all of them had the same surname. It was logical to assume they were the woman’s family. One was a man, aged forty-five, likely the husband. The other two were teenagers—a boy and a girl. They had their driver’s permits. All of them had a phone number listed. She tried the husband’s number first. It rolled straight to voicemail. Either he was on the phone or the device was off. No reason to panic yet. Though, she’d be lying to say a seed of worry hadn’t settled in the pit of her stomach.

She got out of the car and stooped down to peer through the Charger’s dark-tinted windows. The evening sun played off the glass, making it near impossible to see inside. She shielded her eyes, and it afforded her a slightly better view.

Nothing was out of place in the back seat, but when her gaze landed on the front passenger seat and console, the initial seed of worry sprouted roots.

A woman’s purse was on the seat with a cell phone in the console.

Traci called Valerie’s number again and watched as the screen on the device lit up. This time she heard the ringtone through the door.

Okay, something is wrong with this picture… No one leaves their purse and phone behind on purpose.