Special thanks and acknowledgment to

       Roxanne Rustand for her contribution to the

       Without a Trace miniseries.

      The Lord is a refuge for the oppressed, a stronghold in times of trouble. Those who know Your name will trust in You, for You, Lord, have never forsaken those who seek You.

      —Psalms 9:9–10

      Writing is usually a solitary business, but every now and then, an opportunity comes along to work on a series with other writers. It has been a sheer joy, as well as an honor, to participate in the Without a Trace continuity with wonderfully talented authors Margaret Daly, Robin Caroll, Shirlee McCoy, Patricia Davids and Terri Reed. Thanks so much to all of you!

      And thanks also to Diane Palmer, Pamela Nissen and Jacquie Greenfield. I treasure our friendships more than words can express.

      CONTENTS

      PROLOGUE

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

      CHAPTER SIX

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      CHAPTER NINE

      CHAPTER TEN

      CHAPTER ELEVEN

      CHAPTER TWELVE

      CHAPTER THIRTEEN

      CHAPTER FOURTEEN

      CHAPTER FIFTEEN

      CHAPTER SIXTEEN

      CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

      CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

      CHAPTER NINETEEN

      CHAPTER TWENTY

      CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

      QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

      PROLOGUE

      At the sound of his sister Leah’s old Mustang pulling to a stop in the driveway, Clint Herald opened his front door to the damp, gray January evening, his heart heavy.

      Could his three-year-old niece even grasp the concept of death? Did Sarah still think her daddy would be coming back?

      There’d been no forewarning of her father’s apparent suicide four days ago, and it still made no sense. And now the troubles were just beginning for Clint’s sister and his young niece.

      Clint leaned down to scoop Sarah up for their customary hug but did a double take when he saw the stark expression on his sister’s face.

      “Keep her safe,” Leah whispered, casting a swift glance over her shoulder. She leaned forward to give Sarah a hug. Then thrust her daughter forward into Clint’s arms and backed away. “Please.”

      Surprised at the tension in her voice, Clint reached for Leah’s hand, but she took another step back. “What’s going on?”

      “N-nothing. I just have to go.”

      Leah had asked Clint to keep Sarah for the evening while she talked to her lawyer about the tangled legal situation at her late husband’s pawnshop. Earl had died without ever getting around to adding Leah’s name to the property or his will. Yesterday’s modest funeral had almost wiped out their joint savings—just the start of the financial worries she would be facing.

      But from the desperate look of yearning on Leah’s face as she turned away from Sarah and hurried to her car, Clint feared that his sister must be in even deeper trouble than she’d revealed.

      “Leah, wait a minute!” Clint called out. But his sister didn’t look back.

      She climbed into her car, shut the door and rammed the stick shift into reverse, grinding the gears—something she never, ever did to her beloved old car.

      “Leah?” He felt his pulse quicken. “Leah!”

      Taking the porch steps two at a time, he started after her with Sarah still in his arms, but the car shot down the gravel drive toward the highway in a cloud of dust.

      Sobbing, Sarah twisted in his embrace, her favorite doll clutched to her chest. She reached toward the car with one outstretched hand. “Momma!” She screamed, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Momma!”