Chapter 3 - THE NIGHT SHE DISAPPEAREDThe black SUV was gone by the time my father reached the window.

But the fear stayed.

Like smoke trapped beneath the skin.

The police took Mark away.

Assault charges.

Temporary protection order.

I thought that would be the end of the nightmare.

I was wrong.

At two in the morning, I found Emma awake.

She was sitting on the floor of her bedroom.

Her school backpack was open.

“What are you doing?”

She looked up.

“Packing.”

I sat beside her.

“Why?”

“Because Michael said we shouldn't stay here.”

My blood ran cold.

“Emma.”

“He called me.”

“What?”

She pulled a small phone from beneath her pillow.

I didn't recognize it.

“Who gave you that?”

“A man.”

“What man?”

“I don't know.”

She handed me the phone.

There was one message.

TRUST YOUR MOTHER.

Below it was another.

DO NOT TRUST ROBERT.

My father.

I stared at the screen.

“Emma, did Michael give you this?”

“No.”

“Who did?”

“The man from the car.”

“What car?”

“The black one.”

I couldn't breathe.

That meant someone had been watching her.

Not just the house.

Her.

I ran downstairs.

My father was sitting at the dining table.

“Dad.”

He looked up.

“What happened?”

“Someone gave Emma a phone.”

His expression changed.

“Who?”

“I don't know.”

I placed it on the table.

He picked it up.

Then froze.

“What's wrong?”

He stared at the message.

“You shouldn't have shown me this.”

“Why?”

He looked toward the hallway.

“Because this number belongs to someone I thought was dead.”

The room seemed to shrink.

“Who?”

Dad didn't answer.

He walked to the cabinet beneath the stairs.

He pulled out the red folder.

Inside was an old photograph.

Four men stood together.

My father.

A younger Mark.

Michael.

And another man.

A man with a scar across his eyebrow.

I pointed.

“Who is that?”

Dad folded the photograph.

“Nobody.”

“You're lying.”

He closed his eyes.

“His name was Daniel Voss.”

“What does he have to do with Emma?”

Dad didn't answer.

“Dad.”

Finally he said, “Daniel was involved in the company where I worked.”

“You never told me about him.”

“There are things from my past I wanted to bury.”

“Did Mark know him?”

“Yes.”

“Did Michael?”

“Yes.”

I stared at him.

“What was happening nine years ago?”

Dad sat down.

“When you were pregnant with Emma, Mark found out Michael was the father.”

“I know.”

“No.”

He shook his head.

“You don't know how he found out.”

He opened another document.

A medical report.

My medical report.

I remembered the hospital.

The pain.

The terror.

The night Emma was born.

But there was something I had forgotten.

A signature.

My father's.

“Why did you sign this?”

Dad looked ashamed.

“Because the hospital said Emma needed an emergency blood transfusion.”

“So?”

“Michael wasn't there.”

I stared at him.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Dad's voice dropped.

“They needed a biological parent.”

I felt the room tilt.

“What are you saying?”

“Emma was born with a rare blood type.”

I stared at him.

“I don't remember that.”

“Because you were unconscious.”

“What happened?”

“Michael's blood matched.”

I couldn't move.

“Then why does the report say Mark?”

Dad looked away.

“Because Michael never signed the papers.”

“Why?”

“Because he was being threatened.”

“By who?”

Dad said the name.

“Daniel Voss.”

My stomach turned.

“Why?”

Dad stood.

“Because Daniel believed Emma inherited something from her father.”

“What?”

“I don't know.”

“You're lying again.”

Dad's phone rang.

He looked at the screen.

His face became pale.

“Who is it?”

He didn't answer.

The phone stopped.

Then another call came through.

I saw the name.

DANIEL VOSS.

My father rejected the call.

A message arrived immediately.

YOU SHOULD HAVE KILLED THE GIRL WHEN YOU HAD THE CHANCE.

I stared at the screen.

My father began shaking.

“Dad…”

He looked at me.

“I never tried to kill Emma.”

“Then why would he say that?”

Dad couldn't answer.

Another message arrived.

This time there was a photograph.

Emma.

Taken five minutes earlier.

She was standing in the hallway upstairs.

The picture had been taken from inside our house.

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Below it were six words.

YOU ARE NOT ALONE IN THERE.