In the sterile white NICU, Damien Sterling's fist connected with the wall. The sound was a dull crack, and the plaster spiderwebbed around his knuckles. Blood welled up, but he didn't feel it. All he saw was the empty space in the incubator, the faint indentation on the small mattress where his son had been.
"Find her," he had snarled at his head of security, his voice a low, terrifying promise of violence. "I don't care what it costs. A billion-dollar reward. I want every bounty hunter, private detective, and scoundrel from here to every corner of the world to go look for her. Find her, and find my son."
That was five years ago.
Five years of dead ends. Five years of false leads. Five years of silence.
The harsh white light of the hospital dissolved into the warm afternoon sun of a Brooklyn neighborhood. Eleanor, her face now etched with the fine lines of worry and exhaustion, emerged from the subway station. She held the hand of a small boy with bright, intelligent blue eyes and a mop of dark hair.
Cody.
He was five years old now.
They had survived. Eleanor had used every trick she knew, every hidden contact from a life before Damien, to build a new identity. They lived in a tiny apartment, she worked odd jobs for cash, and they never stayed in one place for more than a year. It was a life lived in the shadows, a life of constant, low-grade fear.
But today was an exception. Today was for Cody.
Eleanor drove to Manhattan with Cody, the city that was still a monster in her nightmares. They walked into a glittering, cathedral-like department store on Fifth Avenue, a place so far removed from their daily reality it felt like another planet. The opulence was suffocating, and Eleanor felt the stares of the wealthy shoppers on her worn coat and scuffed boots.
Cody, however, was unfazed. He stood before the window of a massive toy store, his gaze locked on an impossibly complex Lego model of the Death Star.
He didn't whine or beg. He simply stared at the price tag, his small brow furrowed in concentration.
"With New York state sales tax at eight-point-eight-seven-five percent," he said, his voice clear and precise, "the total comes to four hundred and eighty-nine dollars and sixty-eight cents."
Eleanor's heart ached. She looked at the number, then thought of the meager balance in her bank account. It was a chasm she couldn't cross.
Cody must have seen the flicker of pain in her eyes. His expression immediately changed. He broke into a wide, brilliant smile.
"Actually," he declared, "Lego is for babies. It's boring." He tugged on her hand, pointing toward a small, free play area in the center of the store. "I want to go on the slide! That looks way more fun."
Gratitude washed over her, so sharp and fierce it almost brought her to her knees. She knelt down and kissed his round, soft cheek. Cody threw his small arms around her neck and pressed a quick, warm kiss to her cheek in return.
"Okay, sweetie," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "You play here. Don't go anywhere, you understand? I'm just going to run up to the third floor. I saw a jacket for you in the discount section. I'll be right back."
"Promise," Cody said, puffing out his chest like a little soldier. "I'll stay right here."
She watched him scramble into the colorful plastic structure, his laughter echoing in the noisy store. She walked toward the escalator, her eyes fixed on him until the last possible second. As the escalator carried her upward, the play area was obscured by the floor above.
The moment he was out of sight, a sudden, violent shudder went through her. Her heart gave a painful lurch, a physical spasm of pure dread. It was so intense she pressed a hand to her chest, her breath catching in her throat.
It's nothing, she told herself. You're just on edge.
She forced the feeling down and hurried into the children's department on the third floor. Her fingers flew through the racks of clothes, searching for the navy-blue jacket she'd seen online. She found it, checked the price, and turned to head for the cashier.
That's when the announcement came over the store's intercom. The sound was distorted by static, the voice tinny and rushed.
"...looking for his mother... five years old... blue eyes... gray sweatshirt..."
The jacket slipped from her numb fingers and fell to the floor.
She didn't even notice. She was already running, shoving her way through the crowds of shoppers, ignoring their angry shouts. She flew toward the escalator, her mind a screaming void of white noise.
She ran against the flow of people coming up, her breath tearing at her lungs. Her eyes, wide and frantic, scanned the first floor.
She reached the railing of the play area, her chest heaving, and stared into the sea of colorful plastic balls. A few children were laughing and playing.
But the small boy in the gray sweatshirt was gone.
Cody was gone.
He had vanished, just as she had taken him five years ago. Snatched out of existence in the middle of a crowded store.
