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CHAPTERONE

“You smell so good.What perfume are you wearing?”

In my previous life, all of eight short days ago, I would have taken the woman’s comment as a compliment. I had a variety of designer perfumes and body sprays I’d collected over the years and took pride in smelling as delicious as possible on a daily basis.

But I wasn’t wearing any perfume tonight.

She looked normal enough. Thirties, brunette, athleisure outfit, a definite soccer-mom vibe. I’d noticed her earlier, moving down the aisles of the mostly vacant grocery store.

She didn’t have a shopping basket like I did. She didn’t carry a handbag.

No. She was definitely stalking me.

I twisted a finger through my long black hair. “Yeah, it’s calledPoison.Ever heard of it?”

“It’s amazing,” she breathed. As she took another step closer to me, her light gray eyes shifted to black.

I’d been hoping I was wrong about her.

I wasn’t wrong.

“Look, I’d love to chat,” I said, my voice tighter now. “But I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

She glanced down at my basket, taking note of the contents: wash clothes, diapers, baby bottles, baby formula. Kind of a theme, really.

“Where’s your baby?” she asked.

“Not here,” I told her.

“Clearly.” She laughed at that, and the chilling sound made the fine hair on my arms stand up. “How lovely, though. I had a baby once, a long, long time ago.”

“Great,” I replied, now eyeing the exit. “Anyway, I’m going to be on my way now.”

I knew it wasn’t going to be that easy, but it was worth a try. These purchases were essential, so, first, I headed toward the self-checkout, quickly scanning and bagging the baby stuff.

Soccer-Mom followed me. Because, of course, she did.

“What’s your baby’s name?” she asked. There was an eerie flatness to her tone now, and her eyes were fully black under the fluorescent lights of the store.

“Good question. Currently, she doesn’t have an official name. I’ve mostly been calling her Baby.” I shrugged a shoulder. “Maybe it can be an ode to Dirty Dancing? It’s one of my favorite movies of all time.”

“How odd that you haven’t named your baby yet,” Soccer-Mom said.

“To be fair, she’s not reallymybaby. But I promised her father that I’d keep her safe.”

“Where is her father now?”

“Dead,” I said simply, ignoring the shiver that went through me at saying it out loud.

“Oh, dear,” Soccer-Mom replied. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

The memory of Matthias’s deep voice echoed in my mind.

“Promise me you’ll look after my daughter. Don’t let any harm come to her.”

I’d made that promise. And I’d damn well keep that promise.

“Actually, to be honest, I’ve been playing with the name Sara,” I said.