Sam let it ring for a good five seconds before picking up. “Yeah.” Her voice was cold, impersonal. No better than Abby deserved.

“Honey, I wanted to come by and talk.”

“Now?” Sam sounded incredulous. “Dad’s going to bed soon.”

Abby sighed. “There’s an emergency at work.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I figured I could pick you up so you can sleep at home with us tonight.”

“Well, I do need to pick up some clothes,” Samantha said.

Abby brightened. “Of course. I’ll pick you up in a bit.”

“Just one question. Is the snake still at your home?”

“I guess it is.”

“Then I’m not going near that place.”

Abby sighed. “Sam . . .”

“Why do you care where I sleep? You aren’t even there. I talked to Ben; he said he was with Grandpa and Grandma the entire weekend.”

When Sam needed something from her, she handled her like a pro. But when she was angry, it was like talking to the embodiment of Abby’s own guilt. Every sentence was a barb that hit home.

“How are you getting to school tomorrow?”

“Dad’s taking me on his way to work.”

“Okay,” Abby said. “I’ll come tomorrow afternoon to drop Ben, and we’ll talk it over.”

“Sure.”

“Good night, hon, I love you.”

“Night, Mom.” Sam managed to inject enough venom into her tone to make it sound as if she’d been coerced to say even that.

Abby hung up and decided that for her guilt to feel complete, she should check up on her other child. Ben was asleep by now, she hoped, so she called her mother.

“Hi, dear,” her mother said. “He’s already asleep.”

“I thought so. Did you have a nice day?”

“Yes. We bought some frozen mice for his snake. He was very happy.”

“The snake or the birthday boy?”

“Both, really. Where are you, still at work? Didn’t you say that in your new position there won’t be any long weekends?”

“Something special came up.”

“Still, Abby, when you divorced, you said—”

“I know what I said, Mom.” Abby used the tone Sam had used on her only minutes before. “It really is something I couldn’t have predicted. Do you . . . do you remember the two other kids from the Wilcox cult?”

“Eden and Isaac?” Her mother didn’t even hesitate; the names came in a blink. “Of course.”

“Isaac and I stayed in touch, but Eden disappeared.” Abby swallowed. “It turns out she’s been living in New York. It looks like she had a bit of a rough time growing up. And now her son has been kidnapped.”

“Oh, Abby.” Her mother’s voice became a cracked whisper. “That poor woman.”

“There’s a good detective on the case. Jonathan Carver. But I can’t just drop it.” She struggled, trying to formulate the need to stay on this. To do whatever she could.

There was a long silence, and then her mother said, “My biggest regret is that you never had a brother or a sister. You know, me and Hank tried, but—”

“Eden isn’t my sister, Mom. It’s not that.”

“You two grew up together, right? You’ve gone through terrible things.” Her mother’s voice was raspy. Was she crying? “When Hank and I decided to become foster parents, we wanted to take you and another child in. But the social worker said that the psychologist decided it was best for the three of you to be apart. They were worried that if you stayed together, it might hinder your development. You all had strange habits. The handwashing thing. You remember? You used to wash your hands until they were bleeding.”

“I remember.” She didn’t tell her mother about her latest relapse.

“When I realized I was too old to have a baby, I regretted not insisting on it,” her mother said. “Maybe if I’d insisted—”

“You can’t know what would have happened.”

“Still, I’m glad you’re there to help her now. You’re right to feel protective.”

“Yeah.” Abby leaned on the wall. “It’s going to be a late night. Don’t wait up for me. And I’ll probably need you to get Ben ready for school.”

“Of course, dear.”

Abby hung up and was about to reenter the task force room, then thought better of it. Instead she called Ahmed.

“Hey, Mullen.”

“Ahmed, that footprint? On the floor mat of the driver’s seat?”

“Yeah. You said you’d send me a photo of the sole of your suspect.”

“We’re having some difficulties getting it. Listen, the feds have a footwear database, right?”

“Yeah. I can send it over to them, but it might take some time to get an answer.”

“The task force has a liaison from the bureau. Maybe he can get us a speedy response.”

“How speedy?”

“The suspect is currently detained, but we can’t hold him for much longer. If his shoes don’t match the manufacturer, we’ll save a lot of time.”

“Send me the agent’s details. I’ll let you know when I have an answer.”