It happens in slow motion, the next few seconds slipping past like syrup.
My gaze coming back to the road.
The headlights slicing through the mist to our right, blowing pastthe stop sign.
The hot shriek of brakes.
The frantic thump of my heart.
And then we collide in a sonic boom of crushing metal and shattered glass. Noah’s scream is the last thing I hear.
Chapter 12
GRANT
The woman who isn’t my wife lies before me, moaning in a crumpled heap. I stare at her feeling completely gutted as my head spins in circles. If this woman is here, what does it mean for Avery? Is she hurt? Is she dead? Is she locked away in a cage somewhere scared and alone, wondering why I haven’t come for her yet? And,Jesus,is the baby okay?
I rub my forehead. Why would they even do this if all they wanted was the money? They have it all now. So why don’t I have my wife?
I don’t have the answers, but maybe this woman does. I grab her shoulders and give her a gentle shake. “Hey, can you hear me?”
She winces, and her eyelids slowly flicker open. She blinks and fights for focus. Her pupils are dilated, at least twice as large as they should be. She’s injured, probably concussed, but I don’t have time to baby her. I need to know what she knows, and I need to know right fucking now. “Whoareyou?” I ask, as she squints at me and shields her eyes.
“Where … am I?”
“It’s hard to explain. First, I need to know who you are and why you aren’t my wife. Then I’ll tell you where you are.”
“Your wife?” she parrots groggily.
I grind my teeth together. It’s like I’m speaking Mandarin. I want to slap her and scream for her to focus. I want to shake her until she tells me everything she knows. But I can’t. She’s dazed, in shock. I can tell by the way her irises are swimming drunkenly through the whites of her eyes as she looks up at me like I’m nothing more than a waking dream.
I exhale long and slow and study her. From across the clearing, she looked exactly like Avery. She has the same slim build, the same cinnamon red hair. She’s even wearing Avery’s clothes—a black crop top and purple yoga pants—along with her shoes, a black and white pair of Merrells. There’s no arguing this woman is a carbon copy of my wife, especially from a distance.
But this close, the illusion shatters. Instead of Avery’s delicate cheeks and slender chin, this woman has a weak jaw and a face that is far rounder than my wife’s. A heavy pair of frown lines tug at the corners of her lips, and her forehead is peppered with sunspots. She’s older than Avery too—somewhere in her early forties if I were to guess. And her eyes are brown, not green.
“Here,” I say, leaning forward. “Let me help you up.” Her eyes widen at my touch, and she scoots back like she’s just now seeing me for the first time. She looks dazed—no, more than dazed. She looks drugged.
“Calm down,” I say, flashing her my palms. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Who … who are you?” she asks, squinting at me. “What do you want?”
“My name is Grant Wilson. I’m looking for my wife, Avery. She was abducted this morning. I thought you were her.”
Her brow crinkles in confusion. “Wait, what? Why would you think that?”
“Because you look like her, and you’re wearing her clothes.”
“What are you talking about?” She drops her gaze, and her eyeswiden again as she takes them in. “Why would I be … oh …” She trails off, her hand drifting toward her temple. “God, my head is killing me. What happened?”
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
“I … don’t remember anything.”
Her grimace deepens, like the mere act of thinking hurts. The panic in my chest swells. I need to find out what this woman knows, and I need to find outnow.But I can’t scare her any more than she already is, or she’ll shut down.
“Okay,” I say. “How about you start from the beginning. What’s the last thing you can remember?”
Her eyes unfocus, and she gazes somewhere over my shoulder. “I was on my evening jog near … near the park by my house and I heard this sound. An engine, I think. Something about it was …”
