Page 1 of Glimmer in the Darkness

Chapter One

My name is Ella, and I am precious.

No matter what anybody said, Ella Cote knew who she was. Daddy had said so.

She lay curled on the thin pad, thumb in her mouth like when she was a baby. She closed her eyes because, even though it was dark then, it was less scary than when they were open and everything was still dark.

The howling outside the cave sounded like those wild dogs she saw in movies, the kinds that snatched away pets and little kids and ate them up.

The wind. It’s only the wind.

Owls had been hoot-hooting. Now, other birds were tweeting to each other, probably saying to go back to sleep ’cause it was still dark.

Inside the cave, crickets had chirped all night long. They sang to her after the sun went down. They kept her company when she was alone. The crickets were her friends. Like Jiminy Cricket, only they didn’t dance.

Being alone with the crickets was better.

Her forehead and knee were pressed against the cold stone wall beside her. She’d scooted as close as she could, but the man had only scooted with her, his heavy arm wrapped over her middle. His hand on her tummy. His front against her back. He was hot and sweaty and smelled like Daddy after a workout, except not good and comfortable. This man smelled like something yucky, like onions and green beans and old fish.

She wanted Daddy.

The man’s breath blew against the back of her head.

She wanted her soft bed and her stuffed animals and her daddy to kiss her and tell her she was precious. Tell her she was worth more than all the diamonds and all the rubies and all the emeralds in all the world. Tell her he wouldn’t trade her for ten bazillion dollars.

Tears fell into her hair and onto the skinny blanket beneath her, but Ella didn’t wipe them. She didn’t dare move.

Finally, light glowed beyond her closed eyelids. Morning again. Maybe today, Daddy would come for her.

Please, God. I wanna go home.

Chapter Two

Cassidy Leblanc kept her head down as she drove through downtown Coventry. This was the third day in a row she’d made this drive, but today, instead of normal traffic near the municipal building, a crowd had gathered in front. Traffic slowed to a stop as drivers and passengers gaped at the spectacle—Reid Cote and four older people, probably the missing little girl’s grandparents. Together, they were a display of grief and terror.

Men and women, some uniformed, others in suits, crowded around the family on the stairs of the old brick building. While a few seemed eager and sure of themselves, most looked worn and haggard, having lived long enough that hope felt as elusive as vapor.

Or maybe Cassidy was projecting.

Reid stepped up to the microphones.

Cassidy couldn’t hear her former friend’s words, but she could imagine them—pleas for the return of his five-year-old daughter, Ella. His and Denise’s daughter. Cassidy had learned that much from the newspaper articles, but Denise was nowhere to be seen. There must be a story there, one Cassidy didn’t know and probably never would.

Watching the scene were mothers with hands over their mouths, eyes wide. Fathers with clenched fists, looking ready to take on the world to protect their own. As if they could prevent danger and violence by sheer will.

That protectiveness had always hummed beneath the surface of this little New Hampshire town. Cassidy had felt it keenly, especially when people learned where her mother was and why. Many of the residents had looked at Cassidy as if she were her mother, not one of Mom’s victims. It was unfair, and they’d probably all admit that if pressed. But when it came to safeguarding their families, fairness was irrelevant.

Finally, traffic moved. Lifting a prayer—one of the many she’d uttered since she’d learned of the girl’s disappearance—Cassidy left downtown behind. This would be her third attempt at finding that hidden cave on the mountain. Third attempt, but unless she was successful today, not the last. She’d keep looking until she located it. That was the only way she could save that missing child.

By the time she parked in a small gravel parking lot on the outskirts of town, it was almost nine-thirty, and the sun was warming the mid-July morning. With the humidity, it would be a scorcher. She climbed from the car and grabbed her backpack. Inside were water bottles, sunscreen, bug spray, granola bars, a rope, a first-aid kit, a lighter, a flashlight, and extra ammo—everything she thought she might need.

The only thing she carried that wasn’t in the backpack was her Glock 19. The guy at the gun shop had talked her into it. Knowing next to nothing about guns, she’d trusted his judgment, and he hadn’t steered her wrong. The Glock felt manageable in her hand, and she’d hit the target on her first try. Granted, the target had only been about ten feet away. With more training, she’d gotten better, more comfortable. She could shoot a man if she had to. She would, if she had to.

After she got the backpack settled, she checked the Glock. It was loaded and ready.

So was she.

Or as ready as she could be for mountain-climbing. She slipped the gun into its holster on her side, dreading the day ahead. More than once, she’d described herself as indoorsy. Hiking, backpacking, camping… Those weren’t her scene. She should’ve known she’d be back here. She should’ve prepared. Truth was, she avoided anything that reminded her of that day ten years prior. She’d stayed happily surrounded by high-rises and concrete instead of trees and mountains. Any love she’d once had for the wilderness had died that night ten years before on Mt. Ayasha. When she ran away, she swore she would never return—not to Coventry, not to the forest, certainly not to this mountain.