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I don’t know which thought terrifies me more.
Either way, a psychopath has my children, and I don’t know where to start looking for them.
ChapterFourteen
Do I call Peter first, or the cops? My husband deserves to know what’s going on, but I can’t waste another moment when Owen and Sophie are missing. As far as I know, Peter could be giving someone anesthesia right now.
That settles it. I send him a text and then call 911. Barely answer all the questions. I can hardly think with my kids having been abducted.
In less than a minute, squad cars arrive, sirens blaring and lights flashing.
Little faces peek out from the windows in the building.
I explain everything again to one officer while several others go inside the building. My voice cracks and tears run down my face faster than I can wipe them away.
What a nightmare. And to think I thought this week was off to a good start.
One of the other officers returns from the building and says the video showed me picking up the kids. Nobody believes me about the restaurant, and I can’t reach Megan to validate my story.
Peter’s Mercedes pulls into the lot. His tires squeal to a stop and he doesn’t bother parking in a designated spot. He leaps out, engine still running, and demands to know what’s happening.
The officer fills him in, and Peter wraps his arms around me as I soak his shirt with more tears.
“If my wife says she didn’t pick up the children, then she didn’t.”
The police insist we go inside to see the footage. I’ve already seen it, but I want another look.
Emily and Jennifer glare at me, obviously irritated I called the authorities.
What else was I supposed to do when my babies are missing? They had to have seen this coming.
The officers all look back and forth between me and the video. One of them says that’s clearly me.
I hit Jennifer’s desk. “It was doctored! Either they replicated my image, or the date is wrong. I’m not even wearing that outfit. I haven’t worn that tank top since the summer. It’s too cold for it now.”
Peter gives me a funny look.
“Why would we do that?” Jennifer’s face is the color of an overripe tomato.
“To cover up the fact that you gave my kids to a stranger!”
“We would never! It was you picking them up. They ran right up to you. Should I play it again?”
“Enough,” says one of the officers. “We can have our tech team look at it, but from what I can tell, it appears legit.”
Jennifer throws me an I-told-you-so glance before turning her attention back to the officers. “You should be aware that Angelina’s father has had dementia for years and her brother has spent most of his life in a mental facility.”
My mouth falls open. She did not just go there.
Peter pulls me close. “What does that have to do with anything?”
Jennifer’s expression tightens. “They should know the mental state of the woman they’re dealing with.”
“Angelina has never shown one sign of having a mental deficiency.”
“Never?” Jennifer gestures toward the paused video of the woman wearing my tank top and hugging my kids.
One of the officers moves toward the door. “We’ll take all this information and see what we come up with. We’ll be in touch.”
