The silence that greeted me was the most terrifying sound I'd ever heard.
Not Daisy's humming. Not Anna's soft voice. Not Mrs. Rosa's telenovela in the background or the distant clatter of dishes.
Nothing.
The absence of life was brutal.
"ANNA!" My voice cracked, raw and desperate. "DAISY!"
The echo that came back mocked me.
I pushed through the door, and the scene in the living room hit me like a physical impact.
The vase of tulips, those cursed tulips, shattered on the floor, water spreading in a dark stain across the white carpet. Petals scattered like drops of blood. A dining chair on its side, one leg broken. And Officer Martinez sprawled near the kitchen threshold.
I was at his side in seconds, two fingers pressed to his neck. There was a strong pulse, thank God. A dark bruise was already flowering at his temple, an egg-sized lump where someone had hit him hard and precisely.
"Daisy!" I yelled again, my voice breaking. "DAISY, WHERE ARE YOU?"
Nothing. Just that terrible, empty silence.
I ran down the hall, my feet pounding against the hardwood, echoing in the empty apartment. Her door, which was always closed when she napped, was wide open. And inside...
The bed was rumpled, covers thrown back. Her stuffed dog, Mr. Bounces, the one she never went anywhere without, lay abandoned on the floor.
And the window. The window I had personally checked with Vance, the one with the new sensor and the lock, and every fucking expensive precaution money could buy?—
Open.
Fresh, cool breeze billowed the curtains inward, making them dance like ghosts. And on the white-painted sill, stark and horrifying and undeniable?—
Blood.
Not a lot. A smear, maybe two inches long. Crimson against white.
My knees buckled. I caught myself on the doorframe, hand slapping against wood. A wave of nausea hit so hard I tasted bile.
Whose blood? Daisy's? Anna's?
Please not Daisy. Please God, not Daisy. Take me instead. Take anything. Take everything. Just not her?—
It was all my fault. I brought Anna here. I engineered this. I surveilled her, lured her, made her part of our lives. And in doing so, I'd painted a target on my daughter's back. And now I couldn’t imagine losing Anna either.
All my money. All my security. All my fucking control?—
Worthless. Ash. Meaningless.
A groan from the living room yanked me back.
Officer Martinez.
I stumbled back down the hall, nearly tripping.
He was trying to sit up, one hand pressed to his head, eyes unfocused and glassy. I dropped to my knees beside him, gripping his shoulder hard enough to leave marks.
"Where are they?" The words came out somewherebetween a shout and a snarl. "What the hell happened? WHERE IS MY DAUGHTER?"
He winced, blinking hard. "Mr. Spencer... I'm sorry... so sorry?—"
