Sylvia sat directly behind him in a string of pearls.

When Derek saw Mira in my arms — saw his daughter, alive and whole, the daughter he had last held as a bargaining chip in a bassinet — his careful composure cracked, and his mouth parted.

And then Detective Owen Okafor came through the doors behind me, carrying the evidence briefcase, and I watched every drop of color drain out of Sylvia’s face, because Sylvia, unlike her son, was quick, and Sylvia understood, in the instant she saw that briefcase, that something she believed had been destroyed on a kitchen floor six months ago had not been destroyed at all.

Chapter 13 — Press Play