She opened her mouth, perhaps to offer a lifeline.

Before a word could leave her lips, the roar of a faulty muffler shattered the quiet street. A dented silver sedan screeched to a halt half on the curb outside the window.

A chill went down my spine.

I didn’t need to look to know who it was. The real nightmare hadn’t started with the police. It was starting now.

The car door slammed with a metallic crunch. Lydia stepped out, her movements calculated and practiced. One hand rested protectively over the swollen mound of her seven-month pregnancy.

The other clutched her worn leather purse like a medieval shield.