Chelsea had to go to the directory of her cell phone to find her husband's number. "He should be here, but he had to go to Boston for work. Do you think he came home early and took Annabelle for a walk?"

"I would love to think that happened." Grace bit her lower lip. "But don't you think your husband would have told you he was home? And most parents don't walk their babies in the frosty cold before dawn."

"Of course not." Chelsea bit her lower lip, trying to hold back tears. "That was stupid. What was I thinking?"

"You're upset," Grace said. "Keep breathing. That's good." She punched in the number Chelsea showed her.

When the call went through, the man on the other end of the line sounded groggy. "Mr. Green, this is Grace Santos from the New Roch.e.l.le Missing Persons Squad." Grace always tried to put herself in the other person's shoes when handling a case like this; it was rough, but there was no easy way to pa.s.s on difficult news. She tried to give it to them straight. "I'm here with your wife, Chelsea, and we've begun a search for your daughter, Annabelle, who was reporting missing this morning."

Leo Green's reaction quickly shot from disbelief to fear to action.

"I'm coming home . . . the next flight," he said. "Who took her? Do you have any idea?"

"I was going to ask you the same thing," Grace said. In fact, she had a long list of questions for Leo Green. It would have helped to have a more stable person here to draw information from, and she would have liked to see the child's parents together to get a sense of their relations.h.i.+p. A large percentage of missing infants were taken by family members, often as a result of custody disputes.

"We're going to do everything we can to find your daughter." Grace gave Leo Green her contact information, wished him a safe flight, and handed the phone to his wife.

Grace listened as Chelsea cried, trying to piece the situation together for her husband. The young mother was distraught, not making much sense, and once again Grace felt for her. She thought of her own son at three months-a screamer. That baby boy shrieked through every dinner she and her husband attempted. Eventually she gave up on dinner; her husband gave up on their family.

Was Annabelle a crier? Grace wondered as a uniformed cop came down the stairs-Trent Miklowski. Outside, car doors were slamming. The search team was a.s.sembling. Grace motioned Miklowski into the kitchen, out of earshot of the young mother.

"What do we have?" she asked, leaning back against the kitchen counter.

"A fourteen-week-old infant goes missing in the middle of the night. Only child of Leo Green and Chelsea Maynard. The father is out of town. The mother says no one else lives in the house."

"Did you find anything when you searched the place?"

"Nothing unusual upstairs, except the mother tore a few things apart looking for her. We've searched inside and out. Closets and cabinets, piles of laundry, inside appliances. Viloria searched outside with a flashlight. Nothing has been dug up in the yard and her car is clean. And we poked through the trash. Didn't want to do that while the mother was sitting outside, but she didn't seem to notice or care. There's no sign of a B and E, but the mother left the side door unlocked. Or at least she says it was unlocked when she woke up this morning. Maynard says her husband cleaned the house this weekend, so it's worth trying to take prints. We'll eliminate anyone who's been here since then."

"Good." Fingerprints were just one facet of a case, but if you didn't gather them immediately, you couldn't backtrack later.

"The kid was wearing something bright yellow," Miklowski went on, "but the color is the only thing that stands out in Mom's memory. She can't remember some of the details of last night, like what time she put the baby to bed or even if she put her down in her crib. Do you think she's on drugs or drinking or just plain crazy?"

Grace wanted to smack Miklowski. "When was the last time you gave birth to a child and stopped your life to take care of it twenty-four seven?" Grace asked.

He drew a hand back over his head. "Giving birth is no excuse for losing your kid, and look at this place. She could barely find this photo of the baby when I asked her for it. Didn't know the baby's weight. And do you see those dirty diapers over there?"

"I can't tell you the whereabouts of Annabelle Green, but I can tell you that woman in there is compromised, either by medication or shock or depression or a combination of those. Right now, with the father out of town, she's also our only resource in finding this child."

"Exactly. Do you want to take her down to the precinct?"

"I can talk to her here. Have you issued an Amber Alert yet?" Time was of the essence. It was critical that information about the missing baby got out right away.

"Sgt. Balfour is issuing the alert. Do you want to make the house a crime scene?"

She nodded. "It never hurts. We can always break it down later if it seems unwarranted."

"That's what Viloria said. I'll go tell her."

Grace went back to the living room, wis.h.i.+ng she didn't have to badger this forlorn woman with a million questions. "Your husband sounded very upset. It must be a shock to wake up to a call like that."

Chelsea nodded.

"Chelsea, I'm sorry but I have to ask you some questions. Your answers might help us locate Annabelle." As she spoke, she took out her iPhone and went to the notepad function.

"So, you said you're legally married to the baby's father, Leo Green."

"Yes."

"And would you say you have a happy marriage?"

"Yes. Well, it's been strained since Annie's birth, which was so traumatic-worse than I could have imagined. But Leo's been wonderful. He cooks all our meals, and he's great with Annie."

"Any custody issues regarding Annie? Angry exes looking for child support?"

"No, nothing like that."

Grace had moved to the front windows, where half a dozen marked and unmarked cruisers were now parked in the street. "What's the last thing you remember last night?"

Chelsea bit her lips as she sc.r.a.ped back her dark hair. "Putting Annie in her bucket seat? Or maybe it was eating a m.u.f.fin. I don't know." She paused, pressing a fist to her mouth. "How could I be so stupid to leave the side door unlocked?"

"Maybe you locked it and someone got in with a key."

"I think . . ." Chelsea's eyes narrowed. "I mean, I might have put her in the stroller outside to calm her down."

"Did you?"

"I don't know. I woke up in bed upstairs but I don't remember getting there." Her thin thread of calm unraveled and, once again, she began to cry.

Off to the side of the living room, Grace noticed Miklowski and his female partner, Viloria, descending the staircase. She nodded as they crossed through the living room and headed out the side door.

"I know this is upsetting, but I need your help. I need to know who has access to this house-anyone with a key."

"Leo and me. And my sister Emma. She helps with Annie, and she lives in New Roch.e.l.le, too. Oh, and I think my sister Melanie has one, too, but she lives down in central Jersey with four kids of her own. Her youngest is in the terrible twos. She can't get here that often."

Grace made notes, her fingers flying over the iPhone. "And who else watches Annabelle? Is she in day care?"

"No day care. But we've used a baby nurse named Helen Rosekind. She came through an agency. And there's also a teenage girl someone recommended. I just used her this week and . . ." Chelsea squeezed her eyes shut and sniffed. "She seems like a nice girl, but I was worried. One Sat.u.r.day night when we came home, her boyfriend was here, and we told her that wasn't cool at all. They're both so goth. They might be harmless, but I felt really uncomfortable around him."

Grace got their names from Chelsea and typed: Eleni Zika and boyfriend Krispy. "Any other relatives in the area? Grandparents? Aunts, uncles?"

Chelsea shook her head. "Leo's family is up in Maine, and my dad lives in Florida now. He and Mom . . . they moved down there, but she's gone now. She died just a few days before Annabelle was born."

"Is there someone, friend or family, who could come lend you some support?"

Chelsea shook her head. "No one."

"What about your sister Emma? You said she lives close by."

"No. She's very upset. She . . ." Chelsea squinted. "Or maybe I dreamed that. I think she was crying on the phone last night, but I'm not sure."

Grace picked up the phone and handed it to Chelsea. "Let's give her a call. Something tells me she'll want to talk with you now."

Grace was right. When Chelsea told her sister what was happening, she promised to come right over.

Chelsea ended the call and looked toward the open side door. "Shouldn't we be out there? I want to help with the search."

"You need to be here for when we find her," Grace said, praying they would recover this woman's baby sooner rather than later. A pang of compa.s.sion hit her as she noticed the two stains on Chelsea's robe. "Do you have a pump?"

Chelsea squinted, then looked down. "Upstairs." She pushed off the sofa, then fumbled up the stairs, nearly tripping on her robe. Grace followed her up, just to be on the safe side.

In the hallway at the top of the stairs, the doors were open but yellow crime scene tape spanned each doorway.

"What's that?" Chelsea paused outside the master bedroom, horrified.

"Not a problem." Grace pulled the tape off and motioned her through.

"Hey!" Miklowski called from the stairs as Chelsea shut the door behind her. "What about the crime scene?"

"You already searched the bedroom," she said. "And have a heart. The woman needs to pump her breast milk."

His face soured and he went back downstairs, shaking his head.

Grace wasn't sure why she felt so protective of Chelsea Maynard, but clearly the woman was in crisis. That observation scared Grace, for more than one reason. First, the desperation in Chelsea's eyes was truly pathetic. That aside, there was the possibility that Chelsea Maynard had snapped and done something to shut her child up-a chilling but valid avenue that would have to be pursued. And, if Grace was truly honest, she had to admit that when she looked at Chelsea Maynard, she saw herself a dozen years ago.

Trying to put personal stuff out of her mind, she peered into the nursery, noting the applique elephants marching across the valance. The cheerful yellow walls were stenciled with the same elephants, and the lampshade on the dresser was decorated with a mother elephant nuzzling her baby close with her trunk.

It was one of those well-planned, perfect nurseries, missing just one thing. Annabelle Green.

Chapter 18.

Throwing clothes and his travel kit into his luggage with one hand, Leo held his cell phone to his ear. "I'm trying to confirm that you have a Detective Grace Santos working for you."

"Can I ask what this is in reference to?" The desk officer at the New Roch.e.l.le precinct was polite, but Leo didn't have the patience for a mannerly conversation.

"I got a call from her, and I want to confirm that it's not some sort of hoax." After he'd thrown on his clothes and slapped water onto his face, Leo had realized that this was just the sort of thing Jennifer would stage. Rip your heart out, then call it all a joke.

"Yes, we do have a Grace Santos on duty. Detective Santos."

"Oh." Hope faded in his chest. "Can you confirm this phone number she gave me? Or . . . wait. Can you tell me if you've had a missing baby reported in New Roch.e.l.le? It would have come in early this morning."

There was silence on the line for a moment, then the cop asked, "Do you live on Maple Lane?"

"That's right. Twenty-two Maple Lane. Leo Green." He paused as the cop's silence gave him the answer. "This is real."

"I'm afraid so."

"All right. I have to get home. Thanks." He slid the cell phone into his pocket and put his dress shoes into his suitcase without even bagging them. In the bathroom he s.n.a.t.c.hed up his shampoo and aftershave and tossed them into the trash can. He wouldn't take any liquids in his bags. Nothing to slow him down. He would carry his bag on the plane and speed home from the airport.

Downstairs in the lobby he asked the concierge to get him a cab to the airport right away.

"If you don't mind waiting a bit, I'd be happy to call a shuttle service we recommend," the woman said. "The service is excellent at half the price."

Leo thanked her but explained that there was no time for that. "It's a family emergency."

The phrase seemed so alien, and yet, for the first time in his life, he was in the thick of it. A true emergency . . . Annie was missing. It seemed impossible-insane!-but right now his house was probably crawling with cops and detectives contemplating the same question that baffled him. Who would steal a baby from her crib on a winter night in a suburb?

The cab smelled of cigarettes and old shoes. He sank into the seat, raked his short hair back, and tried to imagine what could have happened. He opened his wallet for the photo of Annie that they had taken at Sears. She hadn't been old enough to prop herself up yet, but the photographer had managed to capture that gummy smile. And the light in her eyes . . .

Those intelligent, curious eyes that followed him as he loaded the dishwasher or cooked up a batch of spaghetti sauce.

What could have happened to her? He knew Chelsea had been in a bad way, but she would never have lifted a hand to hurt their baby. She barely had the energy to lift a hand at all lately. No, Chelsea would never hurt Annabelle.

But who, then? Who the f.u.c.k took their daughter?

Why didn't you tell me you have a baby?

Jennifer.

A sick feeling hit him when his ex-wife came to mind. The messages that filled his voice mail were unsettling. Why don't you ever call me? When can we get together? I want to meet your kid.

He had thought he was rid of her, but no . . . now she was back in New Roch.e.l.le. Jennifer was a borderline personality-unreliable and self-centered-but would she stoop so low as to kidnap an infant? He couldn't imagine what she would do with an infant once she had it in her clutches.

Another thought that stopped him cold.

Oh, G.o.d, don't let anything happen to Annabelle. She wasn't even crawling yet. Where was she right now? He had to know. She was out there somewhere, maybe hungry, maybe cold, and here he was, hundreds of miles away, unable to help her. What kind of father was he?

Where was his Annabee?

He sank low in the backseat of the cab and began to cry.

Chapter 19.

The fog was lifting.

The haze that had hung over her head through the night was draining away at last, and as her mind began to awaken, a few things solidified in her thoughts: She was a mess. She didn't care who knew it. And she didn't care if the police taped over everything in her house if it meant that they would find her baby.