From the Prologue

"Mommy, why aren't we going?"

Alice roused from her thoughts to find herself sitting behind the wheel of her car, Jeremy buckled in beside her. A solemn-faced little boy with her dark hair and fair complexion, dressed in the suit she'd bought him for his brother's funeral, and which he was already outgrowing, he was eyeing her quizzically, wearing the deeply worried look she'd seen too often of late. Jeremy had always been the more thoughtful and sensitive of her two boys, but since David's death he'd been so withdrawn that at times it was almost as if she'd lost both her sons.

She forced a smile. "We are, honey. I just needed a minute is all."

"Are we going home?" he asked, when she'd started the engine.

"Yes, honey. Straight home." Where else would she go? To the grocery store for a quart of milk? To pick up her mail at the post office? Mundane chores she couldn't imagine ever doing again much less tackling now.

"Will Daddy be there?" There was a querulous note in his voice that sounded almost panicky.

Alice realized now that it had been a mistake bringing him with her today. But she'd wanted so much to believe the jury would see things her way, she hadn't been thinking straight. Now she was a bad mother on top of everything else. The thought pierced her like a shot through the heart.

She did her best to maintain an even tone as she replied, "Daddy's at work, you know that. But we'll call him as soon as we get home." Even as she spoke, anger was rising up in her again. Where had Randy been when she needed him most? Where was he now?

Alice backed out of her slot and was heading toward the exit when she saw Owen at the other end of the lot. She slowed at once, braking to a stop. He was walking with his wife, who had accompanied him every day to court. Elizabeth White, a tall, rail-thin woman, reminded Alice of a greyhound, with her narrow face and long, arched neck, her wide-set protruding eyes. They looked relaxed, smiling at their victory as they strolled along, arm in arm. They would go home to a celebratory supper and a good night's rest, while Alice was left to pick up the pieces on her own. She watched Mrs. White step around to the passenger side when they reached their car, the same silver Mercedes that had mowed David down, while Owen paused to reach into his pocket for the his keys.

Later, Alice would remember almost nothing of what came next. In that moment, though, every detail was magnified: a puddle of grease gleaming dully on the pavement near where Owen stood; the reflection of trees swimming across the windshield of a Chevy Malibu pulling out behind him; the innocent sounds of children playing in the small park adjacent to the courthouse. The last signposts of the known world before it tilted on its axis, sending her spinning off into space.

Alice had no awareness of her foot pressing down on the gas pedal; it was as if the car were being propelled by a force beyond her control. Then there was only the startled face of her son's killer as she closed in on him, and Jeremy's high-pitched scream.

Reprinted with permission by Vanguard Press © 2007