Ryan stood in the nursery doorway, unable to move.
The dried blood on the carpet seemed to spread wider every time he blinked. Ethan’s tiny blanket lay twisted beside the bassinet, and Emma’s phone was still on the floor, its screen black and cracked.
For once in his life, Ryan had no one to blame.
His hands shook as he called 911.
“My wife,” he gasped. “My baby. There’s blood everywhere. They’re gone.”
The dispatcher kept asking questions, but Ryan could barely answer. He stumbled through the house calling my name, opening closets, bathrooms, guest rooms, as though grief could be avoided by checking one more door.
Then he found the note taped to the refrigerator.
Ryan,
Emma and Ethan are alive.
Do not contact them.
Police are already aware.
His knees nearly gave out.
Alive.
The word should have brought relief.
Instead, it brought terror.
Because beneath the note was a business card.
Detective Laura Bennett, Denver Police Department.
Ryan grabbed his keys and raced to the hospital listed on the back.
He arrived wild-eyed, still wearing his resort jacket, still smelling faintly of expensive cologne and mountain air. The receptionist refused to give him information. Security stepped closer when he raised his voice.
read more in next page
