The detectives left. The house felt colder than before.
David poured himself a drink. His hand was shaking.
“It wasn’t Marcus,” he muttered to himself. “Marcus is an idiot, but he’s not a monster.”
“Who is Marcus?” I asked.
David sighed, running a hand through his hair. “My younger brother. He’s… he has problems. Gambling, mostly. I’ve bailed him out a dozen times. But he wouldn’t kidnap my son.”
Leo tugged on David’s sleeve. “Can we watch TV?”
David looked down and smiled, masking the fear in his eyes. “Sure, kid. Go to the media room. I have some calls to make.”
As Leo ran off toward the giant TV, I didn’t follow. I waited until David went into the library and closed the door. Then, I did what I did best.
I became invisible.
The house was vast, filled with hiding spots. I moved silently through the hallways, my sneakers making no sound on the Persian rugs. I wanted to see where the baby was taken from. I needed to understand.
I found the nursery on the second floor. It was taped off with yellow police tape, but the door was ajar.
I slipped inside.
It was a beautiful room painted soft blue. A crib stood in the center. It looked like a storm had hit it—blankets pulled out, pillows on the floor.
I walked to the window. It was locked. I walked to the keypad on the wall near the door. It was a small grey box.
Guest Code.
I stared at it. Why would a kidnapper use a code if they could just pick a lock? Because they knew picking a lock leaves scratches. Using a code is clean. It’s personal.
“What are you doing in here?”
I spun around, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Standing in the doorway was a man I hadn’t seen before. He was tall, wearing a leather jacket and jeans. He looked like a rougher, sharper version of David. He had the same jawline, but his eyes were darker, more restless.
“I… I was just looking,” I stammered.
The man stepped into the room. He smelled of stale cigarettes and expensive cologne.
“You’re the stray,” he said. He didn’t say it nicely. “The one who found him.”
“I’m Mia,” I said, standing my ground.
“I’m Marcus,” he said. He looked around the room, his eyes lingering on the empty crib. “Crazy, right? Kid gets snatched, kid gets found. Like a movie.”
He walked over to the window and looked out. “My brother is a saint for taking you in. Most people would have given you a hundred bucks and sent you back to the gutter.”
“David is a good man,” I said.
Marcus laughed. A short, bark of a laugh. “Yeah. Saint David. Always fixing everything. Always paying for everything.”
He turned to face me. “You know, the police think it was an inside job. They were asking me questions. Me! Can you believe that?”
“If you didn’t do it, you have nothing to worry about,” I said.
Marcus’s eyes narrowed. He took a step toward me. “You’re a smart little girl, aren’t you? Street smart. I bet you see a lot of things. Hear a lot of things.”
“I see enough.”
“Did you see anyone in the alley, Mia?” His voice dropped, becoming silky and dangerous. “Before you found the baby. Did you see a car? A black sedan, maybe?”
I hadn’t mentioned a black sedan to anyone. Not even the police.
“Why?” I asked. “Was there a black sedan?”
Marcus blinked. A flicker of something—panic?—crossed his face. “I’m just guessing. That’s what kidnappers drive, right? In the movies.”
He forced a smile. It was a terrifying expression. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. He peeled off two hundred-dollar bills.
“Here,” he said, holding it out. “Buy yourself something nice. And hey… if you remember seeing anything weird—a car, a face—you come to me first, okay? David is stressed enough. We don’t want to worry him with false leads.”
I looked at the money. It was more than I had seen in my entire life.
“I don’t want your money,” I said.
Marcus’s smile vanished. He stepped closer, invading my space. He was looming over me now.
“Take it,” he hissed. “And keep your mouth shut about this conversation. We clear?”
“Marcus!”
David’s voice boomed from the hallway.
Marcus jumped back as if he’d been burned. He shoved the money back into his pocket and spun around. David was standing at the door, looking furious.
“What are you doing in here?” David asked, his eyes darting between Marcus and me.
“Just paying my respects to the crime scene,” Marcus said, his voice instantly changing to a casual, breezy tone. “And I found this little explorer snooping around. I was just telling her she shouldn’t be in here.”
David looked at me. “Mia, come here.”
I walked past Marcus, my heart pounding in my ears. As I passed him, I smelled it again. Under the cologne and cigarettes.
Pizza.
Greasy, old pizza.
The same smell that was coming from the dumpster where we found Lucas.
I reached David’s side. He put a hand on my shoulder.
“Get out, Marcus,” David said coldly. “I told you to wait in the library.”
“Relax, Dave. I’m going,” Marcus said, putting his hands up. He walked out, but at the doorway, he turned back. He locked eyes with me. It was a warning.
As he walked away, my blood ran cold.
The dumpster had been full of pizza boxes from the Italian place next door. But Marcus didn’t live near there. He lived in a penthouse downtown.
Why did he smell like the exact garbage bin where his nephew was left to die?
I knew then. It wasn’t just a feeling. It wasn’t just suspicion.
Marcus had been there. Marcus had put the baby in the bin.
And now, he was trapped in the house with us. And he knew that I knew.
I didn’t sleep. How could I? There was a predator in the house, and he was family.
Leo was snoring softly in the next room, lost in the deepest, safest sleep he’d had in years. But I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, my mind racing. The pizza smell. The cash. The threat. Marcus wasn’t just the “black sheep”; he was desperate. And desperate men do terrible things to cover their tracks.
At 2:00 AM, the handle of my bedroom door turned.
It was slow, almost silent. I squeezed my eyes shut, feigning sleep, my hand gripping the heavy brass lamp on the bedside table under the covers.
Footsteps. Heavy, but trying to be light. They moved past my bed and toward the connecting door to Leo’s room.
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. Not Leo.
I opened my eyes to a slit. In the moonlight filtering through the window, I saw Marcus. He was holding something—a small, black bag. He wasn’t hurting Leo; he was kneeling by Leo’s discarded backpack, the one that held our dirty, old clothes. He was stuffing the black bag inside it.
He was framing us. He was planting evidence.
Rage, hot and blinding, flooded my veins. It wasn’t fear anymore. It was the protective instinct of a sister who had fought off rats, junkies, and the freezing cold to keep her brother safe.
I sat up.
“It won’t work,” I said clearly.
Marcus jumped, spinning around. He dropped the backpack.
“Jesus!” he hissed. “You little creep. You’re awake?”
“You’re planting something,” I said, sliding out of bed, gripping the lamp. “What is it? The ransom money? Or maybe the baby’s pacifier? Something to make the cops think we took him.”
Marcus stood up, his face cast in shadow. “You’re too smart for your own good, Mia. I told you that.”
He walked toward me. “Nobody is going to believe you. I’m Marcus Stirling. You’re a dumpster diver. When they find the baby’s bracelet in your brother’s bag, they’ll lock you both up until you’re eighteen.”
“Why?” I asked, backing up until I hit the wall. “He’s your nephew.”
“I needed the money!” Marcus snapped, his voice rising in a whisper-shout. “I owe people, Mia. Bad people. I was going to ‘find’ him, get the reward, and pay them off. But you two little rats ruined it. You found him first.”
“You put him in the trash,” I spat. “He was freezing.”
“I didn’t mean for it to get that cold!” Marcus lunged.
He grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into my bicep. I swung the lamp with everything I had. It crashed against his shoulder, shattering the bulb.
“AHH!” Marcus yelled, the sound echoing through the silent house. He backhanded
