Chapter 3

The lights in the apartment above flickered on. Footsteps pounded down the stairs, and the lock clicked. Dr. Ahmed Brennan threw open the door, his grey hair sticking up in all directions, his glasses askew. He was wearing a plaid bathrobe over his pajamas.

"What in the-" He saw Cason's limp body, the blood matting his hair. His sleepiness vanished instantly. "Bring him in. Exam room one."

Kaitlynn followed him inside, laying Cason on the paper-covered table. The clinic smelled of antiseptic and old leather.

"Blunt force trauma to the temple," Kaitlynn said, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. "Possible concussion. He lost consciousness for approximately fifteen minutes. No vomiting, but his pupils were uneven when I checked."

Dr. Brennan paused, glancing at her over his glasses. It was a remarkably clinical assessment for a woman who had just been attacked. But he didn't question it. He pulled out his penlight and leaned over Cason.

"He's got a good pulse," Brennan murmured, checking the boy's eyes. "You stabilized his neck?"

"I kept him immobilized until I was sure he could move his extremities," Kaitlynn said.

Brennan nodded, a flicker of respect in his eyes. "Good thinking. His pupils are reactive. Looks like a mild concussion and a laceration. We'll need to stitch him up and monitor him overnight."

Kaitlynn let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. The adrenaline that had been keeping her upright suddenly drained away, leaving her feeling hollow. The room tilted sideways. She grabbed the edge of the exam table to steady herself.

"Mommy?" Paige tugged at her skirt, her face pale. "Is Cason okay?"

"He's going to be fine, baby." Kaitlynn forced a smile, though her lips felt numb. She lifted Paige onto a chair. "Close your eyes for a little while. I'll wake you up when it's time to go home."

Paige was exhausted. Within minutes, her head lolled back against the chair, her breathing evening out.

Brennan finished stitching Cason's head, bandaging it neatly. "He'll sleep through the night. You can stay in the back room. It has a cot."

"Thank you, Doctor." Kaitlynn's voice was barely a whisper.

Brennan left to get blankets. The moment he was gone, the dam broke.

Memories that had been hovering at the edge of her consciousness crashed over her like a tidal wave. They weren't her memories, but they felt like hers. She saw a man with a bright smile, wearing a green beret. Colt. She saw him laughing, swinging a dark-haired boy in the air. She saw him kissing a woman who looked just like her, but softer, weaker.

She saw the flag. The folded triangle of stars. The empty coffin.

Colt Richmond. Green Beret. Killed in action six years ago.

And then the memories shifted, turning darker. She saw Dawn, sneering, snatching money from a cookie jar. She saw Temperance, the mother-in-law, her face twisted in contempt, slapping the original Kaitlynn across the face. She saw the bank statements, the life insurance payout dwindling to nothing as the Richmond family bled her dry.

The original Kaitlynn had been a doormat. She had let them take everything-her husband's money, her dignity, her safety. She had been too scared, too broken to fight back.

Kaitlynn Bruce was not broken.

A loud rumble broke the silence. Paige stirred in her sleep. Kaitlynn looked down at her own stomach. She couldn't remember the last time this body had eaten a real meal. The cupboards at home were bare.

She couldn't stay here. She had to feed her daughter.

She found Brennan in his office, writing charts. "Doctor, I have to go home for a bit. I need to get some things."

Brennan frowned. "You should rest."

"I will. I just... I need to make sure we have food for the morning." She didn't mention that there was no food. Pride was a strange thing.

She left Paige sleeping in the chair and walked out the back door of the clinic, heading into the woods behind the building. The forest was dark, but her eyes adjusted quickly. She found a sturdy branch, stripping it with her pocket knife to form a sharp point.

She set snares. Simple, effective traps made from wire and branches. It was basic DEA survival training, the kind of thing they taught you in case you got stranded in the jungle. She hadn't expected to use it in rural America.

Less than an hour later, she had two fat rabbits. She cleaned them by the light of the moon, her movements swift and efficient. She built a small fire in the backyard fire pit, roasting the meat until the skin was crispy and the fat dripped, hissing, into the flames.

She carried the roasted rabbits back to the clinic. Paige woke up to the smell, her eyes wide.

"Is that... meat?" Paige whispered, as if it were a dream.

"Eat up, baby." Kaitlynn tore off a leg, handing it to her daughter.

Paige devoured it like a starving wolf. Grease smeared her cheeks, but she didn't care. She ate until the bones were clean, then looked up at her mother with a smile that made Kaitlynn's chest ache.

"Thank you, Mommy."

Watching her eat, a primal relief washed over Kaitlynn. She tore off a piece for herself, the savory meat a jolt of much-needed energy. Kaitlynn wiped Paige's face with her sleeve. "I will always provide for you. Both of you."

They walked back to the exam room. Cason was awake, sitting up in bed, his eyes-dark and unnervingly alert-fixed on the door.

He looked at Kaitlynn. His gaze swept over her, taking in the smell of wood smoke on her clothes, the rabbit leg in her hand, the calm confidence in her stance. He didn't look like a seven-year-old. He looked like a soldier assessing a new commanding officer.

"You're different," he said. His voice was quiet, but it carried a weight that made the hair on Kaitlynn's arms stand up.

Kaitlynn offered him the meat. "Eat."

He took it, his eyes never leaving hers. He didn't ask why. He just accepted it.

A knock on the door interrupted them. Sheriff Frank Baxter stepped in, his hat in his hands. He was a tall man with a weathered face and a sympathetic smile.

"Mrs. Richmond," he said gently. "I need to ask you a few questions about tonight."

Kaitlynn let her shoulders slump. She let her lower lip tremble. She wrapped her arms around herself, making herself look small.

"I... I don't remember much," she stammered, her voice wavering. "Dwayne, he just... he kicked the door in. He hit Cason. I was so scared. I just grabbed the kids and ran."

It was a flawless performance. Every tear, every hitch in her breath was calculated. She was a ghost, a shadow, hiding in plain sight behind the mask of a frightened widow.