Chapter 1

The rain was cold that night.

It matched the chill in the hospital waiting room.

A doctor, his face tired, told me Emily was gone.

My Emily. Seventeen.

He said, "Severe internal injuries. Hypothermia."

Words. Just flat, empty words.

Then a police officer, young, uncomfortable.

"Ma'am, there was an incident. A party."

He shifted his weight.

"Kevin Jennings says your daughter attacked him. He was defending himself."

Kevin Jennings. The mayor's son. Star quarterback.

My Emily wouldn't attack anyone. She wanted to help people, be a social worker.

She'd once stood up for a disabled kid Kevin was mocking online, right in class.

She told me Kevin didn't like that.

"Self-defense?" I whispered. My throat was tight.

The officer looked away. "That's his statement."

They found her in the stadium parking lot. Hours later. Beaten. Left in the freezing rain.

Her car was still there, keys on the ground beside a puddle reflecting the stadium lights.

The officer added, "Mr. Jennings has a lawyer. His parents are with him."

Of course they were. Richard Jennings, the city councilman. Susan Jennings, the state senator's bulldog.

I went to see my daughter.

Not in a hospital bed. In a cold room.

Her face was bruised. One eye swollen shut.

Her hands, the ones that used to bake cookies with me, were scraped raw.

They said she provoked him. My gentle Emily.

I touched her cold cheek.

The world went silent. Just a roaring in my ears.

This wasn't self-defense. This was murder.

My husband, James, he'd seen war. He earned his Medal of Honor in Iraq.

He always said, "Martha, you fight for what's right, no matter what."

He died a few years back. PTSD finally took him.

Now, it was just me. And Emily was gone.

The fight started here. In this cold room. With this cold truth.

Kevin Jennings. His family. They would pay.

I didn't know how. But they would.