Chapter 2

They were gone for less than an hour. When Leo' s pickup truck screeched back into the lot, dust flying, the look on his face was exactly as I' d predicted: pure fury.

He slammed the truck door and stomped over to me and Chief Hank, his fists clenched.

"That son of a bitch," Leo spat, not even caring that he was swearing in front of the Chief. "We found him. Right where everyone said he'd be."

"The mall?" Hank asked, his voice tight.

"Worse. The new jewelry store. He was buying Sabrina Chavez a necklace," Leo reported, his voice shaking with rage. "We told him his mom was standing on a live bomb. We told him it was urgent."

He kicked at a loose piece of gravel. "You know what he said?"

I knew, but I let him continue. The whole town needed to hear it.

"He accused us of being your accomplices," Leo said, looking at me with disbelief and pity. "Said you put us up to it. A prank. To stop him from spending money on Sabrina. To ruin his 'perfect day' with her."

Sabrina, standing beside him dripping in new clothes, had just laughed. She' d called me a "dramatic, broke bitch" who would do anything for attention.

My mother-in-law let out a small, choked sob. Her face, already pale, was now ashen. Her legs were starting to tremble violently from the strain of holding her position.

"I can't... Molly, I can't stand much longer," she whispered, tears streaming down her wrinkled cheeks. "My legs are giving out."

She looked at me, her eyes filled with a terrible, familiar guilt. "This is my fault. I've made your life a living hell. If I just... if I just let go, you'll be free of him. You can finally leave."

She was talking about dying. Right here. To free me from the son she couldn't control.

"No," I said, my voice sharp. "Don't you dare say that."

In my first life, I had been the one on the bomb. He had left me there. But this time, it was his mother. The woman my parents died for. The woman I promised to protect.

A cold resolve settled over me. Andrew had drunkenly bragged about his EOD training a hundred times. He' d explained the "replacement technique" in slurring detail one night, a simple concept of shifting weight from one person to another without releasing the pressure plate. It was a desperate, stupid move. But it was the only move I had.

"Mom," I said, my voice soft but firm. "We're going to trade places."