Chapter 1 - The Woman on the Marble Floor
“DON'T TOUCH MY BABY!”
The scream cut through the wedding music a second before Nora Bennett hit the marble.
Her shoulder struck first. Then her hip. At seven months pregnant, she couldn't twist fast enough to protect herself. A champagne flute shattered somewhere behind her, and the entire ballroom seemed to take one horrible breath.
“Help me,” she whispered.
Above her, crystal chandeliers burned like little suns. Two hundred guests stared. Not one of them moved.
Across the aisle, Vanessa Hale stood in her magenta gown with one hand still raised. She had been arguing with Nora only a moment before. Now she looked less frightened than annoyed.
“She's making a scene,” Vanessa said. “She always does.”
A little girl in a mint-green dress let out a thin, broken cry. “Daddy?”
Adrian Cole turned so fast his chair scraped the floor. He had come to his younger brother's wedding hoping to keep the peace for three hours. Instead, he saw his daughter Lily shaking beside the table and his pregnant former wife curled on the ground.
“Lily, come here.” He caught his daughter's hand. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head, but tears rolled down her cheeks. “She pushed Mommy.”
Adrian looked at Vanessa. His voice fell dangerously quiet. “What did you do?”
Vanessa reached for his sleeve. “Adrian, don't listen to a child who—”
“Stay away from them.” He swept her hand aside. Vanessa stumbled back onto the carpet, knocking against a chair.
Then Adrian dropped to his knees beside Nora. “Look at me. Tell me where it hurts.”
“My stomach.” Nora tried to breathe. “I can't—Adrian, the baby—”
“Call 911!” he shouted. “Now!”
His mother, Patricia, stood at the bridal table, white-faced and motionless. His brother, Ethan, had disappeared behind the guests. From somewhere near the cake, somebody began filming.
Nora's phone lay inches from her fingers. Its screen suddenly lit up.
UNKNOWN CALLER.
Below it appeared a preview: DON'T LET PATRICIA LEAVE WITH THE BLUE FOLDER.
Nora stopped reaching for Adrian. “My phone,” she gasped.
“Forget the phone.”
“No.” She seized his cuff. “Your mother has the proof.”
Adrian looked up. Patricia had already turned toward the ballroom doors—carrying a blue leather folder under her arm.
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And then Nora's phone rang again.
