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Without a Trace
Carissa Ann Lynch
Lily’s gone.Someone took her.Unless she was she never there…A little girl has gone missing.Lily was last seen being tucked into bed by her adoring mother, Nova. But the next morning, the bed is empty except for a creepy toy rabbit.Has Nova’s abusive ex stolen his “little bunny” back for good?At first, Officer Ellie James assumes this is a clear custody battle. Until she discovers that there are no pictures of the girl and her drawers are full of unused toys and brand new clothes that have never been worn…Is Ellie searching for a missing child who doesn’t actually exist?
Without A Trace
CARISSA ANN LYNCH
A division of HarperCollinsPublishers
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KillerReads
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www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2019
Copyright © Carissa Ann Lynch 2019
Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019
Cover photograph © Shutterstock.com (https://www.shutterstock.com)
Carissa Ann Lynch asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Ebook Edition © April 2019 ISBN: 9780008324506
Version: 2019–01–24
For Violet, my daughter
There is nothing I would not do for those who are really my friends. I have no notion of loving people by halves, it is not my nature.
Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey
Table of Contents
Cover (#ue4b60123-9ae9-5c51-931f-a628c5302b7e)
Title Page (#u3dd9053f-88fb-5d3c-9fef-b607c143ffc7)
Copyright (#ucacb12eb-3124-5c62-a1e2-9e0dac700ba1)
Dedication (#u03077189-86f1-528d-b093-256dc8114ed2)
Epigraph (#ua5ac0a4a-b7a4-5288-ad8c-e986e2591375)
Prelims (#uf0d8311a-2a20-5c3e-9880-e766244595a4)
Chapter One (#ua520fafe-fa50-5397-b312-5f8417227702)
Chapter Two (#u5116b9fa-3d8c-57c3-b85e-d6a4e5d509d1)
Chapter Three (#u5f5b6bc4-ac7c-560c-a7da-248411a5d4c6)
Chapter Four (#u2bf1f7c9-6728-56b3-b321-d32c3cf22ade)
Chapter Five (#ud78e96ef-12fe-5a30-8bc0-bd480060d06e)
Chapter Six (#ufa39fcc9-9350-523a-ae27-c3bd5a215cde)
Chapter Seven (#u235566e9-02ef-5b04-abcf-2b2c2e46e57e)
Chapter Eight (#u83e7ee8a-f988-5d81-b0eb-d2d948816f91)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
I don’t believe in ghosts. But standing here now, with the tips of my toes tingling with heat, and my eyes stinging, not from the fire but from me, forcing myself to keep them open, never blinking, I can’t help wondering if she’ll come back and haunt me for this. Her limbs twist at uneasy angles. Her skin splits apart and dissolves. Her hair and clothes fall away, like feathers caught in a dust storm. And her face…it almost looks plastic, quivering and bending in the amber glow of the flames. It’s as though she never breathed life in the first place. This is not how I imagined it—I thought it would be quicker. I thought she would scream more. Fight more. But it’s almost like she’s resolute, like she’s telling me it’s okay…that she forgives me for what I must do.
CHAPTER ONE (#u1a357202-3b9e-5d54-a5c7-2e64ba3b0826)
The Mother
NOVA
I shivered as I stepped off the front porch and followed the well-beaten path down to the shady tree line. It was early, the sun playing peek-a-boo through the trees, and little wet kisses of dew were sprinkled around the yard like watery pockets of glitter. Such a peaceful morning, like the promise of a brand-new day. A beautiful day, in fact.
It was a rental property, but still, it felt like mine. Like the perfect place to raise my daughter.
Suddenly, the wind whipped through the trees, shocking the breath from my chest. It reminded me of what I already knew—looks can be deceiving.
Clouds bubbled up in the sky, the morning sun dissolving away like a figment of my imagination. As a flurry of cold air rushed around me and through me, I pulled my jacket tight against my chest and glanced back at our new house. It was a small log cabin, like something you’d see at a state park or campground. But the size was perfect for the two of us, and unlike my husband, I liked the coziness and simplicity of a single-family home.
Lily would be waking up any second now, and I didn’t want her to be afraid in our empty, new house.
How can I raise a daughter who is strong and brave when I’m so damn scared all the time?
I took one last look at the trees, at the once-soothing sunrise. Branches morphed into bony claws. They reached for me, gnarly and twisted, eager to pierce through my ragged flesh like broken bones…
Whipping around, I raced back toward the house. A low moan escaped from between my teeth as the house swayed from side to side, like one of those carnival mirrors. The distance between the front door and the tree line suddenly stretched, for what looked like miles…
My sneakers were squishy on the cool, wet grass, and as I slipped and slid across the yard, I imagined the mud was quicksand, sucking me deep down into the earth, consuming me whole…
Once inside, I locked the door and pressed my back against it, sucking in long, craggy breaths until they evened out. It only took a few minutes to still my thumping heart.
That’s better. Well done, Nova, I commended myself. Each time I panicked, it was taking fewer and fewer minutes to calm back down.
Hell, maybe after a few weeks of being here, I won’t have panic attacks at all.
Fumbling for a light switch in the kitchen, I stubbed my toe on Lily’s tiny Cars suitcase. It was still lying in the middle of the kitchen floor, next to my duffel bag, where we’d tossed our luggage last night.
In the light of day, our new kitchen looked different than it did last night. White paint on the cupboards looked yellowish and worn. The sink was rusty, and a slow drip of water ping ping pinged in the basin below. Looking around, I tried to imagine this kitchen as our own—baking cookies for Lily while she sat on the edge of the counter, kicking the backs of her heels against the cupboards below. Normally, I would make her get down because Martin didn’t like that.
