Page 101 of The Night Before (Savannah 1)

But Dr. Wade had left early. Suddenly.

Or so Caitlyn had assumed.

Now she was getting a bad feeling about it. Real bad.

What if something had happened to the psychologist? But that was foolish. Adam had said he was in touch with her. All she had to do was demand Rebecca Wade’s phone number. That was it and then . . . and then . . . whether she wanted to face it or not, she had to go to the police.

The police? Are you nuts? For crying out loud, Caitie-Did, they’ll lock you away! Don’t do anything crazy! Wait. Just wait one more day. For God’s sake, just chill.

But no matter how she tried to slow her racing heart, she couldn’t. She went through the motions of shampooing her hair and lathering her body, but her mind was racing as quickly as her heartbeat, spinning round and round. She felt the urge to pass out. She had to support herself against the wall as she stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel. Her knees felt like rubber.

The phone shrilled.

She shouldn’t answer it; it was probably the reporters again.

But it could be Kelly.

Or Adam.

She squeezed the excess water from her hair.

The phone jangled again.

Dripping, wrapping the towel around her middle, she forced her legs to support her as she ran across the bedroom and scooped up the phone. “Hello?” she said breathlessly, her heart still hammering as she tried to keep her towel from falling onto the carpet.

“Mommy?” a child’s voice called. It was soft. Muted . . . as if coming from a long distance.

Caitlyn nearly collapsed. “Jamie?” she whispered. Her heart jackhammered in her chest as she slowly lowered herself onto the mattress and tried to think.

“Mommy? Where are you?” So faint. So blurry.

“Jamie!” No, that wasn’t possible. Jamie was dead. Dead! Snatched away when she was barely three. Her jaw started to chatter. “Who is this?” she forced out. “Why are you doing this to me, you bastard?”

“Mommy?” the little voice called again. Softer this time. Confused.

Caitlyn’s heart wrenched. Her free hand clenched into a fist, fingers curling into her quilt. “Jamie!” It couldn’t be. It couldn’t. And yet. If only . . . “Honey?” she whispered, her mind spinning wildly as she lost track of time and space. “Jamie, are . . . are you there?”

Silence . . . just a hum . . . the sound of a television?

Oh, God. Caitlyn felt split in two. She swallowed against a suddenly arid throat and forced words past her chattering teeth. “Honey? Mommy’s here. Mommy’s right here—”

Click!

The line went dead.

“No!” she cried desperately. “Don’t hang up! Jamie! Baby!” She was panicked, but she knew better. The voice on the other end couldn’t have been her precious child. Her daughter was dead. Along with all the others. Tears sprang to her eyes. Her bedroom swam in her vision and she thought she might pass out.

The call had been a ghastly, cruel trick made by someone who wanted to push her over the edge.

Blindly, Caitlyn struggled to hang up the phone, slapping at the bedside table. The receiver rocked in its cradle.

Rock-a-bye baby

In the tree top

When the wind blows

The cradle will—

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