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asleep, but nightmares haunted her—she was locked away in a hellhole with hardened criminals, with women who called her names and beat her, and guards who used her for their own pleasures.
    Jerking awake, she shivered in the cold darkness, the putrid scents of urine and sweat lingering from past prisoners wafting around her as a reminder of the scum who landed in jail.
    That she might be one of them if Kay Krantz and Colt Mason didn’t find out who had killed Lyle. That her juvenile record might cost her dearly.
    â€œI’m so sorry, Parker,” she whispered. She’d promised to take care of their son but she’d failed miserably, all because of her own selfish needs. She’d been lonely and had invited Rice into their lives.
    She would never put her own needs ahead of her son’s again.
    The image of Petey’s terror-stricken, tear-stained face pressed against the window as he was torn away from her taunted her. Who was taking care of her son tonight? Had someone read him a story? Made sure he brushed his teeth?
    Who had tucked him in bed and tickled his belly and kissed him good-night?
    Shaking with renewed anger, she shoved the ratty blanket away, unable to stand the vile smell any longer.
    But she was too tired to sit up or do anything but stare at the nasty words carved on the walls.
    A spider wove a tangled web in the corner of the cell, and she watched it work, thinking how elaborately the spider planned its trap.
    She was the fly caught in the web now.
    Because someone had orchestrated an elaborate plan to frame her for Lyle’s murder.
    Her head hurt from trying to figure out the puzzle. Who had killed Lyle? And why frame her?
    How could she prove that the evidence the sheriff had against her had been planted?
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    A S C OLT DROVE TOWARD Serena’s, he scanned the streets and alleys, hoping to spot Petey. But the darkness made it almost impossible to see, and intensified his worries. The mountains were massive, filled with dangers and places to hide.
    Would Petey even know how to find his way from Derrick’s house to his own?
    What if he was lost? Or what if some driver couldn’t see him and accidentally hit the poor kid?
    He never should have put Petey in that car. He should have brought him home with him.
    He was the one Petey had asked for help, and he had betrayed the boy by allowing the social worker to cart him away, and then by sending him to Derrick’s. Buthe’d honestly thought Petey would feel comfortable with Brianna.
    The streets were quiet, and except for an occasional car, traffic was virtually nonexistent. He veered onto Sycamore, keeping his eyes peeled for Petey, but all he spotted was a stray dog wandering through one of the yards. A catfight broke out somewhere behind one of the houses, the shrill screeching unnerving in the night.
    A lone light glowed in a room in a neighbor’s house, but most of the houses were dark, attesting to the fact that everyone was in bed.
    Where Petey belonged.
    He eased into Serena’s driveway, scanning the property. A nice white little bungalow with a fenced backyard. A porch swing on the front porch and the scooter and football in the yard gave the place a homey feel, another reminder that this house belonged to a single mother and her son.
    Ones who’d had their lives uprooted today. The question was, why?
    He cut the engine, then moved quietly toward the front door, checking windows and locks. All shut down. The house was shrouded in darkness, as well.
    If Petey had come home, would he hide out in the dark like this?
    He circled around the side to the back again, checking windows, but they were all locked, and so was the back door. He wanted inside.
    But he hated to break a window or lock. Rational thought kicked in, and he pivoted, searching the back patio for a place Serena might have hidden a backup key.
    A fort for Petey had been erected in the backyard, a bicycle lay on its side, and flowerpots