764 Shadows in the Nursery: The Ten-Year Lie, a Stolen Sapphire, and the Deadly Game of Deception

The police cruiser's taillights bled red streaks into the descending twilight as it pulled away from the curb, carrying Gregory toward a federal holding cell. But the victory I had anticipated for the last twenty-four hours turned to ash in my mouth.

I stared down at the small video screen of my phone, replaying the three-second clip over and over. My mother’s living room. Toby stacking his wooden blocks with innocent glee. And in the background glass of the hallway mirror, those slender hands resting on the back of the sofa, adorned with a flash of sapphire light.

How was she there?

I had left Toby at my mother’s gated suburban estate precisely two hours ago, thinking he was locked behind double-bolted doors with a security system that required a thumbprint. My mother lived twenty-five miles away from downtown. Unless the young woman from the bakery had a helicopter, she couldn't possibly have beaten me there.

Unless she was already inside the house before I even dropped Toby off.

My fingers flew across the screen, punching in my mother’s cell phone number. It rang once. Twice. Three times. The hollow ringing sound echoed in my ears like a death knell.

“Pick up, Mom, please pick up,” I whispered, my voice cracking as I sprinted toward my car, leaving Arthur Vance standing alone and slack-jawed on the pavement.

On the fourth ring, the call connected.

“Chloe?” My mother’s voice sounded muffled, distant, and strange. Background noise hummed through the receiver—the faint, rhythmic clicking of a grandfather clock, accompanied by a low, melodic hum of a lullaby.

“Mom! Listen to me very carefully,” I gasped, throwing open my car door and tossing myself into the driver's seat, my hands shaking so badly I could barely insert the key into the ignition. “Where is Toby? Is he with you right now?”

“Of course he’s with me, sweetie,” my mother replied, her tone uncharacteristically flat, lacking her usual bright maternal warmth. “We’re just playing in the den. Why are you whispering?”

“Mom, look at him right now. Turn around and look at him!” My heart hammered against my ribs with suffocating force.

A pause stretched across the line. Ten agonizing seconds ticked by.

“Chloe... he’s right here,” my mother said, though her voice now carried a strange, robotic hesitation. “He’s building a tower. He says... he says hello to his other mommy.”

The phone slipped from my sweaty fingers, clattering against the floorboard of the car. His other mommy.

I didn’t bother picking it up. I slammed my foot down on the gas pedal, the tires screeching against the asphalt as I pulled a reckless illegal U-turn across three lanes of downtown traffic, ignoring the chorus of blaring horns. The GPS route to my mother’s house flashed twenty-eight minutes. I didn't have twenty-eight minutes.

My phone buzzed continuously on the passenger seat, text messages flooding in from an unknown number. I risked a glance down at the screen while hurtling down the highway at eighty miles per hour.

A new photo popped up. It was a close-up of Toby’s face, sleeping peacefully in the back seat of my own car.

I slammed on the brakes, my car skidding violently across the empty shoulder of the highway. I whipped my head around to look into the back seat.