The shopping cart had a squeaky wheel. Jane felt sure it had not been squealing when she’d first plopped Leyla into the baby seat and strapped her in, tucking her chubby legs through the openings in the mesh. The squeaking had begun about halfway through their sojourn amongst the aisles of Super Stop & Shop, and by then there had been too many things in the cart to switch it for another.

Not that Jane had been tempted to switch at that point. A little squeak was not so irritating, especially when she had Leyla there, blowing little bubbles and smiling, not to mention reaching out to grab something if Jane parked the cart too close to a shelf. Leyla made her happy enough that at first she had managed to ignore the squeak. The baby girl had that effect on a lot of people, drawing smiles wherever she went.

Now, though, with the cart full and the groceries paid for, the squeak had finally started to fray her nerves.

“Okay, you ready to go home?” she asked Leyla.

The baby gurgled adorably, which helped take the edge off. Jane sighed in amusement at her own agitation and pushed the cart along the front of the store. Having Leyla around had added a little to her weekly grocery bill, though she would never mention it to Cait. Her niece always brought diapers and baby food over, but it never seemed enough, so Jane supplemented that with purchases of her own. Tommy showed no signs of giving her a grandchild anytime soon, so if she spoiled Leyla a little bit—with the occasional toy or new outfit—she just considered it “grandma practice.”

A couple of teenagers were coming into the store, bumping each other and snickering in the shared-secret way girls that age always seemed to have. When they saw Leyla, though, their eyes lit up.

“Oh, my God, she is so freakin’ cute,” one of the girls said, as her friend crouched to make faces at the baby.

“She is pretty adorable,” Jane agreed.

“Except when she cries, right?” the girl said.

But then the crouching girl gave Jane an odd look—one she recognized. She had seen it many times before. “So, are you, like, the nanny or something?”

“She’s my niece’s baby, actually,” Jane explained. “Her father is from Iraq.”

“Oh,” the girl said, obviously not quite sure what to make of that. But Jane saw a new curiosity in the girl’s eyes.

Jane waited for them to move along and then she pushed the cart outside, strapped Leyla into her car seat, and then loaded the groceries into the trunk. The change in temperature rippled across her skin. She hadn’t realized how chilly it had been inside the Super Stop & Shop with the air conditioner going full blast, but the August sun quickly warmed her. She thought that anyone who complained about the heat on such a splendid day ought to shut up come January, when the snow was hip-deep and the wind chill below zero.

At the moment, though, winter was very far away. She wore a blue cotton spaghetti-strap top, blue jeans, and sandals. In the supermarket, she had bought Popsicles and ice-cream sandwiches—George loved those, and had since childhood—but now she’d started thinking perhaps they ought to leave the snacks in the freezer and go out and get a decent ice-cream cone this afternoon.

Better yet, we should go visit Karen.

As she fired up her Accord and pulled out of the parking lot, turning toward home, she wondered how Caitlin would feel about a trip down to the Cape tomorrow. They could visit George’s sister, Karen, spend the day at the beach in Chatham, and if they stayed late enough they might well miss most of the traffic. Even if George didn’t want to make the drive, they could still go. Girls’ day out.

She mulled it over while driving, but as she turned from Winthrop Street onto Badger Road, a chill went through her. While she and Leyla had been shopping, she hadn’t thought about the strangeness last night and this morning with those cars across the street. Now she tensed, wondering if they might have returned. But as she drove up Badger Road, she saw no sign of the mysterious observers and she exhaled with relief, her smile returning.

“What do you think, Leyla?” Jane said, as she pulled into her driveway. “Do you want to go to the beach tomorrow?”

The car seat was rear-facing, but Jane could hear Leyla burbling to herself.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she said as she killed the engine. “Just give me a second, babycakes,” Jane added as she got out of the car.

She opened the back door to keep the heat from accumulating in the car. Leyla shook a ring of plastic keys at her. Jane grinned, then popped the trunk and surveyed her groceries. There were several plastic sacks, but most of the groceries were in reusable fabric bags with the Super Stop & Shop logo on the side. Some of Jane’s friends teased her about being a twenty-first-century hippie; she tried to tell them that doing her part for the environment didn’t make anyone a hippie these days, just practical.

She’d gather up a few bags, then take Leyla into the house with the first load, she decided. That way, the baby would be cool in the house while she collected the rest of the groceries.

Without the car’s motion and the noise of the engine to lull her, Leyla had started to fuss. In another minute, the baby would start to cry.

“I’m coming, sweetie,” Jane called as she juggled the bags into a more stable position in her arms. But when she went around to the backseat to collect Leyla, she let out a little yelp as she discovered a man standing just three feet away.

“I’m sorry,” he said, smiling. “I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just … you’ve got your baby there, and I thought I’d see if you needed help.”

Jane laughed, embarrassed that she’d been so startled. But then she hesitated. Where the hell had he come from? Thirtyish and blue-eyed, he was handsome in a scruffy sort of way, but she didn’t recognize him; he didn’t live on Badger Road.

“Oh, she’s not mine. I’m a little too old for babies,” she said, studying him warily. “And I’ve got it. But thanks for—”

An engine roared, a gleaming black sedan skidded to a halt at the curb, and Jane turned, panicking as realization struck her.

Her blue-eyed helper punched her so hard that she staggered backward and banged her head on the open trunk lid, the bags dropping from her hands. Dazed, her mind whirling with questions amidst the pain and anger, still Jane reacted. She caught the bumper and forced herself up, even as her attacker gripped her throat with one hand and shoved with the other, trying to force her back toward the trunk.

“No, you won’t, you son of a bitch,” she grunted, fighting back.

As she tried to break the grip on her throat, she kicked out with one foot and felt sick satisfaction at the solid connection. The heel of her sandal struck his knee and the bastard swore, loosening his grip.

Jane reached up and slammed the trunk. No way was he getting her in there. He grabbed both her arms and drove her against the rear of the car. Pain shot through her back. She tore her right hand free, curled her fingers into a fist, and punched him with all her strength. Blood spurted from his nose, but he hit her back so hard she thought something cracked in her jaw.

She screamed as loud as she could, in both fury and alarm. As he grabbed her hands again, she pushed off from the car and started kicking him. He shielded his balls but she got him in the shin several times—all the while wishing she’d worn anything but sandals.

Leyla had started to cry, then wail, and then scream, face turning red. As she did, a man got out of the driver’s side of the black sedan. Dark-skinned, hair clipped down to stubble, with a scar on his left cheek, he looked like a killer or a lawyer; it was hard to tell which.

“Stop fucking around and get the goddamn baby!” he snapped.

Jane turned to ice inside. She’d thought rape, murder—thought that the scruffy, blue-eyed man wanted to do terrible things to her—but they wanted Leyla.

“Not a chance,” she hissed, reaching toward the open car door, and the baby.

That was her mistake. The guy twisted her hair in his hand and yanked back hard, hauled her around and drove her face into the back of the car. He lifted her by the hair, ready to do it again, but she stomped her heel down on his foot and drove her elbow back into his gut, and then she started to scream again.

“Help me! They’re trying to steal the baby! Please, someone—”

Jane heard the other guy shouting in alarm, heard the roar of another engine approaching, and she had a flicker of hope that her cries would be answered. But then the son of a bitch renewed his grip and drove her face-first into the back of the Accord, and she collapsed to the driveway.

She tried to rise, but the world tilted around her. She saw her attackers jump into the sedan, got a last glimpse of the African-American guy behind the wheel, and heard the tires squeal as it tore away. For an instant she wondered if she had blacked out long enough for them to take Leyla. But then a police car skidded to the curb and an officer jumped out, barking something into his radio as he came toward her, even as the bastards got away.

“Are you all right?” the cop called.

Jane tried to answer, but she had held on to consciousness as long as she could, and now darkness crowded at the edges of her vision.

Even unconscious, she could hear the baby scream.