While You Were Dead by CJ Snyder

your convenience. Call me.”
     
    Kat frowned. She hadn’t ordered a new copier. She hit play and listened again. This time it clicked.
     
    Mitch. Her mother’s latest and greatest get-out-of-jail-free card. What had she said? “You can trust him. He’s got pretty eyes.”
     
    She erased the message with a sigh. Her life was rife with denial and lies. A certifiably nuts mother, who wouldn’t even use that certification to get out of jail and into an institution where she belonged. The man she loved more than life asleep in her bed, worried about the child he thought was his niece. Her daughter, a virtual stranger to her, kidnapped, tortured, with a serial killer?
     
    No! When Max woke up, they’d go back to the police, figure out who had taken Lizzie and get her back. It was that simple. It had to be that simple. And she had to move. Now.
     
    She strode into the kitchen and picked up the hasty grocery list she’d made while Max ate. She rarely ate dinner at home and though she used to love to cook for Vic, she had never enjoyed cooking for just one. Usually she worked through the dinner hour anyway. Supplies were definitely needed. Max would need to eat, wouldn’t he? All men needed to eat.
     
    With an anxious glance down the hall at the closed bedroom door, she grabbed up her purse and house keys and let herself out the door. If he woke and she was gone, he’d be worried. Kat stopped and scratched out a note, leaving it conspicuously on the kitchen island. The corner market would have everything she needed for tonight. And tomorrow, after they found Lizzie, she’d go to a large grocery store. After they’d rescued Lizzie from—
     
    Groceries. She rammed the thought through her mind, firmly keeping pictures and thoughts of her daughter out. Get the groceries. Then cook. Then. . .then think of something else to do so you won’t have to think.
     
    She didn’t notice the lingering fog, or the unusual humidity in the air during her three block walk. Kat did smile at Sam, the oldest son of the owner of the small corner store, when he leapt off his stool by the front door as she approached. He was almost exactly Lizzie’s age and helped out on weekends and after school. His father immigrated from Viet Nam years ago, and Sam and his mother joined him only two years ago. She’d enjoyed Sam’s journey through acclimation, amazed how quickly he’d achieved it. His accent was barely noticeable now and she knew his grades were exceptional–he always proudly showed off his report card.
     
    Kat tousled his dark head when he opened the door for her. She headed for the canned goods section, wondering, as she always did, what Lizzie’s hair felt like. Today the familiar thought choked her throat and the rows of red and white soup cans blurred.
     
    Lizzie. Stay safe, baby girl. Stay alive.
     
    “Need some help, Miss Kat?”
     
    The soft voice made her tears stream harder.
     
    Groceries!
     
    “I–I think I do, Sam.”
     
    “Are you all right?”
     
    “Fine,” she whispered the lie and scrubbed her hands over her cheeks. “Just worried about. . .things.” The little bell on the front door tinkled as she tried to focus on her list. Sam didn’t leave her side.
     
    “I hope it’ll be all right, Miss Kat. Can I help?”
     
    “You already have.” She patted the hand he laid on her arm. “Where’s the tomato?”
     
    “One can or two?” Sam pressed two into her hands. A super salesman, just like his father.
     
    Snick. A gun’s trigger engaged directly next to her ear.
     
    “Don’t move, lady, and everybody will walk away.” The barrel of a gun inched over her shoulder, pointed at Sam’s dark head. “Don’t even breathe, little chink.” The man’s voice was a sneer, almost directly in her ear.
     
    Kat felt heat from his body when he yanked her back, closer to him. All too aware the gun stayed pointed on Sam, she kept her gaze on the little boy. His eyes would swallow his head if they got