Chapter One

Ava Maria Petersen's sneakers scuffed along the sidewalk as she skipped happily, headed down Seventh Avenue and turned right on Park Street. She hummed her favorite Orderly Exit song under her breath and ignored the goings-on around her. Night had settled over her city but instead of the comforting sounds of crickets and the sparking lights of fireflies, she was surrounded with the seductive calls of the women prowling the streets and the soft lights of the neon signs in the windows of the local bars.

Dark nights didn't scare her and neither did dark nights on the streets. She was as comfortable roaming the city at night as she was tucked in her bed. She knew her way around perfectly and knew which areas to avoid and why. She knew which alleys were safe and which were prone to drug deals. She knew which streets belonged to which gangs and when they were at war. She knew most of the prostitutes by their first names and even why some of them had been forced to turn tricks. Two of the coffee houses in her neighborhood were open twenty-four hours but only one of them gave her free muffins and milk if she stopped in for a second or two. She knew which cops were on patrol and on what night and heard all the gossip.

She knew short cuts throughout the city that no one else knew and was quite capable of sneaking into certain buildings – clubs, offices, restaurants, warehouses. She was eight years old.

But this late, spring night, she was more excited than usual. She didn't stop to greet the girls in the tight, short skirts. She didn't wave to Manny, the homeless man who dug through the dumpsters. She didn't stop in Berta's shop for milk and muffins. She was on a mission and her heart wouldn't stop flipping in anticipation.

The night air was a bit chilly but she didn't notice. She wore her jeans with holes in the knees, an old pink t-shirt and her all-time favorite Orderly Exit ball cap, backwards over her dark brown curls. She'd found the hat discarded in an alley next to the amphitheater late one night after an Orderly Exit concert and felt as though she'd found a hidden treasure. It was her most treasured possession and she always slept with it tucked carefully under her pillow.

She took a left on Blackmore Street – in the Warehouse District - and her heart picked up an extra beat. Her feet hurried, no longer skipping, as the massive building loomed before her. She paused and grinned at the lights glowing in the high windows. She darted into an alley that ran on the west side of the building and climbed the chain link fence that enclosed the lot behind the warehouse.

A basketball hoop stood atop a tall, metal post, the net swaying in the light breeze. Ava's feet skittered across the asphalt as she approached the back doors. She dodged the doors and inside hopped down into a window well of a basement window – rare for a warehouse – and jimmied the ancient window open.

The familiar musty scent greeted her as she dropped into the nearly forgotten basement and worked her way through the junk growing mold in the dark, dank storage area. She found the wooden staircase and climbed it slowly, a careful ear listening for sounds from above.

She knew exactly where the stairs led – where the door at the top opened up at – as she'd been there many times before. Usually, though, the place was empty. But tonight, the building was occupied and the occupants were happily blowing off steam. She could hear their heavy footsteps as they prowled around the building. She knew when they were in the rehabbed kitchen area, probably fetching snacks or soft drinks. She could tell when they'd moved to the music room, although no music floated in the air.

She curled up confidently on the top step, a ghostly smile on her lips, and listened to the muffled voices. Her eyes fluttered shut but the smile remained.

Cade Tayes scowled at the contents of the refrigerator. He was so tired of fine wines and champagnes and craved an icy cold bottled water. Three months in the studio followed shortly thereafter by four months on tour and he wanted to do nothing but sit in the remodeled warehouse with his friends and drink a cold water.

He did enjoy his career – music was his first love – but sometimes, things caught up with him. He could handle the long hours in the studio because that was his favorite part, besides the writing, but the tour had been tiring.

He drew a long breath and raked his fingers through his hair. He'd have to suck it up and get used to it if he wanted to be successful.

He dug through the endless cans of soda and an old, expired carton of orange juice and found a solitary bottle of water in the back of the refrigerator. Grinning, he yanked it out and twisted it open, taking a long slug.

He leaned against the counter and listened as his band mates bantered playfully in the music room – kidding around and challenging each other to arm wrestling matches. He was lucky that the guys he toured with happened to be his best friends in the world. They'd grown up together in the same neighborhood – the very one where their warehouse now stood. They'd found the building after they'd signed their record deal and bought it with the royalties from their first single. Once their CD started to sell, they had hired a contractor who fixed the place up so they could use it as their hangout when they needed to get away from things.

The warehouse was huge and sectioned off into several rooms – the largest being the music room where they escaped to write and rehearse new music. They had three bathrooms, four bedrooms, a kitchen area and a rec room complete with a plasma TV, pool table, video gaming system and a foosball table. It was their own home away from home – though none of them lived there full time.

"Cade, dude, what are you doing?" Jayden Franklin asked as he bounced into the room and hopped on a counter. "Hiding or what, man?"

Cade shrugged and took another long drink from his bottle. "Nothing, man."

"What's up?" Jay asked, his face darkening. "What's got you all moody and stuff?"

Cade and Jayden had lived next door to each other since they were four. They'd endured the excitement of starting kindergarten, the horrors of middle school and the joys of high school together. Cade's father, an old garage band relic, had taught them both to play the guitar and when they met up with Van Daniels and Richie Maxwell in middle school, the four of them formed their own peewee version garage band.

Their parents had thought it cute and had even humored them by attending performances at one of their houses, but they'd never dreamed the boys would keep it up or become as successful as they had. The ink hadn't even dried on their diplomas when they were signed by a local record label and by the time they should have been starting college, they were in a studio recording their first CD.

"Just sort of reliving old memories I guess," Cade said as he finished off his water and tossed the bottle at the red recycle bin near the heavy double doors. The bottle bounced off the edge and fell in with a thud. Cade grinned at Jay. "Why? Those guys up for an ass kicking on the pool table?"

Jay's smile was blinding. "They think they can whoop us, man. Do you believe that?"

Cade snorted and pushed away from the counter. "Well, let's remind them who owns that table."

Jay bumped Cade's fist and followed him to the rec room.

The weak, early rays of the sun busted through the grime of the basement windows and managed to caress her cheeks. Ava woke with a start, her body curled tightly to fight off the damp chill. She stretched, her neck a little stiff, and listened for any indications that anyone was roaming about on the other side of the door. Hearing nothing, she scrambled down the steps, through the junk, and out the window. She scurried across the asphalt and scaled the fence. She worried about the time, wondering if she'd run in to anyone she shouldn't as she hurried home.

She hadn't meant to spend the night at the warehouse – not that night. She'd spent plenty of nights there before but she'd known for sure that she wouldn't get caught. Now, she wondered.

As she ran through the awakening streets, she finally reached her building and yanked open the door. She hit the stairwell, her worn sneakers squeaking on the old cement steps, and crashed through the door to her floor. She crept quietly down the hall, stopped at apartment 4B and pressed her ear against the door. She didn't hear the television, which was a good sign, so she yanked the yarn necklace out from under her t-shirt and used the key at the end to unlock the door.

The apartment was dark and the lingering scent of stale cigarette smoke and whiskey hung in the air. Her heart hammered in her chest as she tiptoed down the hall and peeked in the first bedroom. It was empty as was the tiny bathroom at the end of the hall. She released a long breath and toppled into the smallest bedroom, kicked off her sneakers and fell into her bed. She pulled the hat off her head and clutched it to her chest. A smile curled her lips as happiness radiated throughout her little body.

Finally, after four long, lonely months, her boys were home.