Format: Paperback, 272 pages
Release Date: March 3, 2020
Publisher: Simon & Schuster
Source: Publisher
Genre: Thrillers / Suspense
A moment on the subway platform changes two women’s lives forever—a debut thriller that will take your breath away.
A total stranger on the subway platform whispers, “Take my baby.”
She places her child in your arms. She says your name.
Then she jumps...
In a split second, Morgan Kincaid’s life changes forever. She’s on her way home from work when a mother begs her to take her baby, then places the infant in her arms. Before Morgan can stop her, the distraught mother jumps in front of an oncoming train.
Morgan has never seen this woman before, and she can’t understand what would cause a person to give away her child and take her own life. She also can’t understand how this woman knew her name.
The police take Morgan in for questioning. She soon learns that the woman who jumped was Nicole Markham, prominent CEO of the athletic brand Breathe. She also learns that no witness can corroborate her version of events, which means she’s just become a murder suspect.
To prove her innocence, Morgan frantically retraces the last days of Nicole’s life. Was Nicole a new mother struggling with paranoia or was she in danger? When strange things start happening to Morgan, she suddenly realizes she might be in danger, too.
Author Samantha M. Bailey's Woman on the Edge is a case study in what happens when an innocent woman is falsely accused of murder and has to put the law into her own hands in order to prove she's innocent. 30-something Morgan Kincaid is on her way to work via the train when a distraught woman
holding a baby thrusts the child into her hands. Her words will reverberate forever. “Please, take my baby,”
the stranger pleads. “Don’t let anyone hurt her. Love her for me,
Morgan.”
Morgan catches the baby before the mother jumps in front of an
oncoming train. Morgan, who has never met or seen the woman before, almost immediate
becomes a person of interest in the mother’s death thanks to her recent loss of her scoundrel husband, Ryan. The story alternates between Morgan in the present, and Nicole another 30 something woman who founded and is CEO of a best selling athleisure & wellness company called Breathe. Nicole appeared to have everything a person can ever want. A thriving business, a loving husband, and a baby on the way.
Morgan desperately wanted a child but not this way. Now, she's a suspect
in Nicole's death because no one else saw what happened (and there's no
video) so of course she's going to try to find out as much about Nicole
as she can. Morgan can't understand why someone would give their
child to a complete stranger and take their own life.
Morgan has never seen her before
that day. With no witnesses to corroborate her version of events, things
are not looking good.
To clear her name, Morgan tries to piece together Nicole Markham's final
days.
Nicole believed that she, and her new baby, were in danger. Or was she a
new mother struggling with postpartum depression and paranoia?
Nicole's anxiety is compounded by the guilt of a traumatic event in her
past. Her angst is palpable, as are her fears of motherhood, and she
becomes a shell of her former self—a far cry from the successful CEO of
her own company. Although a success in business, once she has a child, Morgan finds
herself in a downward spiral of postpartum psychosis and fear with sins
of her past haunting her.
And what
is Morgan's connection to all of this? As she gets closer to the truth,
one thing become apparent, her life is also in danger. Morgan's life fell apart when her husband committed suicide as a result
of being found guilty of embezzlement. She was left with the
repercussions, including the police thinking that she was his
accomplice. With little help from the police, Morgan's only allies are her steadfast lawyer, Jessica Clark, and Nicole's brother Ben who hasn't seen eye to eye with Nicole since the incident almost 20 years ago.
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CHAPTER ONE MORGAN
Monday, August 7
“Take my baby.”
I flinch at the brittle, scratchy voice. I’m standing on the subway platform as I do every day after work, waiting for the train to come. I used to try to smile at people, but I’m warier now. Ever since my husband, Ryan, died, no one knows how to act around me, and I don’t know how to act around them. I usually keep to myself, head down, which is why the voice surprises me.
I look up. I thought the woman was talking to a friend, but she’s not. She’s disheveled, wearing faded black yoga pants and a stained white T-shirt. She’s alone, and she’s talking to me.
She clutches a sleeping baby to her chest with one arm. She knows she has my attention now. She presses up against me, and my purse bangs into my side. Then she digs sharp nails into my bare wrist. “Please, take my baby.”
Icy fingers of fear run up my back despite the sweltering heat inside Grand/State station. The woman is on edge, and so am I—literally, at least. I always stand on the edge of the platform so I can be first on the train. One hard push is all it would take for me to fall onto the tracks. As bleak as the last eighteen months have been, no matter how ostracized I’ve become after Ryan’s suicide, I’ve made a new life for myself. I don’t want it to end here.
I gently extract my arm from her tight grip. “Sorry, could you …”
She steps even closer to me, so close that I’m on the blue strip. Her eyes are wild, lips so bloody and raw, like she’s been chewing on them. She clearly needs help. I pull my long black hair around my face, lower my gaze to the gray speckled tiles, and say, “We should step back a bit. Here.” I put a hand out to guide her away from the edge, but she won’t move.
She’s making me so nervous. As a social worker, I recognize the signs of distress, signs I should have noticed in Ryan. If I hadn’t been the loyal, obtuse, willfully blind wife I never thought I’d become, my husband might have turned himself in and gotten help before it was too late. He might have realized that even though he’d be found guilty of embezzlement, there were worse things to lose. Like life itself. If I’d noticed anything ahead of time, I might not be paying for the crimes I didn’t even know he’d committed until he was dead.
I might even be a mother myself now, like this woman in front of me.
She looks awful. Clumps of matted dark curls stick out haphazardly from her scalp as though her hair has been hacked with a chain saw. I look away quickly.
“I’ve been watching you,” she says to me in a strangled voice.
She squeezes the sleeping baby so tightly, too tightly, and I fear for the safety of the child. The woman’s eyes—ringed with such dark circles it’s like she’s been punched—flick back and forth.
“Are you looking for someone? Is someone supposed to meet you here?” Then I curse myself for getting involved when I should just give her my boss Kate’s number at Haven House, the women’s shelter I work for. I’m not the lead counselor and head advocate at the shelter anymore. I’ve been demoted to office manager. I wish I’d never met Ryan. I wish I’d never fallen for his crooked smile and self-deprecating humor. And I have no recourse. I still have a job. I did nothing wrong, yet I lost so much, including everyone’s faith in me. My faith in myself.
She is not my client to counsel. Who am I to counsel anyone?
Her haunted eyes land back on me, and on her gaunt face is a look of pure terror. “Keep her safe.”
The baby is fast asleep, her tiny nose and mouth pressed too closely to her mother’s chest. She’s unaware of her mother’s suffering. I feel myself unwittingly absorbing this woman’s pain, even though I have enough of my own to contend with. I’m about to give her the shelter phone number when she speaks again.
“I’ve been watching you for a long time. You seem like a nice woman. Kind. Smart. Please, Morgan.”
My head jolts back in shock. Did she just say my name? It’s impossible. I’ve never seen her before in my life.
The woman kisses her baby’s tufts of hair, then stares at me again with those piercing blue eyes. “I know what you want. Don’t let anyone hurt her. Love her for me, Morgan.”
I know what you want?
“How can you possibly know anything about me?” I say, but my voice is drowned out by an announcement to stay back from the platform’s edge. The woman’s cracked lips move again, but I can’t hear her over the wind roaring through the tunnel.
I’m truly panicked now. Something about all of this just isn’t right. I feel it in my gut. I need to get away from this woman.
People surround us, but they don’t seem to notice that something strange is going on here. They are commuters in their own world, as I was just a few minutes ago.
The woman’s eyes sweep the platform once again. Then her arms reach out. She launches her baby toward me; my hands catch the infant by instinct. I look down at the child in my arms, and I tear up. The yellow blanket she’s wrapped in is so soft against my skin, the baby’s face serene and content.
When I look back up at her mother a second later, the train is shrieking into the station.
And that’s when she jumps.
Monday, August 7
“Take my baby.”
I flinch at the brittle, scratchy voice. I’m standing on the subway platform as I do every day after work, waiting for the train to come. I used to try to smile at people, but I’m warier now. Ever since my husband, Ryan, died, no one knows how to act around me, and I don’t know how to act around them. I usually keep to myself, head down, which is why the voice surprises me.
I look up. I thought the woman was talking to a friend, but she’s not. She’s disheveled, wearing faded black yoga pants and a stained white T-shirt. She’s alone, and she’s talking to me.
She clutches a sleeping baby to her chest with one arm. She knows she has my attention now. She presses up against me, and my purse bangs into my side. Then she digs sharp nails into my bare wrist. “Please, take my baby.”
Icy fingers of fear run up my back despite the sweltering heat inside Grand/State station. The woman is on edge, and so am I—literally, at least. I always stand on the edge of the platform so I can be first on the train. One hard push is all it would take for me to fall onto the tracks. As bleak as the last eighteen months have been, no matter how ostracized I’ve become after Ryan’s suicide, I’ve made a new life for myself. I don’t want it to end here.
I gently extract my arm from her tight grip. “Sorry, could you …”
She steps even closer to me, so close that I’m on the blue strip. Her eyes are wild, lips so bloody and raw, like she’s been chewing on them. She clearly needs help. I pull my long black hair around my face, lower my gaze to the gray speckled tiles, and say, “We should step back a bit. Here.” I put a hand out to guide her away from the edge, but she won’t move.
She’s making me so nervous. As a social worker, I recognize the signs of distress, signs I should have noticed in Ryan. If I hadn’t been the loyal, obtuse, willfully blind wife I never thought I’d become, my husband might have turned himself in and gotten help before it was too late. He might have realized that even though he’d be found guilty of embezzlement, there were worse things to lose. Like life itself. If I’d noticed anything ahead of time, I might not be paying for the crimes I didn’t even know he’d committed until he was dead.
I might even be a mother myself now, like this woman in front of me.
She looks awful. Clumps of matted dark curls stick out haphazardly from her scalp as though her hair has been hacked with a chain saw. I look away quickly.
“I’ve been watching you,” she says to me in a strangled voice.
She squeezes the sleeping baby so tightly, too tightly, and I fear for the safety of the child. The woman’s eyes—ringed with such dark circles it’s like she’s been punched—flick back and forth.
“Are you looking for someone? Is someone supposed to meet you here?” Then I curse myself for getting involved when I should just give her my boss Kate’s number at Haven House, the women’s shelter I work for. I’m not the lead counselor and head advocate at the shelter anymore. I’ve been demoted to office manager. I wish I’d never met Ryan. I wish I’d never fallen for his crooked smile and self-deprecating humor. And I have no recourse. I still have a job. I did nothing wrong, yet I lost so much, including everyone’s faith in me. My faith in myself.
She is not my client to counsel. Who am I to counsel anyone?
Her haunted eyes land back on me, and on her gaunt face is a look of pure terror. “Keep her safe.”
The baby is fast asleep, her tiny nose and mouth pressed too closely to her mother’s chest. She’s unaware of her mother’s suffering. I feel myself unwittingly absorbing this woman’s pain, even though I have enough of my own to contend with. I’m about to give her the shelter phone number when she speaks again.
“I’ve been watching you for a long time. You seem like a nice woman. Kind. Smart. Please, Morgan.”
My head jolts back in shock. Did she just say my name? It’s impossible. I’ve never seen her before in my life.
The woman kisses her baby’s tufts of hair, then stares at me again with those piercing blue eyes. “I know what you want. Don’t let anyone hurt her. Love her for me, Morgan.”
I know what you want?
“How can you possibly know anything about me?” I say, but my voice is drowned out by an announcement to stay back from the platform’s edge. The woman’s cracked lips move again, but I can’t hear her over the wind roaring through the tunnel.
I’m truly panicked now. Something about all of this just isn’t right. I feel it in my gut. I need to get away from this woman.
People surround us, but they don’t seem to notice that something strange is going on here. They are commuters in their own world, as I was just a few minutes ago.
The woman’s eyes sweep the platform once again. Then her arms reach out. She launches her baby toward me; my hands catch the infant by instinct. I look down at the child in my arms, and I tear up. The yellow blanket she’s wrapped in is so soft against my skin, the baby’s face serene and content.
When I look back up at her mother a second later, the train is shrieking into the station.
And that’s when she jumps.
great cover and title. sounds like a good one to me
ReplyDeletesherry @ fundinmental