 Whole Story Audio presents an unabridged recording of The Perfect Daughter by Joseph Sousa, narrated by Sarah Borges. Part 1. Ayla. She shot up off the mattress, her face bathed in a sheen of sweat. Had she just heard something? Or had she suffered another bad dream? She'd been having a lot of them lately. Ever since that rich boy from Harper's Point vanished without a trace. No. Something seemed not quite right. She glanced across the bed, registering Ray's absence. It was just like him, to disappear when she needed him most. The alarm clock on her nightstand flashed three thirty-two in red digits. She turned toward the large bay window, which Ray had installed last year, despite having no funds to do so. A wonder the bank had even loaned them the money. And yet it really opened the room up and provided them with a beautiful view of the bay and the ocean far below. She remained perfectly still. Then she heard it again. A loud, crashing noise downstairs. Someone appeared to be mucking about in her kitchen. A jolt of adrenaline spiked through her. She flung off the well-worn quilt. The same quilt her mother had made as a wedding present for them so many years ago. Her mother, God bless her soul, had been one of those quilt-obsessed women who the older she got, the more fanatical about quilts she became. She walked over to the bay window and noticed that Ray's beaten-up truck was not parked in its usual spot—not like he hadn't disappeared from their bed before, often in the middle of the night. She got used to waking up and not seeing his long, wiry body next to hers. Another loud, smashing noise came from downstairs. Terror gripped her as she quietly opened the bottom dresser drawer. Reaching down, she punched the four-digit combination into the electric keypad on the safe and waited a few seconds. The door to the safe opened and revealed the loaded glock. The sight of the gun scared her, but she was now glad to have it. She picked it up and let its weight settle in the palm of her hand. Then she pulled out her phone and dialed the Shepherd's Bay Police Department instead of 9-1-1, knowing that all 9-1-1 calls were directed to a regional dispatcher twenty miles away, and they didn't know their ass from their elbow about the street patterns in this town. Carl Bjornsson answered. She'd known that voice since they were high school sweethearts. Someone's in my house, Carl. She whispered. Hurry up, and send some— Sample complete. Ready to continue?