Still riding high from the day of freedom, Amy wanted to start walking. It was dark, but the road was lit, so I said okay. We'd gone about a kilometer when Drew Aldrich pulled over in his pickup, and asked if we needed a ride.

Aldrich lived down the road from Amy. He was twenty-four, with dark hair, a leather jacket, and bushy brows over eyes that always seemed to be laughing at you. Amy swore he was the spitting image of Matt Dillon in The Outsiders, and swooned every time he stopped to talk to her… which he did often enough to make me nervous. I'd wanted to tell my dad. She'd blown up when I suggested it – one of the few real fights we'd ever had. After a week of not talking, I'd promised to mind my own business when it came to Drew Aldrich.

But he made me nervous. So when he offered us a ride that night, my answer was no. Amy cajoled. Amy pleaded. I stood my ground, anxiously scanning the road, praying to see Uncle Eddie's big white car. It was only when Amy threatened to go alone that I got into the truck.

I had to keep her safe.

It was my job.

I spent the next few hours walking Sammi's route. Like most roads up here, this one was heavily wooded on both sides, with endless twists and hills and valleys. Stand at any point and you couldn't see more than a hundred feet in either direction.

Every few steps, I'd look around and ask myself "If I found a mark here, could I make a safe hit?" In every case, the answer was yes. The few times that I heard a car coming, it took at least three minutes for it to come into view, more than enough time to pull a body – and a stroller – into the ditch and hide.

Yet if someone had attacked Sammi, I was sure it would have been a sexual predator. That meant he wouldn't have a corpse to dispose of. He'd have a live teenager and baby to deal with. Sammi would put up a fight and it would take more than three minutes to get her into the woods.

There were no signs of struggle in the gravel, no broken bushes to suggest that anyone had been dragged into the forest.

The more I thought about it, the more I suspected that Meredith, and everyone else, was right. Sammi had run off. There was only one thing I needed to do to set my mind at rest. Break into Janie's place and search for proof that Sammi had packed and left.

I returned to the lodge ten minutes late for a scheduled shooting lesson. That wouldn't do. While the disappearance of a teen and a baby might seem more important than explaining basic gun safety to four guys who just wanted to shoot something, I made my living by my reputation, and my reputation was that of a conscientious hostess who put her guests first.

After the lesson and some target practice, I sent the men in to dinner while I stayed behind, ostensibly to lock up. In my experience, putting guns in the hands of new-bies has a strange effect on hormones. I'd warded off more wandering hands postshooting than after the most beer-drenched bonfires.

I took the shortcut back to the lodge, avoiding the men, and slipped in the kitchen door. The wail of an electric carving knife greeted me. Emma looked up from her chicken and motioned to the message pad by the phone. On the top sheet was a note that my aunt Evie had called.

Aunt Evie?

It had to be Evelyn. She'd never contacted me here before because Jack forbade it. The only excuse she'd have was if Jack wasn't around to pass along a message.

I told Emma to start serving dinner without me, then I hurried upstairs.

"It's about Jack," Evelyn said, skipping any pleasantries. As I lowered myself to the edge of the bed, she bitched about his rule against calling me. I could picture her, in her designer shirt and slacks, white hair cut in a sleek bob, cussing like a sailor as she chewed out her favorite student. Evelyn was probably closing in on seventy, if not past it, and was supposed to be retired, but she still lived and breathed the business, pulling strings, manipulating players, delighting in watching them dance.

"Is he okay?" I asked finally, cutting her rant short.

"He's an idiot, that's what he is. Acts like he's still twenty, like he can still do the things he did at twenty, then gets himself hurt – "

"Hurt?" My fingers clenched the plastic tighter. I should have called. Goddamn it, I should have called when that first month passed without any word -

"He broke his ankle."

"Ankle?" I said. "Is that… it?"

"Other than cuts and bruises, and wounded pride, which, let me tell you, is stinging worst of all. Serves him right. The fucking stubborn Mick. I told him – "

"When did it happen?"

"A couple of weeks ago."

Only a couple of weeks? So much for "that explains everything."

"I'm sorry to hear it," I said. "I hope he's on the mend and I appreciate you telling me – "

"I'm not calling so you can send him a get-well card, Nadia."

I tensed at the use of my real name. With Evelyn, it was always a dig – reminding me how much she knew. But I suppose I wouldn't want her calling me "Dee" on my personal line, either.

"He's holed up in Buffalo," Evelyn continued.

"Holed up?"

"There was a problem. Nothing critical, but with his ankle, he's not in any condition to jaunt off to Europe until things cool down. He needs a place to stay, and someone to watch his back – such as a friend who lives in a backwoods cabin in the middle of nowhere."

"He wants to come here?"

Silence, so long I thought we'd lost the connection.

"You know Jack, Nadia. He never wants anything. Never admits to it, anyway. Goddamned – "

"So this is your idea."

"Only because he's too stubborn to ask. God forbid he should ask for help. Gotta be fair and square, all debts paid up. Thirty years I've known him, and you saw the shit he pulled last fall, when he wanted my help. Dangled the fucking case in front of my nose until I jumped, then hemmed and hawed about letting me join, when the whole goddamned reason he came to my house – "

"He doesn't even know you're asking me, does he?"

More silence as she tried to figure out another way to bluster and divert. After a moment, she sighed. "This is how you have to deal with Jack, Nadia. You go to him, make the offer, listen to him mutter about how he doesn't need help, doesn't want to inconvenience you, but the minute you turn to walk away, he'll be on your tail, following you home. Just so long as it's your idea."

"I don't think he's going to follow me anywhere."

She snorted. "How much you betting, girl? Name your wager, because surer odds I've never – "

"I haven't heard from him in four months."

"What?" The word came sharp with genuine surprise. "Did you two have another fight? I told you the last time, you have to go to him. You know what it's like getting him to talk, one fucking word at a time, dragged out like teeth, but – "

"There wasn't a fight. He called in January, we chatted, and that was the last I heard from him."

"So call him! The man has zero people skills, Nadia, in case that somehow escaped your notice. He once went six months without contacting me and when I lit into him for nearly giving me a heart attack, he acted like – "

"He didn't just forget to call. I could feel the cold front moving in for months. He doesn't want to see me, and I'm not driving to Buffalo so he can give me the brush-off in person."

"You owe him."

"I repaid him last fall. Now, apparently, we're square. He made sure of that before he – "

"For God's sake, stop sulking, Nadia. Jack's hurt your feelings – "

"I'm not hurt; I'm pissed off."