"Tomorrow's headline," Lucas murmured.

Metcalf nodded. "Judging by the questions I've been getting. Naturally, they're wondering how we could expect another kidnapping. As Luke and Jaylene pointed out yesterday, most kidnappers don't try it twice, and very few even stick around after a successful delivery of the ransom."

With a grimace, Lindsay said, "I hadn't thought about that. But of course they would wonder, wouldn't they?"

"And they aren't the only ones," the sheriff told her. "The mayor called, as well as two members of the town council, demanding to know why I believe someone else could be kidnapped and whether I know who it will be."

"I'm guessing you didn't tell them."

"Of course I didn't tell them. There's no way I'm going to admit to anyone that the ravings of a lunatic carnival fortune-teller are dictating any part of this investigation."

Lucas stopped himself from wincing at Metcalf's vehemence, but it was another reminder that Bishop had been right to take the course he had while forming the unit. As unbelievable as psychic abilities often seemed, people were far more inclined to at least accept the possibility when the ones who claimed to have them worked in "serious" jobs and relied on scientific explanations- even if the science was speculative-to describe and define their abilities.

And having a federal badge didn't hurt.

"Wyatt, she's not a lunatic and she hasn't been raving," Lindsay objected. "Besides, with all the psychic stuff you see on TV and in the movies these days, people are a lot more open to the idea than you might think. Most people, anyway."

"If you're talking about that guy on TV who claims to read minds, all I can say is that you're a lot more gullible than I ever would have imagined, Lindsay."

"He's very convincing."

"He's a con artist. It's called a cold reading, and whatever skill it takes I can promise you isn't paranormal."

"You can't be sure of that," she said.

"Want to bet?"

The argument might have continued indefinitely if one of the young deputies hadn't knocked on the doorjamb just then, peering into the conference room with a very anxious look on his face. "Sheriff? If it's okay, I need to run home for a few minutes. I know I've already had my lunch break, but-"

"What's up, Glen?"

"It's just… I need to make sure Susie and the baby are okay. I called, but didn't get an answer."

"Maybe she has the baby outside," Lindsay offered. "It's a nice day."

"Yeah, maybe. But I'd like to be sure." He smiled nervously. "Maybe it's just being a new dad, but-"

"Go ahead, take off," Metcalf told him. "You'll worry 'til you know for sure."

"Thanks, Sheriff."

When the deputy had gone, Lucas didn't give the other two a chance to resume their argument. At least in his presence. "Since we agreed to split the duty as much as possible, why don't you two go on to lunch? I'll wait for Jaylene to get back, and we'll go later."

"Suits me," Metcalf said.

Lindsay agreed with a nod, and the two left.

It was probably five minutes later that Lucas swore under his breath when he realized he'd read the same paragraph three times and still didn't know what was in it. Instead of trying again, he leaned back in his chair and drummed his fingers on the table, arguing silently with himself.

Finally, however, he admitted defeat just as silently and got up. He left the conference room and made his way to the lower level of the sheriff's department, which housed the jail cells and interview rooms.

The deputy on duty down there nodded as he passed, then returned to the magazine in his hands. The only occupant of the cells was one very unhappy young man brought in on a destruction-of-property charge, and he was too busy feeling sorry for himself to cause any trouble, so the deputy's only responsibility was to keep an eye on the cells and on the closed door of Room 3.

Where Samantha Burke was currently staying.

The door wasn't locked. Lucas hesitated, then knocked once and went in.

The small room was normally spartan, with a table and chairs, a security camera high in one corner, and a small TV high in the opposite one; the addition of a cot and the duffel bag holding Samantha's things reduced the floor space considerably and did nothing to make her temporary accommodations even appear to be comfortable.

She was sitting at the table, a soft drink and a Styrofoam box containing a partially eaten salad before her.

"Still eating like a rabbit, I see," he said, mostly for something to say.

"Old habits." She sipped the drink, eyeing him, then said dryly, "And I doubt interest in my lunch is what brought you down here. What've I done now, Luke?"

"That deputy, Champion. He brought you your lunch, didn't he?"

"Yeah. So?"

"Did he drop something? Did you touch his hand?"

Coolly, she said, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm talking about him leaving here one breath away from panic to rush home and check on his wife and kid."

"New dads worry, I'm told." Her voice was still cool. "And he's such a proud one. Showed me a picture. Pretty wife, cute kid. He's right to be proud of them."

"So that was it. You touched the picture. And?"

She leaned back with a sigh. "And I told him he needed to go home and unplug their clothes dryer until he can get someone to check it. Because it could cause a fire."

"When?"

"Today." Samantha smiled wryly. "His wife dries clothes in the afternoon, when the energy demand is lower. Plus the baby likes the sound, it helps her to go to sleep. But drying clothes today wouldn't be a good idea. So I told him that. And even though he didn't want to believe me, I expect he went home to unplug that dryer. Just in case."

He'd been watching her for a while now, so he had her routine down pat. He knew when he would take her, and how. By now, that part of things was almost second nature, so that he could perform on autopilot.

That wasn't the fun part, not anymore.

This was the fun part, and he was enjoying himself even more knowing that at last all the necessary players were in place and paying attention.

He'd begun to think they would never catch on.

But now… now they were finally starting to understand, and all the long months of planning and careful, calculated actions had put all the pieces on the game board.

Really, it was all falling into place so beautifully that it made him wonder if there actually was a God.

He hummed to himself as he checked the seals, making certain there would be no leaks. Going over it meticulously, because he refused to make mistakes.

It wouldn't be a true test of which one of them was smarter if he made any mistakes.

So he checked every inch, every detail, going over and over the plan until he was absolutely positive there was nothing left out, nothing forgotten, nothing wrong.

He polished the glass and metal until there was no hint of a fingerprint or even a smear, vacuumed the space for the third time, compulsively took apart all the connections so he could wipe down each component individually.

They would find only the signs he wanted them to find.

When he was done this time, he stood back and studied the room, playing out in his head how it would be. She was tough, so he didn't think she'd be all that scared at first. Which was good for his purposes.

Once he'd figured out it was the fear that drew Jordan, he had chosen his lures even more carefully. He liked the tough ones, the ones that didn't scare easily. Because that made it all the sweeter when they realized what was going to happen to them and how helpless they were to stop it.

This one, he thought, would be one of the best. When she finally broke, her terror would be extreme. He didn't know if Jordan could feel it or smell it, but either way it would hit him like a punch to the gut.