Grimly, Wyatt said, "I'd call this evidence. The goddamned thing still has bloodstains on it."

Lucas turned away, feeling unexpectedly sickened. "I guess this is what happens to a man who has his wife and child stolen from him."

"No," Wyatt said flatly, "it's what happens to a man who was twisted to begin with. Grief doesn't create monsters, Luke, we both know that. Not grief alone, not just that."

He did know, but it didn't make it any easier.

Jaylene hurried up just then, frowning. "Luke, Quentin just called. He's at the sheriff's department. He went there to keep an eye on Sam, the way he and Galen have apparently been doing for some time. But they were distracted by something weird going on at the carnival, and by the time Quentin could get to the sheriff's department… Luke, Sam's missing."

Lucas stared at her, everything inside him going cold. "Somebody warned Gilbert," he murmured. "Somebody told him we were coming. Somebody else. Oh, Christ. That's what he meant. I didn't make the last move. He did."

Trying to fight her way out of sleep, Samantha had a fuzzy memory she wasn't sure she trusted. Between the pounding headache, dizziness, and nausea, she had just wanted to lie on the couch in the lounge with her eyes closed for as long as possible. She supposed she had fallen asleep, except for this vague, unsettling memory of not being able to breathe because something was covering her nose and mouth.

Now she felt even more queasy, her head was still pounding, and it was amazingly difficult to pry her eyelids open. It took several tries, and all the while she was wondering irritably what was causing that hissing sound.

At first, she didn't understand what she saw.

Wood?

Wood, over her, no more than eight or ten inches above her face. Now, why on earth-

Then a cold realization crawled into her mind, and she heard her breath catch.

She reached up slowly and pushed against the wood.

Nothing.

It didn't give so much as a fraction of an inch.

Samantha pushed harder, desperation lending her strength, and still the solid wood failed to budge.

She lifted her head as far as she was able and looked down toward her feet. A battery light was placed there, providing just enough illumination for her to see.

To see the canister of oxygen lying beside her and hissing softly as it slowly leaked its contents.

To see the dimensions of the box in which she lay.

To understand that this was her coffin.

Even as cold terror washed over her and panic fought for a foothold in her mind, Samantha remembered her vision, remembered seeing Gilbert say something at the last, something she hadn't been able to hear.

She thought she knew, now, what he had said.

"Checkmate."

Even as the cops took him down, Andrew Gilbert had been sure he had won the game. Because the final move had been his. Somehow, he had done this.

He had buried her alive.

Asphyxiation.

Lucas couldn't stop thinking about it. It had been Gilbert's other preferred method of remote murder. And Samantha had said herself that the easiest way to asphyxiate someone over a period of time would be to bury them alive.

Oh, Christ, Sam…

Jaylene and Wyatt were supervising the rapid search of the house and barn, both hoping that something they discovered would point them in the direction of Samantha.

Back at the sheriff's department, Quentin and Galen were attempting to do the same thing, asking questions and trying to find some shred of information, assisted by the deputies who had returned there.

Lucas stood outside the barn, vaguely aware of people rushing all about him with driven efficiency. He stared toward the other end of the valley, blindly, the coldness in the pit of his stomach spreading outward until even his fingers felt frozen.

"Luke."

He didn't want to look at Jaylene's face, didn't want to hear what he knew his partner was going to tell him.

"Luke-"

Wyatt joined them, his face grim. "One of my junior deputies is missing. Caitlin is saying she saw him heading back toward the lounge where Sam was resting, and says she never saw him after that. He took a cruiser out, but he's not answering his radio."

"He wouldn't have had a partner," Lucas murmured. "He wouldn't have trusted a partner. I'm sure of that."

"Yeah, well, here's the thing," Wyatt said, even more grim. "On a hunch, one of your people just ran the prints we had on file for this deputy, who was calling himself Brady Miller and had absolutely no criminal record under that name. Only that isn't his name. Turns out his name is Brady Gilbert. He's Andrew Gilbert's son."

"Why were his prints on file?" Jaylene asked.

"Petty theft, out in L.A.," Wyatt told her. "Couple years ago. He was barely old enough to avoid the juvenile system and got a slap on the wrist due to Daddy's money. After that, not a peep from him. Until now. I'm guessing Daddy's money also paid for his nice new name and pristine background."

Jaylene looked at her partner. "He would have trusted his son, wouldn't he, Luke? To do what he couldn't?"

"Maybe," Lucas said, feeling even colder. Some part of him had hoped against hope that Sam had merely left the sheriff's department, maybe to return to her motel or the carnival. Had hoped that it had simply not been possible for Gilbert to get his hands on her. And it hadn't.

But… he enjoyed killing by remote control.

He would have viewed his son as an extension of himself, particularly if he felt secure in his domination. So that tracked, that made sense.

And with the sheriff's department nearly deserted, how difficult would it have been for a junior deputy to incapacitate an already fragile Samantha, perhaps with chloroform, carry her down to the garage, and drive away with her?

The box had already been prepared and ready for what Gilbert and his son had waited for-the chance to grab Sam. All Gilbert's son had to do was put her in it, cover it over with dirt, and leave.

Leave her alone there. Buried alive.

"I've got an APB out on Brady," Wyatt was saying. "And your boss made it federal as well, on the grounds that he was undoubtedly involved in the kidnappings."

Lucas heard himself ask, "Gilbert's death-is that out yet?"

Wyatt swore and said, "It went over the police radio that we got him. I'm sorry as hell, Luke, but… if Brady was still in his cruiser, then he knows."

"And has no reason to stick around," Lucas said. "They would have been prepared to run. Another car, maybe an SUV or ATV, probably already packed. He'd ditch the cruiser immediately and follow his father's plans. He's gone."

Jaylene took her partner's arm and turned him bodily to face her, an action so unexpected that Lucas found himself staring at her, seeing her.

"Which means you have to find Sam," she said flatly.

"Jay, you know I can't just-"

"We're not going to find anything here, Luke. You know that. Quentin and Galen won't find anything helpful back at the sheriff's department. And we're running out of time, Sam's running out of time."

"Goddammit, don't you think I want to find her?"

"I don't know, do you?"

He stared at her, literally feeling whatever color he had left draining from his face.

Jaylene pressed on, her voice insistent. "I don't know what it'll cost you, I really don't. I don't know what this block inside you is. But I know Sam was right in thinking you'll never be able to use your abilities as they were intended to be used until you get past it. And if this won't do it, if saving the life of the woman you love isn 't enough… then you'll spend the rest of your life as a half-functioning psychic who can only tap into your abilities when you're too tired to think. Is that what you really want, Luke? To be half alive? To lose Sam? Is avoiding your own pain really worth that price?"