“Take another breath, sis. Are the authorities focusing their search in the direction the truck went over the embankment?”

“Yes. The area south of I-70 should be crawling with police or FBI by now.”

Tyrell handed Daniel his fuel can. “Renee, have you heard if anyone is searching the section of Mark Twain National Forest near Columbia?”

“No one has said.”

“I have some friends in the forestry department up there. I think I’ll give them a call.” In fact, he could think of quite a few people he could call in this part of the state, all of whom would be eager to hunt for a brown pickup carrying a terrified eleven-year-old. “How are Mark and Heather holding up?”

“Not the best.” Renee paused, took yet another audible breath as if to steady her runaway thoughts. “Heather’s blaming herself, and the worry about Dad is putting everybody here over the edge.”

Tyrell glanced at his brother. “Daniel says she’s alive.”

He caught his brother’s approving gaze as he sensed the flare of hope those words gave his sister.

“He did, really?” she asked. “I mean, he’s not just saying that?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Is he there?”

“Standing beside me.”

“May I talk with him?”

Tyrell handed his phone to Daniel, and turned to gaze out across the rows of gray-brown vines, barely clothed with shoots of new green.

Tyrell had lived through some bad times, but he’d never had this much worry gnawing at his gut. As he listened to Daniel reassuring their sister, he tried hard to let his brother’s words give him comfort.

It didn’t work.

Ruth Lawrence taped a makeshift sign to the broken window of the front door and turned back to Jama, hands on hips. “No more patients. It’s way past normal office hours, anyway.”

Jama nodded. She had called Zelda Benedict and had her drive their final patient to the E.R. in Hermann.

“I’m sure no one else will come through that door,” Jama said.

“Applicants only.”

“How many more do you expect?”

“Two.” Ruth straightened an already perfectly straight stack of periodicals and walked to the reception window, her brisk footsteps squeaking across the polished wood floor.

Jama followed her. “Is there any reason to interview more? I thought you’d made your decisions.”

“We have no idea if Zelda or Chelsea will work out for us. I need more possibilities on file, just in case.”

Jama studied her director. The telephone answering system had been switched on-it had taken them thirty minutes to decipher the directions and set up the recorded announcement. The task had focused Jama’s mind and reduced her stress workload, but this left her more time to worry about Doriann.

Ruth’s movements were erratic. She didn’t seem able to sit in one place for long. She continually tugged at her braid, and several strands of wavy hair had escaped the weave.

Jama wondered if this increased agitation had begun after her husband’s call.

Ruth caught Jama watching her. “What?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re thinking something.”

“Last I checked, it wasn’t necessary for a woman to tell her boss every thought on her mind.”

Ruth fidgeted once more with a strand of her hair, then yanked the clasp away and fingered out the weave, allowing her dark brown hair to fall in waves over her shoulders.

It was then that Jama saw Ruth’s vulnerability. Her posture revealed worry and traces of sadness. That poor woman, Eric had said.

“Are you okay?” Jama asked.

Ruth raised her eyebrows. “Of course.”

“Really? Because it seems to me that you’ve been a little more fretful since the call from Tanzania.” It wouldn’t hurt to get the subject out in the open. Why ignore it?

Jama, mind your own business. You don’t want anybody digging into your past.

“I’ve noticed that you and Zelda both have overactive imaginations,” Ruth said.

Jama shrugged. Her cell phone rang. She tapped her Bluetooth. It was Tyrell.

“Jama, there’s been some news.”

She froze at the sound of his voice.

“The FBI believe the kidnappers are headed south from I-70.”

“How do they know?”

“Reports about the vehicle. It left the interstate just past Columbia.”

“You mean they could be headed in this direction?”

“It’s possible. I’m calling everyone I know in the area to be on the lookout for a brown pickup truck.”

“What can I do to help?”

“Right now there’s nothing to do.”

“I’ll be working here a little longer, then I’ll drive back to Columbia tonight. Call me if you hear anything?”

“I’ll call.” She heard the tremor in his voice.

When she disconnected, she was shaking.

“And you?” Ruth asked.

Jama looked up to find her director still standing in the same spot. “Me?”

“You asked if I was okay. I’m asking you the same. You’re obviously not-”

“The kidnappers have been spotted, and are still in central Missouri.”

“No ransom note, no calls of any kind?”

Jama shook her head.

Ruth sank down beside Jama with a heavy sigh. For a moment, she said nothing. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, head bowed. She stared at the floor with such intensity, Jama knew she was seeing something besides wood grain.

“There’s no way to give someone comfort at a time like this,” Ruth said at last.

Jama shook her head.

“I know this has been a difficult day for you.”

Jama shrugged. What an understatement. “I can’t imagine what’s going to happen next. I can’t even comprehend how people can be so evil.” And yet Jama knew she was also guilty.

“Don’t even try to comprehend it,” Ruth said, her voice gentle with compassion. “Just take it a moment at a time. Then when you get through that, take it an hour, a day, a week at a time.”

Jama shivered. She couldn’t face the thought that Doriann might simply disappear for good, and yet that was a frightening possibility. To never know what happened to her.

“It took a lot of effort to return to work today,” Jama said. “It took even more effort to stay here. But now I’m afraid to leave and go home, which is silly. I just feel a need to be doing something.”

“You are doing something,” Ruth said. Compassion no longer threaded through her voice. The abrupt, dispassionate director had returned. “You’re seeing to the health of a community. It’s an important role. You can’t do anything to help your niece right now, but you can help others.” Ruth gathered her hair into its clasp as she stood and returned to her office, firmly ending any further conversation.

Jama watched her go.

That poor woman…

Lost. Doriann stumbled and fell to her knees in a pile of leaves, and was tempted to lie down in them. She didn’t know where she was. She’d wandered in these woods for what felt like hours and hadn’t found the river, the road or the Katy Trail. Retracing her steps would be like following the strands of a spiderweb.

She knew she’d passed a couple of trees at least three times, and she didn’t know how to keep that from happening again. She’d found herself at a dry creek bed twice, but because she didn’t know which way to follow it, she didn’t try. Now she wished she had.

She shivered, hugging her arms tightly to her stomach. She’d tried to tell herself it could be worse. Clancy could’ve caught her. Deb could be with Clancy. It could be warm enough for snakes. Clancy could be killing someone right now, instead of chasing one fast, smart girl through the woods.

Yes, it could’ve been worse.

Doriann’s face and hands hurt where the branches had scratched her, and she was hungry…so hungry. She wished she hadn’t stopped to drink creek water, because it had only made her colder.

She closed her eyes and scrunched herself into a tight ball. It was one of the ways Aunt Renee said to avoid hypothermia. It didn’t work. Doriann needed to move. That would be best.