Ruth tossed a hanging file folder to the desk. She leaned back in the chair and looked at Jama. “Is this the way it’s going to be for the next two years?” She shoved the other office chair toward Jama. Its wheels whispered along the polished wood floor.

Jama grabbed the chair and looked at it, then at Ruth.

“Sit down and stop towering over me,” Ruth said.

Jama sat.

“Did you talk to your resident trainers the way you’ve been talking to me today?”

“I spoke up when I needed to, but I didn’t feel the need to do so often. I was treated with respect, because until two weeks ago, I was chief resident in my hospital’s family health program. I realize you’re my director, but I had thought there might be a spirit of mutual cooperation. I expected to be treated the way I treated my med students and other residents. With respect.”

For the next moment, the only sound in the room was the soft hum of the computerized medication dispenser.

“You might eventually have convinced Mr. Claybaugh to leave,” Ruth said quietly, “but it was easier for me. Nobody knows me. I don’t have history with any of the patients, and none of them have their bluff on me.”

“Ted didn’t have-”

“Jama, you’ve got to learn how to take charge of a situation. You are responsible for the health of the patients who come in here.”

“I know how to-”

“You have lives in your hands, and you can never forget the heavy responsibility of this job.” Ruth returned her attention to the computer.

Frustrated, Jama stood up and pushed the chair back to its place. She turned to walk toward her office.

“If you think your friendship with these people is going to cause a problem, it would be better if you let me know that now,” Ruth said over her shoulder.

Jama stopped. “And then what?”

“What I’m asking is whether or not you feel you need remedial help while working with family and friends. This is a close-knit community, and it’s understandable that you might have some difficulty separating official responsibilities from friendships. It’s why doctors are discouraged from treating family members. Just work on it, will you?”

Ruth stood up and held her hand out to Jama. In it was a silver key. “This is to protect the rest of our windows. It could save you a bundle of money.” She turned and walked away.

Jama watched her retreating back. Ruth had a habit of getting the last word. Two years would be an eternity.

Doriann lay scrunched between the bales of hay. Clancy was in some kind of whacked-out frenzy, whispering questions to himself so softly that she could make out only a few words, then answering himself and giggling. Like a girl. Aunt Renee had never mentioned any drug reactions like these. Maybe he wasn’t on drugs. Maybe he was just psycho.

Covering her nose with the sleeve of her jacket so she wouldn’t have to smell his breath, Doriann closed her eyes and listened…

“Whad’ya think of your perfect legal system now, Dr. Moore? You think they’ll find your kid in the Mighty Mo?”

Doriann frowned. Who was Dr. Moore?

Soft laughter. “All you rich doctors who look down your noses at the rest of the world…you let her suffer! You could’ve kept her from suffering. You weren’t the one who heard her screams. What’ll you do when they dredge your kid from the river? Then you’ll know what suffering is.”

Doriann felt a little thrill of hope. He thought she might be in the river? He was confusing Dad with somebody else, but maybe this meant he wouldn’t expect to see her hiding from him the next bale over. If she stayed very quiet and still, maybe he would leave before she sneezed or-

“Deb!”

The shout startled Doriann so badly she squealed and nearly wet her pants again.

“Hey, that you, Deb?” There was movement, and Doriann knew he was raising his head to look. He expected to see Deb.

Some kind of desperation took control of Doriann’s brain. She couldn’t decide what to do.

“Deb?” The voice was directly above her.

He couldn’t see Doriann, but she could see his dark shape clearly.

He reached out. She braced herself. He was going to grab her.

But just before he touched her, the hound outside started baying again. The howl was closer now, really close, and Clancy swore, a long string of curses.

He leaped up, then jumped toward Doriann. She stifled a scream. As she tried to crawl away, she was grabbed from behind-not by Clancy, because he was still in front of her.

Something clammy and soft clamped over her mouth-someone’s hand-and before she realized it she was rolling onto her back-onto a human body!-then back onto the floor. Rough hands shoved her away so hard she rolled and slammed into something hard.

She found herself in a stall, where she saw light coming through a hole in the outer wall of the barn. She remembered seeing a spot that looked as if a big animal had kicked out the wood. It was large enough for an eleven-year-old girl to crawl through.

She didn’t look back. She was outside before she heard a voice in the barn.

“What’s all the yelling about? I’m trying to sleep in here.”

Doriann stood staring at the side of the barn. Deb?

The hound had run into the forest, the echo of his hunting yowl refracting through the trees. Refracting? Yes, that was the word.

While Deb scolded Clancy for being afraid of a little ol’ hound dog, Doriann used the cover of her voice to run full tilt toward the trees.

Though she didn’t hear the sound of anyone coming after her, she plunged into the darkening forest as the baying of the hound echoed through the trees around her.

Tyrell issued final instructions and left the ranch in Daniel’s care. He climbed into his freshly serviced Durango and was buckling his seat belt when his cell phone-nearly out of juice-beeped at him. Renee again.

“They’ve found it!” she cried.

His stomach clenched at her words, and then the tone of her voice registered. For the first time in hours, he heard hope. But he also heard dread, and a contagious urgency.

“Tyrell, they found the truck that was stolen earlier this morning in Kansas City. The old brown truck. They found it!”

“Who found it? Where?”

“You know Andy Griswold, Dad’s buddy who lets you guys hunt on his land, west of River Dance?”

“Andy found the truck?”

“In that swamp near the road. The license plates matched. Now tell me, why would someone who knows he’s in deep trouble with the law not change the plates if he wanted to get away with his crime?”

“Stupid? High on drugs? Was anybody found at the-”

“It was empty, but the Feds are on their way there now.”

“How many agents are coming?”

“Not sure, but, Tyrell, you know that place so well. If Dad were able, he would be out there in-”

“I’m on my way.”

“I love you, big brother.”

“Then you can bail me out of jail.”

He disconnected, leaned his head back against the headrest as he considered what might be happening. How he wished he could talk to Jama.

Jama’s cell phone call tone rang from her pocket as she began to organize the new desk in her new office. She’d never had her own office before.

The call was from her foster sister, Renee Abramovitz. “Jama, how are your tracking skills now?” were Renee’s first words, no greeting in the mezzo-soprano voice.

“My what?”

“Remember that trick Dad used to teach you and Tyrell on his hunting trips? Actually, he tried to teach all of us, but you and Tyrell were the only ones who caught on.”

Okay, something was definitely wrong with her. “Renee, are you okay? I know this awful ordeal with Doriann-”

“Listen to me! She’s there, Jama. Near you, near River Dance. That’s where the Feds think she is. What I need you to do is meet up with Tyrell, get out there before a whole squad of strangers can mess up the tracks, and work with Tyrell to find out where-”