Lydia looked up when she entered the room. Her eyes were red, but dry. She gave Olivia an awkward smile. “Have you found her?”

Olivia shook her head and sat down. Lydia closed her eyes and crossed herself.

“We’re doing everything possible.”

“Do you know who did it?”

Olivia hesitated. She didn’t know what to tell her. “We have a suspect,” she finally said. She wouldn’t lie to this woman.

“It’s the same man who killed those other girls, isn’t it?”

Olivia didn’t answer. Maybe she shouldn’t have said anything. She’d never worked with survivors before. What was she supposed to say? How much was she supposed to reveal?

“I thought so.” Silent tears streamed down Lydia’s cheeks. “I can’t lose her. My husband-he died when Nina was two. She was the light of his life. She’s mine, too. I don’t know how-no, God won’t take her from me. He’ll protect her.”

Lydia tugged on a necklace that was buried under her blouse. It was a small, gold crucifix. Her lips moved in silent prayer, her eyes downcast.

Zack came into the room and Olivia turned to him, tears in her own eyes. He rested a hand on her shoulder and squeezed.

He said, “Mrs. Markow, I want you to know that we are doing everything to find Nina. Everything. Every officer in Seattle is looking for her. We have a sketch of the man who took her. Would you mind looking at it?”

She held out her hand for the paper.

She stared at the sketch for a long minute. “I’ve never seen him,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s not a problem. Abby Vail and Henry Jorge both gave good descriptions. We have several leads.”

Zack told her what they believed happened that afternoon.

“Do you have any questions?”

“How-how long-I mean, I read in the newspaper that he doesn’t kill them right away. So we have time, right? We have time to find her, right?”

Zack swallowed and Olivia could feel the frustration and tension radiating from his body.

“We believe we have some time. We also have a lot of information we never had before. We have a partial license plate and right now six pairs of police officers are working through the list, talking to all twenty-two owners of late-model white trucks with that partial plate in King County. We’ll expand to the surrounding counties next. We have a sketch of the suspect we’re distributing in key locations, and the media has agreed to run the picture on the news. An Amber Alert has been issued. The FBI is involved. I promise, we will do everything in our power to find Nina and bring her home safe.”

Lydia squeezed her eyes shut, tears leaking. “Thank you,” she managed.

“Your neighbor, Mr. Jorge, is still here. He wanted to wait for you to see if you needed a ride home,” Zack said.

“Henry is a kind man. I’ll have him take me to church. If you hear anything, you’ll find me at St. Stephen’s.”

Normally, Zack enjoyed riding the ferry from Flauteroy to Vashon Island. Tonight, the twenty-minute ride seemed ten times as long, and he paced the observation deck as he and Olivia planned out their time.

“Say he lives here or works here. That means he would probably buy groceries? Eat in restaurants? Fill his car with gas?” Zack threw out ideas.

“Let’s start here. Ask the ferry workers if they recognize him.” Olivia put out her hand to stop Zack from pacing. “You take the crew below, I’ll take the crew on the observation deck, and we’ll meet back at the car when we dock.”

“You’re right. I should have thought of it.” He ran a hand through his hair, intensely frustrated that Driscoll had taken another girl when they were so close to finding him.

They split up, and Zack went down where the passenger cars waited. Most of the people had headed up to the observation deck; a few mingled outside, huddled in jackets. The air was distinctly colder on the water than in the city, and now that fall had taken firm hold, temperatures would continue to drop.

Zack started with the security crew. He asked all four on the car deck and none recognized Driscoll. Two barely glanced at the picture. What good was security if they didn’t see anything?

Ten minutes later, when the first whistle blew, Zack was ready to go to the transportation authority over the idiots they hired.

Until he met Stan Macker.

Stan Macker was nearing retirement, bald, with the leathery face of a man who’d worked outdoors most of his life. He looked like he would prefer to die working the lines and be buried at sea. His post was at the gate.

Zack approached him, not expecting anything.

“Detective,” the old man nodded.

“How do you know I’m a cop?”

“Name’s Stan Macker. I’ve worked ferries forty-two years. I’ve been watching you since you came on board. You and that cute little filly. Saw that you asked all the security guards and half my crew to look at a picture. I suspect you want me to look at the picture.”

Zack held out the sketch.

Stan stared at it, nodding, handed it back. “Dark green Ford Ranger. Late nineties’ model. He was here today.”

“When?”

“Took the one-ten across to Flauteroy. Hasn’t returned.”

“Why do you remember him? You must see thousands of people and cars every day.”

“I’ve been here so long, I remember cars. People. There’s a woman who lives on Vashon who’s been taking the ferry every weekday for sixteen years. She didn’t show up one day. I was surprised. I called over to the Vashon substation, described her and her car, said she hadn’t been sick a day in sixteen years, maybe something happened. Something did. She’d had a seizure that morning. The medics saved her life.” He shrugged. “I just remember.”

“What makes this man memorable? Does he commute?”

Stan shook his head. “Naw. Very irregular. But he stays in his truck. Every time. No music. Doesn’t get out and stretch his legs. Doesn’t read-we get a lot of people who’ll read a book or newspaper while they sit in their cars. Not this one. He stares straight ahead. That’s why he stands out.”

“Do you have security tapes? I need to see his truck, get a license plate.”

“Talk to the head of security. He can get them for you.”

“Have you ever seen him in another vehicle? Perhaps a large truck or SUV?” Zack didn’t want to lead him, but he needed to know if Driscoll brought his victims to the island.

“No. Only the Ranger. But I’m not on duty 24/7.”

“Thanks for your help. I’ll talk to the security head. What’s his name?”

“Ned Jergens.”

“He was a cop.” Zack hadn’t known him well, but he recognized the name.

“Yep. Good guy. He’s stationed on Flauteroy, but here’s his direct number. They give it to us in case we have some trouble.”

“Thanks a lot, Stan. I appreciate it.”

“The guy’s bad news, isn’t he?”

“The worst. If you see him, call Jergens immediately. And me.” Zack handed him his card.

As soon as Zack and Olivia disembarked, he called Chief Pierson and told him what Stan Macker had said. Pierson would contact the Seattle Port Authority and Ned Jergens and get all security tapes since Jennifer Benedict’s abduction last month.

The shopping district on Vashon was lively at night, and Zack and Olivia split the street. Thirty minutes later, Olivia walked into a restaurant at the end of the pier. The scent of good food made her stomach growl; her only meal that day had been a prepackaged sandwich at the San Francisco Airport.

She asked to see the manager. A few minutes later a young twenty-something Asian girl came bouncing out of the kitchen. “Hi! I’m Denise Tam. Can I help you?”

Olivia introduced herself and showed her FBI ID. “We’re looking for a man we believe lives on the island. He drives a dark green Ford Ranger.” She handed Denise the sketch. “Have you seen him? Perhaps he’s been in to eat?”

“Ohmigod,” she said, her hand covering her mouth. “That’s Steve.”