“This is Jennifer Keegan.”

“Jennifer—it’s Henry Steadman. Please don’t hang up. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but something crazy has happened.”

“I did hear!” Jennifer replied. She sounded surprised, but not upset that I was calling. “We’ve all heard, Dr. Steadman! What’s happened? They’re saying such incredible things . . .”

“Jennifer, I’ll explain . . . Just trust me—it’s not at all what you might think. I just need to be somewhere safe, for an hour or two, until I can negotiate something and get this whole crazy thing resolved. That’s all. Can I trust you, Jennifer? I know I have no business asking this, it’s just that . . . It’s just that, to be honest, I just don’t have anywhere else to turn.”

“You want to come here?” she asked, clearly surprised.

“Just for an hour or two, that’s all! I have someone working on turning me over. I won’t put you in any harm. I promise. What do you say?”

Chapter Eleven

“Yes,” she replied, without hesitation. “I knew this all had to be something crazy. I’m at the—”

“I know where you are—” I cut her off. “And you have no idea what this means to me, Jennifer. You can’t. You’re a godsend. I’ll be there in half an hour.”

It took about twenty minutes to get there, and just to be safe, I entered the hotel grounds at the adjacent golf course, and left Mike’s Jag on the second level of the two-story garage.

I walked the short distance over to the main lobby, telling myself I had no reason to be concerned, that no one was looking for me here. That I looked like any golfer, in my khakis, my golf cap, and shades. That Mike’s stolen car wasn’t on any news reports yet.

I stepped into the glass-roofed, atrium lobby. It was packed with people from maybe a dozen trade-show groups and conventions. There was some kind of arena football game in town and a throng of boosters wearing black-and-aqua Shark caps and logo sweatshirts was gathered near the entrance, probably heading to some kind of rally.

Everything seemed benign, nothing to worry about. Not that I was exactly trained to spot undercover police if they were there. I scanned the lobby . . . lots of noise, people moving everywhere . . . and spotted the elevators. Jennifer told me to go to room 2107.

I put down my cap and was about to head across the floor when I saw him.

My chest tightened.

Not someone in uniform, but in a plain, navy-blue windbreaker, leaning against the wall near the restrooms while scanning the crowd.

He might well have just been hotel security, if it wasn’t for the terrifying realization that I had seen him once before.

From the back of Martinez’s police car.

He was one of the policemen who was milling around when Martinez stopped me.

Every nerve in my body slammed to a stop.

I turned my back to him. I didn’t know what to do, except that I had to get out of there now. In truth, I was petrified to even take a step. The guy clearly hadn’t seen me yet. He just stood there as if he was waiting to meet a friend. I eased my way toward the football boosters.

Why was he here now?

Then the answer became clear: Jennifer had turned me in. It was a trap! They were waiting for me. Who could even blame her? The only reason I wasn’t spread-eagled on the floor with a gun to my head was that I hadn’t come in through the front entrance, pulling up in my white Caddie, as they were clearly expecting me to do. They must not know about Mike yet. I figured there were several of them, stationed all around. My whole body went rigid with fear. I searched around for the best way out.

And then my cell phone rang.

I would never have even glanced at it in that moment—I was petrified it would draw attention to me—had I not thought that it could well be Liz, and I didn’t want to miss her. Slowly I melded into the crowd of boosters. I pulled out my phone and glanced at the screen. It wasn’t Liz.

It was Hallie.

I didn’t want to answer, but it rang two, then three times, and I felt as if the trill was echoing around the lobby, calling everyone’s attention to me. I just saw my daughter’s name on the screen—Hallie, Hallie . . . And I didn’t know if Liz had spoken with her and if she knew. Knew all that had happened.

So I just pressed the green button before my voice recording came on and muttered softly, set to call her back. “Hallie . . .”

But the voice I heard wasn’t hers. It was a man’s voice, both muffled and unrecognizable.

And what he said on my daughter’s phone jarred me more than anything that had happened today.

He kind of chuckled as he asked, “So how you liking it all so far, Doc?”

Chapter Twelve

I froze.

I realized right away who was on the other end. That I was speaking to the person who was responsible for all this. Who had killed Mike. Martinez.

And he was calling on my daughter’s phone.

“Who are you? Where’s Hallie? Where’s my daughter?” I demanded, my body heaving with mounting dread.

“Oh, we’ll get to all that pretty soon. I promise,” the man said. “But if you ever want to see her again—alive, that is—I think there’s just one little thing you oughta know . . .”

“Go on,” I said. I ducked behind two boosters introducing their wives.

“If I happen to hear that you get caught by the police, or even turn yourself in . . . Or if it comes out in the press that your little girl is missing, meaning if you tell ’em, Hallie here’s gonna end up with a bullet in that smart, pretty brain of hers. And that’s if I’m feeling generous. You hear?”

The crowd was loud and buzzing all around. I tried to think if I had ever heard the voice before, but it was Southern, slangy, and wasn’t clear.

“You hearing me, Doc?” he said again, like ice this time. Waiting.

“Yes.” I swallowed, razors in my throat. “I hear.”

“So here’s a little present for you—just so there’s no doubts, about our arrangement.”

My heart started to race. Suddenly Hallie got on, her voice shaking with fear. “Daddy . . . Daddy, is that you?”

“Yes, hon, it is! It’s me.”

“Oh, Daddy, I’m so sorry . . . Please just listen to what he says. He’ll do it. I know he will. He’s crazy! Just do what he says. Please. He—I love you, Daddy,” she blurted as the phone was yanked away from her in midsentence.

“Just wanted you to have a sense of what’s really at stake here, Doc. Pretty little thing, if I say so myself. And she surely can ride.”

“You touch a hair on her head and I’ll kill you myself, you son of a bitch! So help me God . . .” I shouted above the noise, my blood on fire.

“Now don’t you be giving me orders,” the man said. “That wouldn’t go over well. Long as you heard exactly what I said, about if I hear the cops find you.”

“What is it you want? Why are you doing this to me? I have money. I can pay you. Please . . .”

“We’ll get to what I want. In a while. First, go get yourself a new phone. One of those disposable ones. Text the number to Hallie here. Okay? That is, if you ever want to hear from her alive again.”

I shuddered.

“So get on now, y’hear?” I could hear the laughter in his voice. “You keep yourself safe. Remember, longer you stay out there, Doc, longer your little girl lives.”

“Listen! Don’t hang up! Listen . . .”

I heard the phone click off, and all trace of my little girl with it. I pushed the button to call her back, but no one answered. I was left staring at her name on the cell-phone screen.