The plates could always have been stolen.

She thought about it for only a second, then stepped out and led me around the side of the porch. “It’s in the garage. But I assure you, it hasn’t been in any accident.” She went down another set of steps that led to the garage, pushed a button, and the garage door started to go up.

There was a white Buick in one of the two bays. With a South Carolina plate. ADJ-4967.

“You’re right. Clearly, it hasn’t been in any accident,” I said, shrugging.

“I can assure you, it hasn’t been out of the garage in the past six months,” the woman said. “Since my father left. For the life of me, I can’t see how anyone could have thought . . .”

“No, probably our error,” I said. This clearly wasn’t the car I was looking for. “I’m sorry to bother you. I hope your father gets well.”

“Well, thank you,” she said, “but I don’t know. He’s eighty-six. You know how it is.”

“Yes, I know,” I said.

I went straight back to my car, before it occurred to her to ask for some ID or for the name of the insurance company I represented. There was also the fear that she might call the police, especially after I noticed her looking at my car.

I drove away, out of town the way I had come, and when I thought I was safe, I pulled into a gas station, my heart still pounding.

You’re no Harrison Ford, Henry . . .

One down.

ADJ-4653. That was next. A town named Martinsville.

Chapter Thirty-Six

“Daddy? Daddy?”

I’d heard the ring and grabbed one of the phones from the passenger seat, and saw the call was from Hallie!

I didn’t know if I was alerting half the police in Florida, and I didn’t care! Over the past twenty-four hours I must’ve tried her cell a dozen times.

I pulled to the side of the road. “Hallie? Hi, baby, how are you doing?” My heart beat joyously. “I’m so glad to hear your voice! I’m—”

“Daddy, he just said I could tell you that I was all right, that’s all. And I am. But he said he has something to say to you. And whatever it is, Daddy, please do it. He’s—”

“Hallie, just hang in there!” Tears sprang up in my eyes and I cradled the phone in both hands. “Your mother and I both love you very much, you know that, honey, and we’re going to get you out of there. I promise, honey, you just be brave—”

“Aw, that’s sweet, Doc, really it is,” a man’s voice replied. Everything in my body turned to ice. “I did plan on filling you in on things just a tad more, but truth is, I’m really kind of enjoying thinking of how it is for you out there. Can’t go back, can’t go forward. How does that feel? You have to admit, that gun show thing was a pretty good piece of work, huh? So tell me, how’s it been for you these past few days?”

The ice now turned to fire. “What is it you want? Just tell me.” I felt myself gripping the phone like it was a weapon. “I’ll give it to you. Please . . . Just let my daughter go. She’s got nothing to do with anything.”

“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong, Doc,” the man replied calmly. “She’s got everything to do with everything. She’s part of you! But don’t you be too worried about her. It’s you I’d be focused on. Hopefully the police aren’t checking out where you are right now.”

“I told you before, you harm one hair on her head, you sonovabitch, and I’ll—”

“So how’s it feel, Doc?” He cut me right off. “How’s it feel to have your life taken from you. How’s it feel to lose everything you hold dear?”

My chest tightened. I couldn’t believe the hatred this animal seemed to hold for me. The blame. I was about to say, Why? What have I done to you? Why are you doing this?

But before I could get the words out, I heard him say, “More to come. More to come for sure, Doc.”

Another click and he was gone.

“Hallie!” I shouted, knowing I was talking only to a machine. “Hallie . . .”

I started to cry.

That old bromide came to mind: what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. And what was stronger than a father’s will to save his child? Nothing. It coursed through me like a river overflowing its banks, stronger than the urge to have my life back or the will to clear my name. It was everything.

But now I didn’t know how I felt. Closer to her or farther away? I didn’t know where she was. All I had was this stupid list of cars, and I didn’t even know if they would lead me to her. Or to nowhere. The clock was ticking.

And I couldn’t even let the people who might find her help me.

I called Liz. She answered on the third ring, expectantly. “Yes . . .”

All I could say was, “I spoke with her, Liz.” I felt so alone and helpless. I didn’t even tell her I had spoken with him. “She’s okay. For now.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

“’Manda . . . ?”

It took a moment for her to reply. And when she did it was clearly with hesitation. She didn’t seem so happy to hear from him. “Hello, Daddy . . .”

It felt good to Vance to hear her voice. Like he was back home, and on a Sunday, and she came out to ask what he was working on, in the wood closet, and things hadn’t happened as they did. “How they treatin’ you there, honey?”

“Okay. I guess. I’m learning. My cell mate scares me, though. She’s in here for hitting her husband with a pipe and cracking open his head. She makes me nervous, the way she stares at me. I don’t belong here, Daddy. You know, I don’t—”

“I’m sorry to hear all that, ’Manda.” He was sitting at the desk in his shabby hotel room, looking out at cars shooting by on the highway.

“I just don’t. But I’ve been reading. They got a lot of books here. I’m reading this one about a handsome lawyer from a small town in Alabama named Atticus, who’s defending this black man, who the whole town thinks is guilty of rape, but he’s not. It’s written from the point of view of his little daughter, named Scout. I know he’s going to get him off. It makes me feel good.”

Vance thought the man in the book sounded like a lot better father than he had been; that Amanda kind of wished he was her dad. It made him feel diminished, jealous of a character in a book he didn’t even know. “That’s good to hear, honey. I’m glad.”

“And I wrote this letter . . . To the husband of the woman I killed. He’s in Afghanistan. I told him I don’t know why things happen, but that they do, and I wasn’t old enough at first to understand my blame in all this, but now I do and how sorry I was. That if I could make it up to him, I would . . . How I would gladly change places with his wife if I could. That it was clear she deserved to live and have a family more than I did. And her baby . . .” Amanda began to sob.

“You don’t have to do that, ’Manda. There are others as guilty as you. That’s why I’m calling . . .”

“Yes, I have to do it, Daddy! I do. It made me feel good. To see myself for what I am. I know he won’t ever answer, and it don’t matter, but the counselor here says I have to face up to it. To what I did. To make amends—”

“I understand the concept of amends, honey. That’s why I’m calling you. I’ve—”

“So where you been anyway? I spoke to Aunt Linda and she said you haven’t been around here at all.”

“I’ve been working on your situation, ’Manda. How to make it right.”

“And ol’ Wayne, now there’s a fellow for ya. He’s suddenly not around here either. Just up and split. No one can find a trace of his ass.” She laughed bitterly. “I’m sure you don’t mind that none.”

“Wayne’s where he deserves to be, Amanda. For what he did.”