Barb clapped her hands over her face in relief – but Levon realized his mistake.

“It's only a message,” he said to Barb, hearing Kim's recorded voice. “Leave your name and number and I'll call you back. Byeeee.”

“Kim, it's Dad. Are you okay? We'd like to hear from you. Don't worry about the time. Just call. Everybody here is fine. Love you, honey. Dad.”

Barb was crying. “Oh, my God, Oh, my God,” she repeated as she balled up the comforter, pressing it to her face.

“We don't know anything, Barb,” he said. “He could be some moron with a sick sense of humor -”

“Oh, God, Levon. Try her hotel room.”

Sitting at the edge of the bed, staring down at the nubby carpet between his feet, Levon called information. He jotted down the number, disconnected the line, then dialed the Wailea Princess in Maui.

When the operator came on, he asked for Kim McDaniels, got five distant rings in a room four thousand miles away, and then a machine answered. “Please leave a message for the occupant of Room Three-fourteen. Or press zero for the operator.”

Levon's chest pains were back and he was short of breath. He said into the mouthpiece, “Kim, call Mom and Dad. It's important.” He stabbed the 0 button until the lilting voice of the hotel operator came back on the line.

He asked the operator to ring Carol Sweeney's room, the booker from the modeling agency, who'd accompanied Kim to Hawaii and was supposed to be there as her chaperone.

There was no answer in Carol's room, either. Levon left a message: “Carol, this is Levon McDaniels, Kim's dad. Please call when you get this. Don't worry about the time. We're up. Here's my cell phone number?”

Then he got the operator again.

“We need help,” he said. “Please connect me to the manager. This is an emergency.”

Levon Mcdaniels was square-jawed, just over six feet, a muscular 165 pounds. He had always been known as a straight shooter, decisive, thoughtful, a good leader, but sitting in his red boxers, holding a dinky cordless phone that didn't connect to Kim – he felt nauseated and powerless.

As he waited for hotel security to go to Kim's room and report back to the manager, Levon's imagination fired off images of his daughter, hurt, or the captive of some freaking maniac who was planning God only knew what.

Time passed, probably only a few minutes, but Levon imagined himself rocketing across the Pacific Ocean, bounding up the stairs of the hotel, and kicking open Kim's door. Seeing her peacefully asleep, her phone switched off.

“Mr. McDaniels, Security is on the other line. The bed is still made up. Your daughter's belongings look undisturbed. Would you like us to notify the police?”

“Yes. Right away. Thank you. Could you say and spell your name for me?”

Levon booked a room, then phoned United Airlines, kept pressing zeros until he got a human voice.

Beside him, Barb's breathing was wet, her cheeks shining with tears. Her graying braid was coming undone as she repeatedly pushed her fingers through it. Barb's suffering was right out in the open, and she didn't know any other way. You always knew how she felt and where you stood with Barb.

“The more I think about it,” she said, her voice coming between jerky sobs, “the more I think it's a lie. If he took her? he'd want money, and he didn't ask for that, Levon. So? why would he call us?”

“I just don't know, Barb. It doesn't make sense to me either.”

“What time is it there?”

“Ten thirty p.m.”

“She probably went for a ride with some cute guy. Got a flat tire. Couldn't get a cell phone signal, something like that. She's probably all worked up about missing the shoot. You know how she is. She's probably stuck somewhere and furious with herself.”

Levon had held back the truly terrifying part of the phone call. He hadn't told Barb that the caller had said that Kim had fallen into “bad hands.” How would that help Barb? He couldn't bring himself to say it.

“We have to keep our heads on straight,” he said.

Barb nodded. “Absolutely. Oh, we're going over there, Levon. But Kim is going to be as mad as bees that you told the hotel to call the police. Watch out when Kim's mad.”

Levon smiled.

“I'll shower after you,” Barb said.

Levon came out of the bathroom five minutes later, shaven, his damp brown hair standing up around the bald spot at the back. He tried to picture the Wailea Princess as he dressed, saw frozen postcard images of honeymooners walking the beach at sunset. He thought of never seeing Kim again, and a knifing terror cut through him.

Please, God, oh, please, don't let anything happen to Kim.

Barb showered quickly, dressed in a blue sweater, gray slacks, flat shoes. Her expression was wide-eyed shock, but she was past the hysteria, her excellent mind in gear.

“I packed underwear and toothbrushes and that's all, Levon. We'll get what we need in Maui.”

It was 3:45 in Cascade Township. Less than an hour had passed since the anonymous phone call had cracked open the night and spilled the McDanielses out into a terrifying unknown.

“You call Cissy,” Barb said. “I'll wake the kids.”

Barbara sighed under her breath, then turned up the dimmer, gradually lighting the boys' room. Greg groaned, pulled the Spider-Man quilt over his head, but Johnny sat straight up, his fourteen-year-old face alert to something different, new, and maybe exciting.

Barb shook Greg's shoulder gently. “Sweetie, wake up now.”

“Mommmmm, nooooo.”

Barb peeled down her younger son's blanket, explained to both boys a version of the story that she halfway believed. That she and Dad were going to Hawaii to visit Kim.

Her sons became attentive immediately, bombarding Barb with questions until Levon walked in, his face taut, and Greg, seeing that, shouted, “Dad! What's goin' on?”

Barb swooped Greg into her arms, said that everything was fine, that Aunt Cissy and Uncle Dave were waiting for them, that they could be asleep again in fifteen minutes. They could stay in their pj's but they had to put on shoes and coats.

Johnny pleaded to come with them to Hawaii, made a case involving jet skis and snorkeling, but Barb, holding back tears, said “not this time” and busied herself with socks and shoes and toothbrushes and Game Boys.

“You're not telling us something, Mom. It's still dark!”

“There's no time to go into it, Johnny. Everything's okay. We've just – gotta catch a plane.”

Ten minutes later, five blocks away, Christine and David waited outside their front door as the arctic air sweeping across Lake Michigan put down a fine white powder over their lawn.

Levon watched Cissy run down the steps to meet their car as it turned in at the driveway. Cissy was two years younger than Barb, with the same heart-shaped face, and Levon saw Kim in her features, too.

Cissy reached out and enfolded the kids as they dashed toward her. She lifted her arms and took in Barb and Levon, as Barb said, “I forwarded our phone to yours, Cis. In case you get a call.” Barb didn't want to spell it out in front of the boys. She wasn't sure Cis got it yet either.

“Call me between planes,” Cis said.

Dave held out an envelope to Levon. “Here's some cash, about a thousand. No, no, take it. You could need it when you get there. Cabs and whatever. Levon, take it.”

Fierce hugs were exchanged and wishes for a safe flight and love-you's rang out loudly in the morning stillness. When Cissy and David's front door closed, Levon told Barb to strap in.

He backed the Suburban out of the drive, then turned onto Burkett Road, heading toward Gerald R. Ford International Airport, ramping the car up to ninety on the straightaway.

“Slow down, Levon.”