Hunting Fear

CHAPTER 3

Tuesday, September 25

I don't need watchdogs," Carrie Vaughn said with a considerable amount of force. "I can take care of myself, and I don't like people hovering around me."

"They aren't hovering, Miss Vaughn. I've got a patrol car parked across the highway on that old dirt road; you can barely see them when you look out a window." Sheriff Metcalf kept his voice as patient as possible. "They're just keeping an eye on things, is all."

"Because some gypsy fortune-teller says I'm in danger? Jesus, Sheriff."

"I have to act on information received, Miss Vaughn, especially when we've already had one kidnapping that ended in murder."

"Information from a fortune-teller?" She didn't try to hide her disgust. "I hope you aren't planning on running again at the next election."

The rest of the conversation was brief, and Metcalf hung up the phone a minute or two later, scowling. He turned to face Lucas, who was on the other side of the conference table, and said, "Tell me again why we're listening to her."

Lucas didn't have to ask which "her" the sheriff was referring to. "She's genuine, Wyatt."

"You're saying you believe she can see the future before it happens."

"Yes."

"Because she proved it to you in the past."

Lucas nodded.

"I've never in my life met a gullible cop. You sure you're a fed?"

"Last time I looked." Lucas sighed. "I know it's difficult to accept, especially given her role in a carnival."

"You can say that again. I think the lack of credibility sort of accompanies the purple turban."

"She warned you about Callahan."

"A fluke. A coincidence. The one lucky guess in a thousand tries."

"And if she's right about Carrie Vaughn?"

"The second lucky guess." Metcalf grimaced when Lucas lifted an eyebrow at him. "Okay, so a second lucky guess that specific would be pushing it. But you are not going to convince me that she can see the future."

Lucas had heard that particular note in someone else's voice often enough to recognize it: for Wyatt Metcalf, believing that it was possible to see the future before it occurred was a direct challenge to some deep and long-held belief. It would require drastic evidence to convince him, and he would be angry rather than happy if that evidence presented itself.

So all Lucas said was, "Then treat her information the same way you'd treat any anonymous tip; take precautions and check it out."

"In this case, watch Carrie Vaughn and wait."

"I'd say so. Unless and until we have another lead or information more useful than this lot." He gestured toward the files, reports, and photos spread out on the conference table.

"Nothing positive from Quantico?"

"Not so far. Your people are thorough and well-trained, just as you said; they didn't miss anything. Which means we're not left with much in the way of evidence."

"What about that handkerchief Zarina says she got her vision from?"

Lucas cleared his throat. "At Quantico being tested. We should have the results by tomorrow."

Metcalf eyed him. "Something on your mind?"

"I wouldn't keep calling her Zarina if I were you."

"What, she's going to put a gypsy curse on me?"

"She isn't a gypsy."

Metcalf waited, brows raised.

Lucas really didn't want to get into this with the sheriff, and that reluctance was in his tone when he said, "Look, she doesn't deserve scorn or ridicule. You don't believe she's a genuine psychic, that's fine. But don't treat her like a joke."

"I can't get past the turban," Metcalf admitted.

"Try."

"I seem to remember you making a crack about the circus being in town."

"I'm allowed," Lucas said wryly, even as he wondered if Samantha would agree with that.

"Oh?"

"I don't think I'll show you my scars, if it's all the same to you."

"Ah, so there is a history."

"You didn't need a crystal ball to figure that out," Lucas muttered, frowning down at the postmortem report on Mitchell Callahan.

"No, it was fairly obvious. And very surprising. I don't see you as the type to visit carnivals."

"No."

"Then she was involved in one of your cases before this?" Metcalf didn't try to disguise his curiosity.

"Something like that."

"I gather it ended badly."

"No, the case ended successfully; we got the guy."

"It was just the relationship that tanked, huh?"

Lucas was saved from replying when Lindsay spoke from the open doorway.

"Jesus, Wyatt, you're worse than a woman."

"I was investigating," he told her.

"You were being nosy." She came into the room, shaking her head. "Luke, Jaylene's on her way in. She says she didn't get anything new from Mitch Callahan's wife."

"Well, we didn't really expect to," he said. "But the base had to be covered."

"So this is what you guys have been doing for a year and a half?" she asked, curious herself now. "Zipping around the country on that private jet of yours as soon as the kidnapping reports come in? Double-checking everything, combing through reports, talking to family and coworkers of the abductees?"

"When we get a case after the fact, yes." He knew the frustration was in his voice but didn't try to hide it; after more than twenty-four hours in Golden and working with Wyatt and Lindsay, they knew much more about the serial kidnappings and Lucas felt more comfortable with what they knew.

He had not, however, told them the whole story of the SCU or his own and Jaylene's abilities, an omission that bothered him less on his and Jay's account than on Samantha's.

A sobering realization.

"What about when you get the case right away-after the abduction but before the ransom is paid or a body found?" Lindsay was asking, still curious.

"It's only happened twice, and both times we were a step behind him all the way." He hesitated, then added, "In fact, I got the distinct feeling we were being led by the nose."

"Which," Lindsay said, "lends weight to Sam's theory that this guy is playing some kind of game with you, and has been for some time."

It was Metcalf who said, "You two seem to be getting awfully chummy."

"You mean just because I don't treat her like a leper the way the rest of you do? That I might sit down and have a cup of coffee and a conversation with her?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"The hell you don't." Lindsay shook her head. "She volunteers to stay here at the station, under your and everybody else's eye for the duration, and you're still acting like she stole your dog."

"Dammit, Lindsay, I'm getting a lot of questions and you know it. I can't hold her here legally, and explaining that she's here voluntarily just opens up a whole new can of worms."

"I don't see why it should," Lindsay responded. "She has a cot in one of the interview rooms and she's paying for her own food, so it's not like the taxpayers have an extra burden. The press certainly understands what she's trying to do."

"Oh, yeah," the sheriff said sardonically, "they had their headlines for today, all right. Gypsy Seeks to Prove Innocence by Remaining in Police Custody. The problem is, the more astute among the media have figured out that the only way she can prove herself innocent doing this is if we have another kidnapping while she's in custody."

"Tomorrow's headline," Lucas murmured.

Metcalf nodded. "Judging by the questions I've been getting. Naturally, they're wondering how we could expect another kidnapping. As Luke and Jaylene pointed out yesterday, most kidnappers don't try it twice, and very few even stick around after a successful delivery of the ransom."

With a grimace, Lindsay said, "I hadn't thought about that. But of course they would wonder, wouldn't they?"

"And they aren't the only ones," the sheriff told her. "The mayor called, as well as two members of the town council, demanding to know why I believe someone else could be kidnapped and whether I know who it will be."

"I'm guessing you didn't tell them."

"Of course I didn't tell them. There's no way I'm going to admit to anyone that the ravings of a lunatic carnival fortune-teller are dictating any part of this investigation."

Lucas stopped himself from wincing at Metcalf's vehemence, but it was another reminder that Bishop had been right to take the course he had while forming the unit. As unbelievable as psychic abilities often seemed, people were far more inclined to at least accept the possibility when the ones who claimed to have them worked in "serious" jobs and relied on scientific explanations- even if the science was speculative-to describe and define their abilities.

And having a federal badge didn't hurt.

"Wyatt, she's not a lunatic and she hasn't been raving," Lindsay objected. "Besides, with all the psychic stuff you see on TV and in the movies these days, people are a lot more open to the idea than you might think. Most people, anyway."

"If you're talking about that guy on TV who claims to read minds, all I can say is that you're a lot more gullible than I ever would have imagined, Lindsay."

"He's very convincing."

"He's a con artist. It's called a cold reading, and whatever skill it takes I can promise you isn't paranormal."

"You can't be sure of that," she said.

"Want to bet?"

The argument might have continued indefinitely if one of the young deputies hadn't knocked on the doorjamb just then, peering into the conference room with a very anxious look on his face. "Sheriff? If it's okay, I need to run home for a few minutes. I know I've already had my lunch break, but-"

"What's up, Glen?"

"It's just… I need to make sure Susie and the baby are okay. I called, but didn't get an answer."

"Maybe she has the baby outside," Lindsay offered. "It's a nice day."

"Yeah, maybe. But I'd like to be sure." He smiled nervously. "Maybe it's just being a new dad, but-"

"Go ahead, take off," Metcalf told him. "You'll worry 'til you know for sure."

"Thanks, Sheriff."

When the deputy had gone, Lucas didn't give the other two a chance to resume their argument. At least in his presence. "Since we agreed to split the duty as much as possible, why don't you two go on to lunch? I'll wait for Jaylene to get back, and we'll go later."

"Suits me," Metcalf said.

Lindsay agreed with a nod, and the two left.

It was probably five minutes later that Lucas swore under his breath when he realized he'd read the same paragraph three times and still didn't know what was in it. Instead of trying again, he leaned back in his chair and drummed his fingers on the table, arguing silently with himself.

Finally, however, he admitted defeat just as silently and got up. He left the conference room and made his way to the lower level of the sheriff's department, which housed the jail cells and interview rooms.

The deputy on duty down there nodded as he passed, then returned to the magazine in his hands. The only occupant of the cells was one very unhappy young man brought in on a destruction-of-property charge, and he was too busy feeling sorry for himself to cause any trouble, so the deputy's only responsibility was to keep an eye on the cells and on the closed door of Room 3.

Where Samantha Burke was currently staying.

The door wasn't locked. Lucas hesitated, then knocked once and went in.

The small room was normally spartan, with a table and chairs, a security camera high in one corner, and a small TV high in the opposite one; the addition of a cot and the duffel bag holding Samantha's things reduced the floor space considerably and did nothing to make her temporary accommodations even appear to be comfortable.

She was sitting at the table, a soft drink and a Styrofoam box containing a partially eaten salad before her.

"Still eating like a rabbit, I see," he said, mostly for something to say.

"Old habits." She sipped the drink, eyeing him, then said dryly, "And I doubt interest in my lunch is what brought you down here. What've I done now, Luke?"

"That deputy, Champion. He brought you your lunch, didn't he?"

"Yeah. So?"

"Did he drop something? Did you touch his hand?"

Coolly, she said, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm talking about him leaving here one breath away from panic to rush home and check on his wife and kid."

"New dads worry, I'm told." Her voice was still cool. "And he's such a proud one. Showed me a picture. Pretty wife, cute kid. He's right to be proud of them."

"So that was it. You touched the picture. And?"

She leaned back with a sigh. "And I told him he needed to go home and unplug their clothes dryer until he can get someone to check it. Because it could cause a fire."

"When?"

"Today." Samantha smiled wryly. "His wife dries clothes in the afternoon, when the energy demand is lower. Plus the baby likes the sound, it helps her to go to sleep. But drying clothes today wouldn't be a good idea. So I told him that. And even though he didn't want to believe me, I expect he went home to unplug that dryer. Just in case."

He'd been watching her for a while now, so he had her routine down pat. He knew when he would take her, and how. By now, that part of things was almost second nature, so that he could perform on autopilot.

That wasn't the fun part, not anymore.

This was the fun part, and he was enjoying himself even more knowing that at last all the necessary players were in place and paying attention.

He'd begun to think they would never catch on.

But now… now they were finally starting to understand, and all the long months of planning and careful, calculated actions had put all the pieces on the game board.

Really, it was all falling into place so beautifully that it made him wonder if there actually was a God.

He hummed to himself as he checked the seals, making certain there would be no leaks. Going over it meticulously, because he refused to make mistakes.

It wouldn't be a true test of which one of them was smarter if he made any mistakes.

So he checked every inch, every detail, going over and over the plan until he was absolutely positive there was nothing left out, nothing forgotten, nothing wrong.

He polished the glass and metal until there was no hint of a fingerprint or even a smear, vacuumed the space for the third time, compulsively took apart all the connections so he could wipe down each component individually.

They would find only the signs he wanted them to find.

When he was done this time, he stood back and studied the room, playing out in his head how it would be. She was tough, so he didn't think she'd be all that scared at first. Which was good for his purposes.

Once he'd figured out it was the fear that drew Jordan, he had chosen his lures even more carefully. He liked the tough ones, the ones that didn't scare easily. Because that made it all the sweeter when they realized what was going to happen to them and how helpless they were to stop it.

This one, he thought, would be one of the best. When she finally broke, her terror would be extreme. He didn't know if Jordan could feel it or smell it, but either way it would hit him like a punch to the gut.

To be this close.

To have an innocent taken from beneath his very nose.

To begin to really understand the game.

"Jesus, Sam."

"What? What was I supposed to do, Luke? Ignore what I saw? Let that lady and her baby die?"

"Of course not."

"Well, then. I gave him the calmest, most low-key warning I could come up with, spur-of-the-moment. I'm sure you could have done better in disguising the psychic origins of the information, what with all your training and experience in these things, but-"

"Will you stop with that shit? I didn't make the rules, Sam. I wasn't the one who decided that anything that smacked of carnivals or sideshows could never be part of what we are. But you know what? For the record, I agree with Bishop on that one. I have had to deal with too many hard-nosed, skeptical cops like Wyatt Metcalf not to have learned that we have to look serious and act serious if we have even a hope of being accepted for what we are and believed. So we can do our jobs."

"Oh, I'm sure you're right. You usually are, after all." She closed the take-out box and pushed the salad away. "Lost my appetite. Can't imagine why."

Lucas was sorely tempted to turn around and walk out but fought the impulse. Instead, he pulled the other chair out and sat down across from her.

"Please," she said, "join me."

"Thanks, I will." He kept his voice even. "Do you think we can talk like two rational people for a minute?"

"Maybe a minute. Though I wouldn't bet on it."

"Jesus, Sam."

"You already said that."

What he said then was something he hadn't wanted or intended to say. "I never meant to hurt you."

Samantha laughed.

Lucas supposed he deserved that, but it didn't make it any easier to take. "I didn't. I know you don't believe that, but it's the truth."

"As a matter of fact, I do believe it. So what?"

He wasn't a man who was easily knocked off his balance, but he had to admit, at least silently, that Samantha always managed to do just that. "So can we stop fighting?"

"I don't know. Can we?"

"Christ, you're a stubborn woman."

"That's not even conversation."

"Do I have to remind you again that I'm in the middle of a serial kidnapping and murder investigation?"

"We're in the middle. I'm here too, Luke."

"You being here is just-" He stopped, then slowly finished, "a fluke."

Samantha didn't say a word.

"Happenstance. A coincidence."

She picked up her drink and sipped.

Lucas was aware of a second impulse to get up and walk out of the room, and he very nearly obeyed that one. Instead, he drew a deep breath, let it out slowly, and said, "The carnival isn't in Golden because the next town on the schedule just hosted a circus. The carnival is in Golden because you wanted it to be here."

"I didn't want to be here, Luke, believe me. In fact, I would have gone a long way to avoid being here just now. But we both know some of the things I see simply can't be changed. And unfortunately for us both, this is one of them. It's the real punch line of the cosmic joke. In that vision where I saw you playing chess with the kidnapper, I also saw myself standing behind you. You can't win the game without me."

Lindsay stretched languidly and yawned. "God. Do we have to go back to the station?"

Metcalf eyed smooth flesh still clinging to its golden summer tan and reached over to touch her. "Somebody might wonder if we never come back from lunch," he noted absently.

"Ummm. What lunch? I've lost ten pounds with these lunches of ours."

"We can stop for a quick burger on the way back."

"You always say that, but when it comes down to it neither one of us is hungry."

"So we lose a few pounds and go back to work relaxed and de-stressed; I'd call that a good lunch break."

Lindsay started to reach for him but saw over his shoulder the clock on the nightstand and groaned. "We've been gone almost an hour now."

"I'm the sheriff. I can be late."

"But-"

"And so can you."

They were very late in returning to the station, and when absolutely nobody commented, Lindsay wondered for the first time if their "secret" affair was as secret as she'd believed.

People were very studiously not commenting.

They found both Lucas and his partner in the conference room. He was pacing with the wired energy of a caged cat; Jaylene was sitting on the end of the conference table, watching him meditatively.

"Sorry," Lindsay said as they came in.

Lucas paused and looked at her. "Why?"

"Lunch. We're late getting back."

"Oh. That." He resumed pacing. "I'm not hungry."

Gesturing to two Styrofoam containers behind her on the table, Jaylene said, "I brought him something, but he's been a little… preoccupied."

"Has something happened?" Metcalf asked.

"No," Lucas said. He glanced at Jaylene, then added, "Nothing's changed."

Metcalf looked at Lindsay. "Was that a qualified statement? It sounded qualified to me."

"Don't ask," Lucas told him. "You won't like the answer, believe me."

"It's Samantha," Jaylene said. "She believes she's meant to be here, to be involved in the investigation. To help Luke win the game."

"Shit," Metcalf said.

Lindsay asked, "Help him how?"

"If she even knows, she isn't saying."

"I don't think she knows," Lucas said. "Just that she's somehow involved."

"That's what I've been saying," the sheriff reminded them.

Lucas stopped pacing and took a chair. "Involved in the investigation. On our side."

"Your side," Jaylene murmured.

"Is there a difference?" he demanded.

"Maybe so."

He gestured slightly as though pushing the comment away, then said, "Whether Sam's involved doesn't change the fact that we've got nothing to go on. No evidence, nothing to I.D. him or even point us in his direction. If this bastard follows his usual pattern, he's already in another state and planning his next abduction."

Lindsay said, "But Sam says his next abduction is here in Golden." She frowned. "If we assume for a minute that she's right, why would he change his M.O. now? I mean, why plan two kidnappings in the same area? Isn't that asking for trouble?"

"Maybe it's asking for Luke," Jaylene offered. "Maybe part of the game was to eventually get us in position before the fact. It would be the first time."

"And really the only way he could do it," Lucas said slowly. "We're here investigating his last abduction, so if he wanted us on the scene before his next one, he'd pretty much have to plan it here, while we were here."

Jaylene looked at the clutter of files and photographs on the table. "So… if he got us here before the fact, and it's part of his game, then it's at least possible that he has left us a… clue, for want of a better word. Something that offers Luke at least a fighting chance against him. Otherwise, the game's winner is predetermined. And there's no contest."

Metcalf scowled. "I hate to admit that Zarina had a point, but that comment about broken minds makes a certain amount of sense. I mean, can we reasonably expect this guy to play by any kind of rules?"

"He'll play by his rules," Lucas said slowly. "He has to. Being careful and meticulous has been a point of honor for him, so this will be too. The game has rules. And he will abide by those rules. The trick for us… is figuring out what they are."

Jaylene said, "Which goes back to my point. He can't reasonably expect you to play his game unless and until the rules are clear. So at some point they have to be. Maybe at this point. And since he didn't send us a printed list, they have to be here." She gestured to the paperwork spread out on the table. "Somewhere."

Metcalf said, "You can't be serious? It's the proverbial needle in a haystack."

"Not much of a haystack," Lucas reminded him. "Even after eighteen months, we have very little in the way of evidence. We have cause of death; we have crime-scene reports but only from locations where the bodies were found, never where the vics were killed; we have the statement from the single surviving victim, which tells us only that he spoke to her, sounded intelligent and, in her words, 'scary as hell'; we have statements from friends, family members, and coworkers of the vics; we have some minor trace evidence, hair and fibers that may or may not be connected to the kidnapper; we have ransom notes printed on a very common brand of ink-jet printer-and that's about it."

"Lotta paper," Lindsay said. "But not a very helpful haystack."

"Yeah, but it has to be," Jaylene pointed out. "Doesn't it? He's here, we're here. After following him around for a year and a half, we've apparently reached the next stage of the game."

"If Zarina's right about that," Metcalf reminded them.

"Her name," Lucas said, "is Samantha."

"That's not what the posters say."

"Wyatt," Lindsay murmured.

"Well, it isn't. She goes by Zarina, right?"

"Only when she's working," Lucas said. "Wyatt, please. The problem with assuming about Sam's prediction-either way-is that we have to wait. We won't know if the kidnapper is still in this area unless and until he abducts another victim. Now, we can assume he's already gone and wait for a kidnapping report somewhere in the East, or we can assume he's still here and about to snatch his next vic-and wait for that to happen."

"Our part of the game plan sucks," Metcalf noted.

"Or," Lucas continued, "we can expect him to grab someone by tomorrow evening or Thursday morning-Carrie Vaughn, if Sam's right-and we can spend that time looking for his goddamned game rules and watching the potential target very, very closely."

"We already know one of his rules," Lindsay said. "When he takes the victims. Sometime between noon on Wednesday and noon on Thursday. Right?"

Jaylene nodded. "Right. Every single victim was snatched during that twenty-four-hour period."

"Rule number one," Lucas said. He reached out to draw a file folder close. "Let's start looking for rule number two."

Wednesday, September 26

Metcalf came into the conference room, saying briefly, "Carrie Vaughn has a detective in her living room as well as a patrol car in her driveway. She's safe. She's not happy, but she's safe."

Lucas glanced at his watch. "Just before noon. If he's still in Golden and has another kidnapping planned so soon, he'll move by noon tomorrow."

"If we got that rule right," Lindsay said.

"Yeah. If."

Metcalf said, "Just for the record, I locked Zarina in her room."

Lucas frowned slightly but didn't look up as he said, "A sensible precaution, from your point of view."

"I thought so. And she didn't seem too upset about it."

"Probably because you didn't call her Zarina to her face."

Shrugging, Metcalf sat down at the table. "I'm still surprised all her carnie friends haven't shown up here."

"She probably told them what she meant to do and asked them to stay away. They're a tight group; they'd handle it however she asked them to."

"You almost sound like you respect them."

"I do. Most of them have been on their own since they were kids but still managed to carve out a fair living for themselves without breaking a law or hurting others. That puts them in the Decent Human Being column of my book."

Lindsay noted that her hardheaded lover wasn't pleased to hear that information; it put human faces on his easy targets and made it more difficult for him to lump them together under a neat label. It also made him aware of what he was trying to do, and that naturally irritated him.

She couldn't help smiling wryly, but all she said was, "I guess we're all eating lunch in today. What does everybody want, and I'll go get it."

For the remainder of that day, they were all in and out of the room, going over the paperwork again and again, discussing the previous kidnappings and murders. And getting nowhere.

Even what had seemed a promising clue-the handkerchief Samantha had picked up at the carnival-proved to be fairly useless according to the report from Quantico. Mass-produced and sold in any retail store one might name, the handkerchief held a few grains of dirt, undoubtedly acquired when it was dropped onto the ground, but no sign of any human secretions whatsoever.

The lab technician allowed that there was a faint spot containing an oily residue, as yet unidentified, but it would require more time to determine what it might be.

"Ten to one," Metcalf said, "it'll turn out to be popcorn oil. And they've got-what?-at least two booths selling the stuff?"

"Four on a busy night," Lucas said with a sigh.

"Dead end," Jaylene murmured.

There was no good reason for them to remain at the station that night and every reason for them to rest while they could, so they called it a day well before midnight and went to their respective homes or hotel rooms.

Thursday morning proved to be busy, with numerous calls pulling both Metcalf and Lindsay out of the station for a considerable period of time, so Lucas and Jaylene found themselves alone in the conference room more often than not.

"Is it just me," he said around ten-thirty, "or is time crawling by?"

"It's definitely dragging." She glanced up to watch him prowling restlessly back and forth in front of the bulletin boards where they had pinned information and a timeline for the kidnappings and murders. "At the same time, we 're running out of it. If he's going to act this week…"

"I know, I know." He hesitated, then said, "You talked to Sam this morning."

"Yeah."

"And she didn't have anything else to add?"

"No. But she's as restless and jumpy as you are."

Lucas frowned, and returned to his chair at the conference table. "I just hate knowing I'd rather he went ahead and did whatever he's going to do so we might have something new to work with. I don't want another victim, and yet-"

"And yet another victim will tell us we're on the right track. More or less."

"Yeah, goddammit."

Metcalf came into the room and sat down with a sigh. "Did everybody go nuts all of a sudden? It's Thursday, for Christ's sake, and you'd think it was Saturday night. Fender benders, B amp;Es, domestic disputes-and some asshole just tried to rob one of our three banks."

"Unsuccessfully, I gather," Lucas said.

"Yeah, but not much credit to my people. Guy had a flare gun. A flare gun. I was ready to shoot him just on general principle. And because he fucked up my morning."

Jaylene chuckled, and said, "Quite a lot of action for a small town. Maybe it's the newspaper stories getting people all riled up."

"Yeah, let's blame them." Metcalf sighed. "So have you two made any progress?"

"No," Lucas replied shortly.

"He's a little cranky," Jaylene explained.

"Aren't we all." Metcalf looked up with a scowl as one of his deputies came in and handed him an envelope. "What the hell's this?"

"Dunno, Sheriff. Stuart told me to give it to you." Stuart King was the deputy on the front desk today.

Lucas looked across the table as the deputy left and Metcalf opened the letter. He saw a quiver disturb the sheriff's long fingers. Saw his face go dead white.

"Jesus," Metcalf whispered.

"Wyatt?" When he got no response, Lucas left his chair and went around the table to the sheriff. He saw the printed letter addressed to Metcalf. Saw a photograph. He actually looked at the photograph, conscious of a deep shock.

"Jesus," Metcalf repeated. "The bastard's got Lindsay."