Snatched: A Novella

CHAPTER ONE

Special Agent Will Trent sat in the last stall of the men’s bathroom between gates C-38 and C-40 at Atlanta’s Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport. He stared at the closed stall door as he tried not to listen to a man availing himself of the urinal. Muzak played from the overhead speakers. Lady Antebellum’s “Need You Now.” At first, the song had reminded Will of his sort-of-new girlfriend, Sara Linton. And then it had played over and over again, at least sixteen times in the last five hours, and all Will could think about was jamming his fingers into a wall socket and electrocuting himself so he never had to hear it again.

There were many jobs with the Georgia Bureau of Investigation that agents considered less than ideal-running background screenings for convenience store owners who wanted to sell lottery tickets, going undercover in bingo parlors to make sure old ladies weren’t being ripped off-but no assignment was considered more odious than having to police the men’s toilets at the busiest passenger airport in the world.

Sites all over the Internet listed the best bathrooms for male travelers seeking anonymous hook-ups. Hartsfield was always a prime location. Posters gave the best times for cruising, the type of guy to expect in which concourse, and the various under-stall contortions that were preferred at each location.

Will didn’t mind what two consenting adults got up to. He just wished they wouldn’t do it in public where kids could walk in. He usually spent the first half hour of every morning checking the cruising sites and anonymously posting that he’d seen a police officer staking out the stalls.

And still these idiots kept showing up.

Eighty-nine million passengers a year. Five runways. Seven concourses. Over a hundred restaurants. Twice as many shops. A people mover. A train station. Close to 6 million square feet of space that sprawled across two counties, three cities, and five jurisdictions. Seven hundred and twenty-five commodes. Three hundred and thirty-eight urinals.

This last bit of trivia was particularly galling, as Will was probably going to lay eyes on each and every urinal in the airport before he died.

All because he wouldn’t get a haircut.

The GBI manual called for agents to keep their hair at least half an inch off their collar. Amanda Wagner, his boss, had slapped a ruler to his neck a few days ago. Will was right on the line, but Amanda had never been one to let fact get in the way of her firm opinion. When Will hadn’t rushed to the barber, she’d assigned him to toilet duty until further notice. Amanda was going to have to wait a good long while. Sara liked Will’s hair long. She liked to stroke her fingers through it. She liked to drag her nails along his scalp.

Which meant Will was pretty much going to be the Samson of Hartsfield until the day he died.

A man walked into the bathroom. He said, “What I told her was, ‘You don’t like it, you can move out.’ ”

Will leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. Over the course of the last few days, he’d learned that a surprising number of people talked on their cell phones while they used the bathroom. One of the janitors had told Will that seven million people a year accidentally dropped their phones in the toilet. Will prayed this jackass would be one of them.

No such luck.

The urinal flushed. The man left without washing his hands. This was no longer shocking, either. In fact, Will had witnessed worse lapses in personal hygiene over the last two weeks than he had during his entire adult life.

Will pulled out his cell phone to check the time. The numbers glimmered, then the screen went blank. A marathon session of Minesweeper had drained the battery into the red zone. He would have to charge it during lunch, which was blissfully close enough to justify abandoning his post. The business travel rush had come and gone. Another morning without an arrest. Will hoped his good luck would flow into the afternoon. He was probably the only cop on the planet right now who was happy to post a zero in the win column.

Will stood up. His knees popped. He stretched his arms up to the ceiling in order to coax his spine into a position more conducive to walking. A spasm nearly doubled him over. He wasn’t built for sitting all day. He’d rather chase a chicken back and forth across a courtyard than do this. At the very least, it would give him some exercise.

Around ten every morning, Will usually had his second breakfast of a fried chicken biscuit. By noon, he was at Nathan’s ordering a slawdog meal. At two, he visited the pretzel stand, and at four-thirty, he grabbed an ice cream sandwich or a Cinnabon on his way to the parking garage.

If he didn’t die of boredom, he always had a heart attack to look forward to.

The stall door next to him opened. Reluctantly, Will sat back down on the toilet and waited. Lady Antebellum revved up over the speakers. Will suppressed a scream. He’d thought he had another thirteen minutes before the track cycled on again. The song pierced his eardrums like an ice pick.

And then a child whispered, “Please, I wanna go home.”

Will turned his head, though he could only see the wall next to him. There was something plaintive in the little girl’s voice that cut straight through. Will leaned down. He saw a pair of white Hello Kitty ballet shoes with pink trim. Impossibly tiny ankles in white tights. The man behind her wore gray Brooks running shoes. The hem of his tan cargo pants was high, showing white socks.

“Just go,” the man ordered. “Quickly.”

Slowly, the little feet turned. The bigger feet did not.

Will sat up. He stared at the stall door in front of him. Phone numbers of escorts, tips on the best strip clubs. He knew them all by heart.

The man said, “Hurry up.” He said something else, but his voice was too low for Will to make out the words.

Regardless, the little girl sniffed, which made Will wonder if she was crying. He also wondered why every hair on the back of his neck was standing at attention. Will had been with the GBI for fifteen years and learned early on that there was such a thing as a cop’s intuition.

Something wasn’t right here. He felt it in his gut.

Will stood from the toilet. He’d taped a Band-Aid over the automatic sensor to keep the toilet from flushing. He peeled back the strip and let the sound of a flush announce his presence.

There was a subtle change in the air, as if the man was suddenly on alert.

Will unlocked the stall door. His badge was looped on his belt. He slipped it into his pocket, not wanting to spook the guy. His Glock and holster had been checked with security, but his handcuffs were neatly stacked into the leather pouch at the small of his back.

Which hardly mattered. You couldn’t arrest a man for snapping at his daughter. Half the population would be in jail right now.

But still-Will sensed that something was wrong.

He went to the sink and held his hands under the faucet so the water would flow. Will waited, staring at the reflection of the closed stall. He could still see the man’s heels under the door. The running shoes looked new. The hem was torn at the back of the trousers. The man had used a stapler to tack them up.

Seconds passed. A full minute. Finally, the little feet went back to the floor.

The toilet flushed. Will waited. And waited. Eventually, the lock slid back. The stall door opened. Will glanced at the man, taking in the short brown hair, the thick black glasses, before returning his gaze to his hands under the faucet. The guy was wearing a green jacket that looked a few sizes too big. He was tall, almost matching Will’s height of six-three, but probably weighing in at twenty pounds heavier, mostly in the gut. He looked to be around fifty. There was no telling how young the girl was; maybe six or seven. She was in a flowered dress. The pink collar matched her shoes.

Will tried a casual, “How’s it going?”

The man didn’t respond. A nervous look twisted his features before he turned toward the exit, dragging the little girl behind him.

Will’s peripheral vision tracked the man leaving the bathroom. At the last minute, the man jerked the girl by the arm and practically flung her into the concourse.

Definitely not right.

Will waited a few seconds before following them. He peered around the corner of the exit and saw the man glancing nervously over his shoulder. Was he looking for his wife? Was he just irritated? Was something else going on?

The concourse was filled with the usual travelers dragging suitcases and pillows along the tile floor. Will weaved in and out of them, hunching down because his height made him stick out among most of the crowd. He saw the man heading toward the escalator that led down to the interterminal train. Will pulled out his cell phone as he followed. He tried to scroll to Faith Mitchell’s number, but the phone didn’t respond.

Minesweeper.

Will cursed as he stuck the phone back into his pocket.

What would he tell his partner, anyway? That a man was being curt with his child in the bathroom? That the man didn’t look like the type to make sure the pink trim on his daughter’s collar exactly matched the pink on her Hello Kitty shoes?

If she was his daughter.

Will could see the top of the girl’s head. Her hair was light, almost yellow. The man’s hair was an unnatural brown, possibly dyed. Did that mean he wasn’t the father? Will hadn’t grown up with brothers and sisters, but he knew that the color of your hair could darken as you grew older. Will knew from the few photos he had of himself as a kid that his sandy-brown hair had started out nearly white.

Besides, the man could be her stepfather.

Whoever he was, he didn’t take much care with the girl. At the bottom of the escalator, he wrenched her up by the arm, pulling her off the last two stairs, jerking her toward the train that led to the other concourses.

“Hey!” a woman shouted in protest, but the man was already heading toward the first car on the train. There were two sets of doors. He used the far set, standing close to the exit, which meant he’d be one of the first people off.

Will could hear the familiar announcement warning that the train was about to depart. He pushed past the couple in front of him, hoping he looked like a normal, hurried traveler as he bolted toward the first car. Will used the second set of doors. A quick jump at the last minute got him inside before the final announcement came.

The crowd shifted as the train pulled away from the C concourse. The car was full. Will looked up at the display that showed the train’s progress. There were three more stops before baggage claim and the exit.

Will tried to be unobtrusive as he searched for the man and the girl. A group of Delta pilots and flight attendants were clustered in the center of the car. Couples and single business travelers were packed tightly around them. Most of the occupants were looking down at their iPhones and BlackBerries. Will found the man at the front of the car. He was still standing directly in front of the doors.

The brown hair made sense now. It was a wig. The thick black glasses were probably fake, too. The man slid them up his nose as he stared at his watch. And then he looked down at his side. Will guessed he was looking at the girl. There was nothing like compassion on his face. Just anger, tinged with what looked like anxiety.

Will knelt down, pretending to tie his shoe. He peered past a woman’s leg and saw the girl. Blonde hair like straw. Pale cheeks. Deep blue eyes with tears streaming down.

She looked straight at Will, and he felt like a knife was stabbing into his chest. She was obviously terrified.

Or was she just scared because she was in a busy airport, surrounded by strangers? Was she going to a funeral? Was she visiting a sick relative?

Will stood. He’d been stuck on toilet duty for three days. Maybe he was creating a circumstance where none existed. Maybe being a cop had made him too suspicious.

Or maybe he was right.

Will turned his back to the man and child. The pilot beside him was checking her email.

“Hey,” Will said, keeping his voice low. Her look said she thought he was going to try to hit on her, but Will pulled out his badge, keeping it shielded in his hand so that the whole train wouldn’t see. “I need your phone.”

She handed it to him without question. Will knelt down again, pretending to tie his shoe. He waited for the crowd to shift, then took a picture of the little girl. He stood to capture the man’s image, but the train jerked to a stop. The doors opened. The Delta crew got off. There were only a handful of people between Will and the man now.

“You coming?” one of the flight attendants asked.

The pilot waved him off, saying, “Be right there. I forgot my flight plan.”

The flight attendant didn’t seem to buy the explanation, but the people crowding in on the train cut him off. The announcement came again, a tinny woman’s voice warning them that the train was about to depart. Will glanced up at the display. They were two more stops away from the main terminal. Will dialed a familiar phone number and sent the picture of the little girl to Faith Mitchell, his partner. He handed the phone back to the pilot. “Thank you.”

She responded with a nod, taking the phone. He saw her scan the car with thinly disguised curiosity. Most of the Delta pilots had trained in the Air Force. They were as proficient at combat as they were at landing a 747. The woman looked ready to back him up, though Will was hard-pressed to think of a legal justification for detaining the man.

The girl could be the man’s daughter. Granddaughter. Stepchild. There didn’t have to be a funeral or a sick relative. She could simply be tired and cranky from a long flight. For that matter, so could the man. Lots of people took their anger out on their kids. It was hardly a surprising occurrence.

The train slowed for the A concourse. Again, there was the usual flow in and out of passengers. The pilot gave Will an apologetic shrug before getting off the train. She glanced back at him before rolling her flight case toward the opposite train.

The doors closed. Will could feel someone staring at him. He counted off a few seconds, but he still felt scrutinized. After a few more seconds, he tried to casually look back. His eyes met the man’s. There was a steeliness there now-no anxiety. No worry.

The train slowed again. The T concourse. Will stepped toward the doors and stared at his own reflection in the glass. His suit and tie made him look like every other passenger in the airport. Except for his lack of a suitcase. Will didn’t even have a briefcase for cover.

He took out his cell phone and pretended to scroll through numbers. Faith was probably calling back the Delta pilot right now, wondering why the woman had sent her a photograph of a child. Will was seized by an overwhelming sense of futility. There was nothing about the man’s actions that indicated anything was wrong. Lots of children cried for no reason. Lots of children wanted to go home, especially after a long flight.

The doors slid open. The crowd shifted to leave before the announcement reminded them that baggage claim was the next stop. Will got off the train. He kept his eyes on his phone as he walked. He heard the doors close, the train lurch forward. He could feel the man watching him, and looked up at the last minute. The man stood in the middle of the car, feet apart to counteract the movement. His hand was gripping the girl’s arm. The corner of his mouth went up in a knowing smile.

And then he was gone.

Will bolted up the escalator, taking the metal stairs two at a time. As usual, most people either didn’t know or didn’t care that they were supposed to move to one side for those who weren’t content to stand. Will absorbed his share of nasty comments as he pushed his way to the top of the concourse.

The airport didn’t advertise the exit through the T concourse, probably because the top of the escalator was already packed with people coming out of security. Most of them had absolutely no idea where they were going. They stood at the display boards with their mouths hanging open, unable to remember their flight numbers, let alone figure out how to locate their gates.

Will had to move people aside as he broke through the milling crowd. He went to the desk just past security and showed his badge to the TSA agent. And then he couldn’t think what to say.

The guy asked, “What is it, buddy?”

Will thought about the little girl, the fear in her voice when she said she wanted to go home. The way the man dragged her along like a rag doll. That triumphant smile on his face as the train pulled away.

Will said, “I need you to call Commander Livingston and tell her there’s a possible child abduction.”

The agent grabbed the receiver and started punching numbers. He told Will, “Takes fifteen minutes to shut this place down.”

“Green jacket, tan pants, brown wig. The girl’s six or seven, flowered dress, white Hello Kitty shoes-ballet slippers. Can I borrow your cell phone?”

The man handed him his cell as he spoke into the landline. “Code Adam. I need Livingston pronto.”

Will didn’t wait around. He headed toward the exit, feeling the eyes of hundreds of cameras following him. Commander Vanessa Livingston was in charge of the Atlanta Police Department’s airport precinct. Her officers augmented the TSA, addressing the many thefts, assaults, and petty crimes that you could expect in a place that saw nearly a quarter of a million visitors every single day. The cops manning the cameras had probably already tracked Will through the airport, on the train. There would be footage of the man and child. They’d probably show it at Will’s formal hearing, where he’d be fired for harassing an innocent father and his daughter.

Will dialed Faith’s number into the TSA agent’s cell phone. She picked up on the first ring.

“Mitchell.”

“Did you get the picture?”

“Yes. What’s going on?”

“I think-” Will stopped, but it was too late to equivocate. “I think the girl is being abducted.” He mumbled an apology as he bumped into a traveler. “He had her in the bathroom. I don’t know, Faith. Something’s not right.”

“I’m on it.” Faith ended the call. Will tucked the cell phone into his pocket and quickened his pace.

A revolving door led to the South Terminal, which led to the parking decks, which led to the exit. Will didn’t wait patiently in line, instead swinging through the door before anyone could stop him. The terminal was filled with noontime travelers. Ticketing lines lazily snaked inside velvet ropes. Red Coats stood by to keep the traffic flowing smoothly. Will jogged toward the large escalators that delivered exiting passengers up from the train. He stopped at the chauffeur waiting area. The folks behind a USO sign started waving and cheering as some soldiers reached the top of the escalator.

“Uh-oh,” one of the chauffeurs said. “Trouble brewin’.”

A cop on a Segway zoomed by. Two more came on foot, hands to their guns to keep them from hitting their hips as they trotted toward the escalators. Commander Livingston was probably on her way down, too. She’d started on the force with Will’s boss a thousand years ago. They were still close friends. Amanda was probably already on her way to the airport from her downtown office. Faith would be putting out a Levi’s Call, Georgia’s version of an abducted-child alert. The entire airport was grinding to a halt.

Eighty-nine million passengers a year. Five runways. Seven concourses. Over a hundred restaurants. Twice as many shops. A people mover. A train station.

All shut down on a dime because Will had a hunch.

He felt a bead of sweat roll down the side of his face. Will found himself in the peculiar position of actually hoping a crime had been committed.

The USO crowd cheered again as more soldiers arrived. Will glanced into baggage claim, wondering if he’d missed the man and child. The exit through the T concourse was faster, but Will had stopped for God only knew how long at security. He checked the other side of the terminal, the lesser-used North Terminal. A few stragglers stood around gaping at their phones, probably not realizing that the chauffeurs were on the other side.

Will turned back around. He nearly tripped on a suitcase a woman was dragging behind her like a tail. Her head was down. She was reading her email, mindless of the fact that she was making everyone else dart out of her way. Which was a good thing, because Will would not have seen the man and child otherwise.

The green jacket was what finally caught Will’s eye. The man was fifty yards away on the other side of the baggage claim area. Will saw the top of his head, the distinct bad wig and thick glasses, as the man rode the escalator down to the lower parking level.

A surge of people pushed against Will as he ran across baggage claim. A well-timed jump over a cart of suitcases was the only thing that kept him from falling flat on his face. That didn’t stop people from yelling at him. One guy even grabbed Will by the arm, but he easily shook him off as he headed down the escalator and into the underground tunnel.

Up ahead, Will saw the man again. He was pulling the little girl. She looked as if she’d gone limp. Her feet dragged across the tile floor. She lost one of her shoes, but the man wouldn’t let her stop to get it. The double glass doors slid open. The man looked down at his watch. He walked through the door, then looked down at his watch again before he disappeared from Will’s view.

Will waved his arms in the air, hoping to catch the eye of whoever was watching the security cameras. He scooped up the girl’s shoe as he jogged through the tunnel. Will slowed his pace outside the doors, keeping his distance as he followed the man into the underground breezeway.

As with the T concourse exit, the breezeway wasn’t known by many travelers. It was a relatively private space, though it was about the length of a football field. A four-lane road separated the main airport from the bottom level of the parking garage. This time of day, the area was almost completely deserted.

Instead of crossing the road toward the garage, the man headed up the sidewalk, going in the same direction as traffic. Will put the little girl’s shoe in his jacket pocket. The thing was so small that it fit in the palm of his hand.

Cars weren’t allowed to stop underneath the airport, but many risked a ticket, idling in the breezeway in order to avoid having to pay steep parking charges. The exit was a straight shot ahead, and you could either merge onto the interstate or loop back around the airport. It was the perfect rendezvous point if you wanted to get out of here fast.

Will saw a gleaming red truck parked several feet ahead. A University of Georgia bumper sticker was on the fender, and an NRA decal was stuck to the back window of the cab. The driver was wearing a cowboy hat. Will saw the man spit into a red plastic cup as he walked by. The Cowboy nodded. Will nodded back.

And then, straight ahead, the little girl made a mewing noise as she stumbled. The man yanked her up violently. She struggled to keep up, walking on the tips of her toes. The man looked at his watch again. He glanced over his shoulder. Will tensed, but he was looking at traffic, not Will. The man studied a black Chevy Malibu that passed. Again, he looked at his watch, then back over his shoulder. Someone was supposed to pick him up; that much was obvious. Was he trading off the girl? Was he going to pick up another one and take her somewhere across the country?

The busiest passenger airport in the world. Over three thousand flights a day. Over two hundred gates. Over 130 destinations. Over a million ways to traffic children in and out of the city, if not the country.

Will looked behind him as a Prius hummed by. An Atlanta Police cruiser crawled up behind the red truck. Will motioned for the officer to stay back, but it was too late. The guy in the truck beeped his horn.

“I’m gettin’,” the Cowboy called out. The truck’s engine rumbled as he pulled away from the curb.

Will turned back around, searching for the girl and man, but they were gone.

“Shit,” Will hissed. He scanned the breezeway, furiously searching for the green jacket, the bad wig.

The Prius. It had parked in front of the far exit. Will ran toward the car. He grabbed the door handle and yanked it open. The woman inside screamed, terrified. Her hands went to her face. Her foot slipped off the pedal. Will scanned the back seat. The cargo cover was rolled up. He could see the empty trunk.

The door nearly slammed on his hand as the woman sped off.

The cop was out of his car. He spotted Will and nodded toward the parking structure, indicating he’d go check it out.

Will jogged a few yards ahead, thinking he should search the second pedestrian tunnel at the opposite end of the breezeway. Maybe the man had gone back into the airport. He was probably spooked. The rendezvous point was compromised. If this man knew what he was doing, he wouldn’t panic. At least not for long.

Will stopped running.

There had to be a backup plan. There was always a backup plan.

Will looked into the lower parking lot, his eyes scanning back and forth like a pendulum as he searched in vain for any sign of the man or girl. No bad wig. No green jacket. No cargo pants. No little tights-clad foot missing a pink shoe.

No Atlanta Police officer checking between the cars.

Where was he?

Will took out the TSA agent’s cell phone. The screen showed a missed call. Faith. Will hit the green button to call her back. He stared at the parking lot as he listened to the rings, wondering if the guy had already gotten into a car. If he had, there was no way he’d be able to drive out without being caught. Will knew the procedure. Code Adam. Missing child. It took a full fifteen minutes to shut everything down, but they started with the exit points. Each car would be stopped at the parking booths. Trunks would be searched. Seats would be pulled out. Names and licenses would be verified.

Faith answered the phone after two rings. “We’ve got a Levi’s Call out. The picture’s already on TV. We’ve blocked all the exits.”

“I lost him in the lower parking deck, south side.”

“They saw you on the security feed. A team is heading your way.”

“I’m not going to wait for them.” Will ended the call, tucking the phone back into his pocket as he crossed the street.

The red truck idled in front of the entrance to the parking deck. The Cowboy reached out to the machine for a ticket. The caution arm swung up. The truck rolled forward. Will followed it into the garage, using the truck as a shield. He saw groups of people heading into the terminal, suitcases and phones in their hands.

The only person walking away from the terminal was an older man in a baseball hat. His hair was white. He was wearing a black jacket and tan shorts. He was about Will’s height, maybe a few pounds heavier. He had something gripped in his hand. Tiny, about the size of his palm. Will put his hand in his own pocket. He felt the little girl’s shoe, and he knew it was the same man.

Where was the girl?

Will spun around, trying to find her. There was no one. Not even the Atlanta cop. The parking lot was suddenly empty of people, probably because no one was being let in. Will dropped to the ground, checking under the cars, trying to see two small feet, praying in vain that the little girl was playing hide-and-seek and everything would be okay.

But there was nothing. Nothing except the man. Will pushed himself back up. He saw the red truck making the turn onto the ramp leading up to the next level.

Then he saw the man. No more wig. No more baseball hat. No more glasses. He was staring directly at Will. He had the same snarky smile on his face. He was walking backward, hands in the pockets of his reversible jacket. His hairy legs showed where he’d unzipped the bottom part of his cargo pants to turn them into shorts. His white socks looked perfectly normal with his gray sneakers.

For a split second, Will found himself wondering if the man had worn the shoes because he knew he’d have to run. And then the answer became obvious. The man started walking faster. He kept his eyes on Will until the last minute, then spun around and took off running up the ramp.

Will’s feet pounded into the concrete as he gave chase. His fists clenched. His arms pumped. He felt the weight of the tiny shoe in his suit jacket as it tapped against his leg, like a child who wanted his attention. The little girl had his attention now. He should’ve grabbed her in the bathroom. He should’ve shut down the airport first thing. Why hadn’t he listened to his instincts? Why had he cared about getting into trouble when there was even the slightest chance that a child might be in danger?

Will’s ankle twisted as he rounded the corner and bolted up the ramp. The man was at least fifty yards ahead, passing the red truck. His shoes squeaked on the concrete as he made the turn up to the next level.

“Hey!” Will called, banging his fist against the back of the pickup. The Cowboy turned around, but Will was already climbing into the bed of the truck. “Go!” Will shouted. “Follow him!”

If there were questions in the Cowboy’s mind, he didn’t ask them. He floored the gas, tires sending up smoke as the truck accelerated up the ramp. Will tried to brace himself, kneeling down low, gripping either side of the truck bed for balance. At the last possible moment, the Cowboy wrenched the wheel, taking the turn up to the next level. Will was thrown to the opposite side of the truck. His shoulder slammed into the metal edge. There was no time to assess the damage. The man was already making the turn up the next ramp.

The Cowboy sped up again. Will thought he was going to try to run the man over. Apparently, so did the man. He abruptly changed direction, heading toward the exit stairwell with his head tucked, fists clenched.

Will felt his brain click off. It was a sort of survival mechanism, or maybe it was a death wish. The man was a few yards from the exit door. There wasn’t much time. Will pushed himself up. He used the edge of the truck as a jumping board, catapulting his body directly toward the man.

Slow motion.

The man’s hand was out, reaching for the doorknob. He turned. His mouth opened in surprise, or maybe horror.

Will slammed into him like a pile driver. The guy flattened out to the ground, arms and legs spreading from the force of 185 pounds of pressure. Will felt the breath leave his lungs. He saw literal stars behind his eyelids. He blinked, trying to clear his vision. That’s when he saw it. Hello Kitty. Pink trim. The little girl’s shoe was still gripped in the man’s fist.

“All right,” the Cowboy said. He had a Sig Sauer pointed down at them. Nine millimeter. Will guessed he kept it in the glove box of his truck. Most of these guys did. “You gonna tell me what this asshole did?”

Will couldn’t talk yet. He gulped air. His lungs rattled. Finally, he was able to force himself up. It was a challenge not to fall back over. Will’s nose was bleeding. His ears were ringing. Every muscle in his body ached. Still, he forced his knee into the man’s back, pinning him flat to the ground. “Where is she?”

The man shook his head side to side. His mouth opened as he gasped for air.

“Who did you give her to?” Will pressed his knee harder into the man’s back. “Where is she?”

Low moans came from his open mouth. His head was turned toward his wrist. He was looking at his watch again. The glass was shattered. He made a strangled sound. Will thought for a second that the man was crying.

And then he realized he was wrong.

The man was laughing.

“You’re too late,” the bastard said. “You’re too late.”