“I know some yoga positions that might help,” she said.

“That’s okay, Mom.” What was he going to tell her about Katie? She was no dummy. Having her around to help with Katie every day had been such a blessing. Now he wished she were back in Atlanta.

A thought occurred to him. He turned at the top of the stairs.

“I think I’ll lie down on the couch in the study,” he told her. “There’s this Senate hearing I want to follow and I can catch it on C-SPAN.”

“I hope you’ll be all right,” she said, still rubbing her hands together.

“I’ll be fine, Ma.” John closed the door to the study and went directly to his computer. His old Dell 486 was no longer up to the minute in speed and power but was still more than adequate for his needs at home.

Soon after assuming his post at HHS, he’d arranged for a remote link to the department’s network so he could access his files from home. He hadn’t used it much, but now it would be a godsend.

As soon his machine was up and running, he logged into HHS, plugged in his ID number, and waited for the e-mail icon to appear.

No e-mail.

Just as well. He’d thought of a number of things he hadn’t included in his first message.

For cover, he turned on the TV and, switched it to C-SPAN; then he began typing.

What he needed most was proof that Katie was alive. Devastating enough that she was gone, but the fear that she might be dead… that was crippling him.

He had to know. And the only way was to speak to her. How hard could that be to arrange? Get her to a phone, have her speak a few words, and that was that. He’d know she was alive and then he could concentrate on getting her back.

He decided on a tough, businesslike tone.

Snake— Addendum to previous e-mail: I must have proof that Katie’s alive. You say you want a “service” from me, fine. But in return for that service I want my daughter back—alive and well. For all I know right now, she could be dead and buried somewhere.

He had to lean back and take a deep, shuddering breath. Please, God, don’t let that be true.

I will perform =no= service of any sort unless I have conclusive proof that my daughter is alive. If you cannot supply that proof I will have to assume that you’ve murdered Katie. I will go immediately to the FBI.

He wanted to add that he would drop everything else in his life and personally pursue whoever was behind this to the ends of time and space, but that would be too provocative.

It was a fact, though.

He had to soften his tone now, and try again to humanize Katie to this monster.

But if Katie is alive and well as you say, please treat her gently.

She’s a fussy eater but likes Lucky Charms cereal and Doritos and McDonald’s cheeseburgers. You can imagine what an awful experience this is for her. I know she’s terrified. Please don’t be angry if she cries a lot. She didn’t ask to be kidnapped. Be gentle. =Please= be gentle.

That was it. That was all he could write without breaking down again. He forwarded the e-mail to Snake’s return address.

If only he could call the FBI. He wondered if they could trace the e-mail back to Snake’s hole in the ground.

But he didn’t dare. If Snake had access to his phone line, what else did he know? He might have somebody watching him. He couldn’t risk it… not with Katie’s life at stake.

He stood at his window and stared out at his quiet neighborhood, at people going out for lunch, coming back from shopping, walking their dogs, playing with their toddlers, going about their normal, everyday lives while his had been turned upside down and ripped inside out.

Don’t they know? Can’t they sense it? Katie is gone!

She’s all right, he told himself over and over in a prayerful litany. She has to be all right.

Behind him, as C-SPAN broadcast the current doings in Congress, John stayed at the window, trying to numb his feelings, trying to think, trying to keep from screaming.

24

“You hear that?” Poppy said.

She sat across the kitchen table from Paulie, the remains of a turkey sub between them. She was still furious at him, but also wishing he’d shave off his beard and dye his hair back to black, so he’d start looking like his old self again.

“Hear what?” Paulie said.

“Shhh!” She got up and turned off the TV. “Listen.” She heard it, softly, coming through the front room from the master bedroom. The sound she’d known would come, the sound she’d dreaded hearing.

Muffled crying.

“The kid’s awake.”

“Better go check on her,” Paulie said.

“Why me? This was your idea.”

“C’mon, Poppy,” he said. “You’re not gonna be like this the whole gig, are you?”

“I’m not taking care of no kid,” she told him. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“Fine,” he said. “We’ll let her cry.” He took a bite of his sub and started flipping through the copy of Blue Blood he’d brought along.

If that was the way he wanted to be, she’d do the same. She picked up The Star and opened it. She tried to concentrate on the page-three continuation of the cover story on Sharon Stone but gave up after reading the same paragraph half a dozen times.

The muffled sobs filled her brain.

“Damn it!” she said. She stood and threw the paper across the table at Paulie. “And damn you.” Paulie looked up at her and smiled but said nothing.

Poppy stomped out of the kitchen and went straight to the master bedroom. She retrieved the Roseanne mask from the couch and slipped it over her face.

But she hesitated at the door. A crying kid. What was she like going to do with a frightened, crying kid? More than Paulie, that was for sure, but that wasn’t saying much.

Oh, hell. Let’s get this over with. She pushed the door open and poked her head inside.

The kid was lying on her back on the bed, both hands tied to the bed frame above her head. The blindfold and gag were in place, but her beret had fallen off and she’d kicked off the blanket.

What skinny little legs she had.

And she was crying. This totally sucked, frightening a little kid like this.

She stepped inside and closed the door behind her. The crying stopped as the kid stiffened, listening. Better not scare her anymore than she already is. Better say something.

“Don’t be afraid…” Hell, she didn’t even know her name. “It’s okay. You’re all right. No one’s gonna hurt you.” Poppy moved closer until she was standing over her.

Even in the dim light of the darkened room, Poppy could see tears glistening on the cheeks below the black sleep mask they used as a blindfold.

“Listen, if you promise not to yell, I’ll like take that gag out of your mouth. Is that a deal?” The kid nodded.

“Promise not to yell, now.” Another nod.

Poppy removed the gag.

“Where am I?” the kid said, her voice wavering through a sob. “Who are you? Why am I tied up? Where’s my daddy?”

“You’re going to be staying here awhile.”

“I want my daddy. Why isn’t he here?” Might as well lay it out for her: “He doesn’t know where you are.”

She started crying again, the sobs becoming progressively louder. More tears flooded from under the blindfold.

“I want to go home!”

“Remember our deal about not yelling. I’ll have to put that gag back in if you yell.” The kid bit her lower lip in an attempt to muffle her sobs. The sound was so pitiful, it damn near tore Poppy’s heart out. She knelt beside the bed.

“Hey, look,” she said softly. “Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you. No one’s going to hurt you. You’re just going to be visiting with us for a few days.”

“I wuh-want my daddy!”

Poppy had to get her off that subject. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Kuh-katie.”

“Kuh-katie, huh? I never heard a name like Kuh-katie before.”

“No. Kay-tie.”

“Oh. Katie. I’ve heard of that. That’s a cute name. Look, Katie… are you hungry?”