“That I do not know. Something happened. An argument, perhaps. He may be busy trying to find a new hiding place for the child. Or, even better, a place to dispose of her. Keep trying to reach him. Sooner or later he will call in.” Carlos agreed with the voice on the phone: Time to clean house.

20

“See, I got like this problem with my nephew,” Poppy said to the pharmacist, keeping her voice so low that he had to lean forward to catch every word. “He’s visiting and I found these pills in his room. Not that I don’t trust him or nothing, but I’m like, ‘What are these?’ you know?” The overhead fluorescents gleamed off the black of the pharmacist’s balding scalp as he nodded and stared at her over the top of his reading glasses. The old dude couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her eyebrow ring. Did he like live in a cave or something? Hadn’t he ever seen one before?

For more than an hour she’d driven around with the yellow pages on her lap, checking out one drugstore after another. Finally she’d settled on Doc’s Pharmacy in what looked like a black neighborhood. Kinda small but with a good-sized front window, and off the main drag in a building that looked like it had been built when dirt was new.

“I’ll be happy to identify them for you,” said the pharmacist, like he got asked this all the time. He might have been “Doc,” but more than likely he was the original Doc’s grandson. Kind of grumpy, but then, closing time was near and he looked like he wanted to go home. “Give me one and I’ll look it up.”

“That’s just it. I ain’t got any. He only had one in the bottle and I’m like, I can’t take his last pill. But I saw the name on the bottle. It was Tegretol 1oo mg. Is that bad stuff? You know, like drugs?”

“Does your nephew have a seizure disorder?”

“You mean fits?”

“Yes, I suppose you could call them that. Tegretol is used for er, fits.”

“I don’t know. My sister never told me about that, and she’s on a trip and I can’t get hold of her to ask. If you could just let me see one…”

He sighed. “Sure. Wait right here.” Poppy watched him go to the rear shelves and return to the counter with a white plastic bottle. He shook a few pills into a plastic tray and handed her one.

“Is that it?”

Poppy held up the precious little pill to the light, but her eyes were on the bottle sitting a foot away on the counter. So close. So tempting. All she had to do was reach out, grab it, and run.

And maybe get caught.

Too many people around, too much traffic on the street outside. She couldn’t risk it.

“Yeah,” she said. “That’s it. You think you could like sell me some of those?”

“Not without a prescription.”

“But he’s only got one left.” Poppy slipped a twenty on the counter. “Just a couple to hold him until I can get in touch with my sister?”

The pharmacist shook his head. “I’d like to help, but it would be against the law.”

They went ‘round and’round, but this old dude wasn’t going to budge. He gave her all sorts of suggestions that would have worked out fine if her little story was true, but they didn’t help Poppy one bit.

Just when she was getting desperate enough to make a grab for the bottle, he screwed the cap back on and held it in his hand.

“You can have that one,” he said. “Maybe it’ll give you a little extra time.”

“Thanks,” she said. “What do I owe you?”

“Forget it. I can’t sell it once it’s been touched anyway.”

Poppy stood on tiptoe and watched where he went, mentally marking the section of the rear shelves where he placed it. Then she looked at the single pill in her hand. At least Katie wouldn’t have to go through the night without her medicine.

Nice of the old grump to give it to her. Made her almost regret what she was going to have to do.

21

John pulled off 95 and coasted into the Maryland House parking lot. He found a space under a light and looked up at the big colonial-style brick building squatting on a rise about fifty yards away. Raindrops flickered through the light from its windows. With its wide brick chimneys and many-paned windows, it looked like a mansion that had fallen on hard times and was now tolerating tours to cover expenses—until you spotted the Bob’s Big Boy, Roy Rogers, Sbarro, and TCBY signs.

He checked his watch: 8:35. He was early, but didn’t see how he could be too early for this.

John sat and shivered. Not from the drizzle outside, because he was warm and dry here in the car. The cold came from within.

Something had gone terribly wrong in the Falls Church house where they’d been keeping Katie… wrong enough that a man had been stabbed to death.

What if something else goes wrong tonight and Katie winds up getting hurt?

John had identified her clothing at the police station. e’d have been sick with worry that someone had sexually molested her if he hadn’t heard her voice an hour earlier. She’d sounded so normal, almost happy. He was glad of that, but for the life of him he couldn’t understand it. She’d been kidnapped, her toe amputated—she should have sounded lost, shocked, disassociated; yet she’d been perky, bouncy, her old self. As Katie herself ad said: “Fine.” Like she’d been out on an overnight with her favorite aunt instead of her captor.

God, who was that woman who’d called?

He’d sensed something in her voice… genuine regard for Katie. He prayed he was right.

And he prayed he’d done the right thing by not telling Decker about Katie’s call.

“I guess I’ll know soon enough, won’t I,” he said aloud as he stepped out into the wet air and went looking for the phones.

22

“There he goes,” Gerry Canney said.

Bob Decker had parked in the south lot. He squinted through the dripping windshield and watched Vanduyne trot through the rain toward the Maryland House. Plenty of light from the mercury bulbs overhead and the fluorescent backwash from the Exxon station behind them.

He yawned. A long, hard day, but he felt wired instead of tired. Excitement and apprehension burned inside him.

“Your people set up?” Canny started to answer, then held a hand up as his walkie-talkie earpiece buzzed. He pulled out his handset.

“Good work, Trevor,” he said. “Keep an eye on her.”

Bob stiffened. “We’ve spotted her?”

“It’s Vanduyne’s wife. She followed him from his place. When I heard that, I put an agent named Trevor Hendricks on her. Used to be a stunt driver. As they got within a few miles of here, he boxed her in behind some slow-moving cars until Vanduyne was out of sight. She’s still on Ninety-five, somewhere north of here, racing along, trying to catch up to him.”

Bob smiled. “Smooth. I love it.”

Earlier Vanduyne had told Canney about his wife and how she was asking all sorts of troublesome questions about Katie’s whereabouts. Vanduyne’s lawyer had faxed him selected sections of the court file on Mamie Vanduyne… one very messed-up lady. Bob had told Canney to put someone on her. Good thing too.

He glanced up at the glowing windows of the Maryland House. A busy place, with travelers of all ages, shapes, sizes, colors streaming in and out, tour buses disgorging hordes, even at his hour.

“Pretty amazing inside,” Canney said. “The phones are up on the second floor, along with a bank, a copy machine, fax services. More like a business office than a rest stop.”

“What’d you tell your people?” Canney shrugged. “As much as they need to know and no more. They’ve all got pictures of Katie and Vanduyne. They know it’s a kidnap situation and possibly— hopefully—a victim transfer.”

“Right. Hopefully.” Canney turned to him. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

Bob’s turn to nod. “That this is some sort of trap? Yeah. Makes sense, especially after that corpse in Falls Church. Dicastro had to be involved. I mean, the kid’s prints are all over the bedroom, bathroom, and living room. She was there. What I don’t get is, we’ve been so sure this was a cartel operation, yet this Dicastro’s got no drug connection.”