“We’ve missed something. Something right in front of us. Today’s the day we find it. We start at the beginning.”

The beginning again. Yes, again. Always from the beginning.

“Tell me what we do know about the perpetrator.”

“No positive ID on the man,” Benner said as he settled into a chair. “We canvassed the whole area; the artist’s sketch of the suspect didn’t turn up anything.”

“Kristen, anything new from forensics?” Olivia focused on the petite blond next to Benner.

“Nothing new. We’ve expanded the database search for the partial print CSI lifted from the doorbell to include Canadian and UK repositories. I want to rule out all possibilities.”

“Still no hits on CODIS?”

Kristen shook her head. “I’ve run our data set through the paces and we’re oh for three on hair, fiber, and prints. Our guy’s a ghost.”

“Nothing on the ViCAP cross-reference?” The violent crimes database.

“No, ma’am. If our abductor’s a career criminal, he knows how to stay off the grid.”

A ghost. Unfortunately, Alice had also been a ghost.

Olivia’s enigmatic conversation with Andrew DeVoss ran through her mind. She’d gone as high and as far as she could in an attempt to uncover more information on the project he’d referenced, but come up empty-handed. She’d also kept the information to herself, as promised.

Information from Alice’s mysterious past might be helpful, or it might not, as Andrew insisted. Either way, it wasn’t in play.

“Anything new from known associates? Tutors, teachers, her therapist?”

Benner: “We covered all the bases—neighbors, friends, school administrators, grocery store clerks, gas station attendants, anyone who could’ve had contact with the family. Local vice detectives also tapped their sources for possible child trafficking connections. Nothing.”

Olivia picked up a remote from the table and pointed it at the TV. An image of a young woman filled the screen.

“Which brings us to our most likely connection. Her mother.”

How far would Olivia have gone to recover her own daughter? Pretty far.

“Catherine Miller of Houston, Texas. Raised in a broken home, ended up with child services.”

The screen transitioned to a headshot of a teenager. Catherine.

“She ran away from an orphanage and eventually turned up in Vegas where she got a job in Ringwald’s campaign office. They hit it off and she got pregnant. Typical story. Ringwald shut her out and arranged for their daughter to enter an orphanage. Then he put Catherine in an institution to keep her quiet. Clearly, the man had some expensive lawyers.”

She clicked the remote and the image shifted to a mug shot of Catherine, now staring into the camera with vacant eyes.

“Two years later, she escapes the mental facility and turns up dead. I still think she’s our best lead.”

“She’d not a lead,” Benner said. “A maid found her remains in a Reno motel. Police report said she was seen with a local pimp that night.”

“There’s no conclusive evidence that she died in that room. They never found a body.”

“Because it was in pieces. They found a severed finger positively identified with her fingerprint from her police record. There was enough blood to paint a small bedroom.”

“We still don’t have a body. And I have a missing girl who was abducted by someone who appeared desperate to get her. We can’t dismiss the possibility that she faked her death and went after her daughter.”

“We’ve chased it down,” Benner said. “There’s no record of a Catherine Miller meeting that description alive in the country today. If it is her, she’s out of reach.”

“Then chase it down again!” Olivia snapped.

They stared at her in silence.

The whole chain of evidence was disintegrating. No forensics that linked them to anyone. No witnesses. Nothing they could sink a hook into.

“What’ve we got on the truck? From the top.”

“It’s registered to a Donald Harper from Lawrenceburg, Tennessee.” Jay Lee, an analyst with unruly hair, sat at the opposite end of the table. “It was swiped from long-term parking at Nashville International Airport six days ago. No helpful footage from security cameras. Metro PD in Nashville contacted the owner after we ran the plate. Apparently, he’d left the keys in a magnetic box in the wheel well.”

“And no link between him and the Clarks or Alice?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing new on the contents reported stolen? Just the toolbox?”

He flipped through a copy of the police report. “Just the toolbox in the back. And a cell-phone charger.”

“Cell phone charger? Why would the owner report a cell-phone charger worth twenty bucks?”

“Exactly. Worthless.”

“That’s not the point. Why?” she reiterated. “Why would anyone report a cell-phone charger missing? It makes no sense.”

Unless . . .

“Get on the phone with the owner. Find out if he meant cell-phone charger, or cell phone and charger. If he had a cell phone, find out what kind. If it has GPS capabilities and was on, the wireless company may be able to track the phone’s movement.”

“It’s been eight days since the truck was taken. Even if it was on, the battery’s probably dead.”

“Depending on the make and model it could still have juice. Call him.”

“On it,” Jay said, heading for the door.

It was a long shot, but at this juncture, she’d take a long shot over no shots. She scanned the room, thinking she should say something. But there was nothing new to say. They’d covered the same ground today as they had yesterday. Nothing but dead ends.

She slid into a chair, ran a hand through her hair, and stared at the wall. The waiting was always the hardest part. Hours, days, weeks, months . . .

Years.

That was a lot of whys.

“No further sightings in Tennessee?” she asked absently.

“None.”

“Nothing new from the DMV?”

“No.”

She slammed her hand on the table and took her frustration out on no one in particular. “Come on, people! There has to be something out there that we’re missing! Think!”

The door swung in. “Got a hit,” Jay said, phone still plastered to his ear. “He had a smartphone in the truck for work. Said he reported it stolen with the toolbox. Cell phone and charger.”

She felt her pulse spike.

“Did he have it on?”

“He couldn’t remember.”

She was out of her chair. “Phone number and carrier.”

Jay asked the owner, quickly jotted down the information on a pad, and handed it to Benner.

“Call them . . .” Olivia said.

But he was already calling.

She could hear the throb of her pulse in her ears as she paced. Her lungs tightened. If the cell phone had been left on, they would be able to track its movements for as long as the phone had held its charge.

On the other hand, if the cell phone had been off, or died before Alice had been taken, they would know nothing.

It would be back to waiting. God, she hated waiting.

Benner covered the receiver with his hand. “They got it. It’ll take some time for them to work it on their end, but they’ve got an active signal. Phone’s still on.”

ACCORDING TO THE data provided by the carrier, the blue truck carrying Alice and her abductor had traveled north out of Greenville on US 25 on the night of the abduction. Well outside of town, the man had veered west on I-26, exited near Asheville Regional Airport and made his way onto the Blue Ridge Parkway.

Despite the difficult terrain and dense vegetation, the wireless company had been able to track the vehicle’s southbound progress into the mountains to where it had angled off the main road and onto a ribbon of dirt road that disappeared into the woods. Five miles in, the truck had stopped where it had remained for the past three days.