Ahead, Nick flattened himself against the wall beside a closed door. This was where the music was coming from, and Jeffrey could make out the chorus now, "I love you, love you, my sweet baby."

Nick reached down and opened the door, crouching in the entrance in one swift motion. Something unreadable passed on his face, and he stood, walking into the room with his gun still drawn. Jeffrey followed him, seeing a king-size bed with mirrors all around it. The sheets were messed up, as if there had been recent activity, and there was a smell in the room that Jeffrey did not want to put a name to. The stereo was propped up on the box it came in, sickly sweet music still pouring out from the speakers. Two video cameras on tripods were pointed at the bed, the mirrors on the walls reflecting the scene back to Jeffrey. He stood there, wanting nothing more than to get out of this room, as Nick checked under the bed, then opened the door to one of the closets.

Wallace made a noise to get their attention then nodded down the hallway. Jeffrey backed outside the room as Nick checked the last closet, then followed.

Wallace put his mouth close to Jeffrey's ear and whispered, "I saw a boy go in there," indicating a closed door on the opposite side of the hall.

Nick pointed to a cord hanging down from the ceiling where the retractable stairs to the attic were. The cord wasn't moving, but that was no guarantee no one was up there.

Jeffrey passed the bathroom, which was small and dirty. Toys were stacked on the counter and in the empty tub. There was no shower curtain or closet in there, but some cabinets were built into the wall along the hallway. Jeffrey opened the first cabinet, but all it contained were the items you would expect: towels, wash rags, some diapers. The diapers got to him for some reason, and for the first time that day, he lost what little hope he had that they would find Lacey Patterson alive.

Nick put his hand on Jeffrey's shoulder, and Jeffrey got the feeling he was thinking the same thing.

There was one last room in the small house, and Jeffrey took the lead this time, pressing himself to the closed door just as Nick had. He threw the door open, crouching around the corner with his gun drawn, but the room appeared empty.

Three twin beds were shoved into the corner, dirty-looking sheets bunched up on them. There were no frames or box springs, just the mattresses flat on the floor. Sheets were nailed tightly to the windows like canvas over a frame. There was only one closet in the room, and Jeffrey walked over to it, expecting to see the worst behind it. He stood to the side and opened it, only to find shelves packed tight with boxes. Red numbers labeled the boxes, and Jeffrey pulled one of them out, frowning when he saw it was full of pictures. He looked at the other boxes and realized the numbers were probably the age of the kids in the pictures. The top row contained a few that were labeled "0-1."

He remembered the boy Wallace had seen, and bent down on one knee. A couple of boxes on the bottom of the closet looked crooked, and Jeffrey pulled them out. He leaned down and saw a frightened little boy, not more than six years old, with his head between his knees. The boy saw Jeffrey, then reached out to pull the boxes back around him. He was so frightened that the boxes shook from his touch.

Jeffrey stood, thinking he would see the fear in that kid's eyes for as long as he lived. He wanted to pull the boy out from his hiding place and tell him that it was over, but Jeffrey wasn't sure that it was. The adult or adults who had done this were still in this house somewhere. It was better to leave the kid where he was safe rather than put him in more danger.

Jeffrey heard Nick's boots on the floor and turned to see him walking out the door. He watched as Nick lowered the attic stairs, the springs squeaking loud enough to vibrate in Jeffrey's ears. He unfolded the steps, which made a hollow thunking noise against the floor. Nick took out a mini flashlight, holding it between his teeth as he used one hand to climb the stairs and held his service revolver in the other. Jeffrey held his breath as Nick poked his head into the attic space. After a quick look around, Nick shook his head, taking the flashlight out of his mouth.

"Empty," Nick said. He took the radio out of his pocket and asked, "Did anyone come out the back?"

Crackling came, then a woman's voice said, "That's a negative, sir. We've got the back and the sides."

Nick sighed heavily, disappointment coming off him like sweat. "Let Robbins stay back there. I need you and Peters inside to help us do another check."

"You think we missed anything?" Wallace asked.

"Hell, I don't know," Nick said. He picked up the stairs to fold them back up, but his hand slipped, and the stairs thunked to the ground again. He started to try again, but Jeffrey stopped him, pointing to the floor.

Nick shook his head, but then he seemed to play it back in his mind and realized what Jeffrey had. The stairs hadn't sounded right when they hit the floor. Nick finally nodded, and he leaned down, pointing to a line of dirt where the rug had been raised then dropped back down.

Jeffrey pulled the stairs up and tucked them back into the attic. He holstered his gun and picked up the carpet. There was an outline of a trap door underneath it, about three feet square with a small, hinged pull in the center. Jef-frey indicated for Wallace to stand on the back side of the door, straddling the sides, and open it. Nick and Jeffrey stood on the other side, their guns drawn.

Time moved slowly, and Jeffrey could hear the stupid song that had been playing since they'd come in switch to another equally drippy ballad as the trap door creaked open. He could feel sweat dripping down his face, and tasted blood in his mouth as he bit the inside of his lip. Then the door was open, and about three feet down he saw a very scared-looking Lacey Patterson lying curled up on the ground under the house. She was filthy, and her hair had been cut close to her scalp. There was a bruise on her forehead, and her eyes were barely open. She had either been drugged or beaten or both.

"Holy Jesus," Wallace muttered.

Jeffrey got down on his stomach so that he could see her better, asking, "Lacey?"

The child did not respond, though at this distance, he could see there was something white at the corners of her mouth.

"Lacey?" he tried again, putting his gun beside him on the floor so he could reach in and touch her forehead. She felt clammy and there was something gritty on her skin.

Jeffrey told Wallace, "Hold my feet," as he reached into the hole. He managed to hook his hands under her arms and get a good grip on her. Wallace kept him from sliding in as Jeffrey started to pull Lacey out. She was small, but her body was deadweight. He asked Nick for help, and between the three of them they managed to get her out of the hole.

"You're okay," Nick said, setting her down on the floor inside the bedroom.

Jeffrey sat back on his heels, wiping the dust from his forehead. The crawl space was filthy, red Georgia clay like powder from the heat.

Suddenly, there was a scratching noise from underneath the house as if someone was moving. Without thinking, Jeffrey dove into the hole, catching himself with his hands so he wouldn't fall on his face. It was dark under the house, low-hanging pipes giving it the appearance of a maze. Jeffrey blinked several times, trying to acclimate himself, when a flash of light came from the far end of the house.

"Nick!" he yelled, taking off, using his elbows and feet to propel himself through the small space. From above, he heard footsteps running through the house, and prayed Nick's man in the back would act quickly.

Up ahead, he saw a pair of feet slipping through a narrow vent opening. Jeffrey followed as fast as he could, banging his head on a gas line. He kept going toward the light, turning at the last minute and using his feet to kick at the hole. The mortar was weak in the old house, and bricks flew out from the force. Jeffrey turned back around, pushing himself through the opening, feeling intense pain as his pants tore on the jagged brick.