“We haven’t found them,” the sergeant says. “When we got here, the kids were still in bed, the front door was wide open.”

“No Ferris or his wife?”

“No. We’ve got officers combing the area, but so far no luck. We did spot tracks in the sand.”

“His or hers?”

“Both, we think. But they peter out pretty quick.”

I glance at Joe. “They couldn’t have gotten too far on foot.” I turn back to the sergeant. “What about his vehicle?”

“Gone. Hers is still here, but his isn’t.”

Shit. “You think he could’ve taken her?”

“Possibly.”

“We’ve got a BOLO on him and his vehicle, so hopefully someone will spot him, and hopefully Mrs. Ferris is okay,” I say, my eyes sweeping the room as if clues might be hidden among the bric-a-brac. “You get anything out of the kids?”

“Nope. They were asleep. Didn’t hear anything. Their bedroom is upstairs in the back, so it stands to reason. And they haven’t seen or heard from their father since Friday night is what they told us.”

“Did they see their mom this morning? Her call came in just after four a.m.”

“No. Last they saw her, she kissed them good night about ten.”

So Ferris has an hour and a half lead on us. He could’ve gone back to Boston. He could’ve gone anywhere. I call and update the chief, and he tells me there’ve been no sightings of Ferris or Mrs. Bradley there, but they are working with the phone company, pinging his cell.

But I can feel it in this quiet house, as though an evil presence has been here and gone. Mrs. Ferris’s fear is nearly palpable, and I know we’re running out of time. Joe and I get in our vehicle and head back toward Graybridge.

* * *

We ride in silence, each lost in the puzzle at hand. Where would Ferris go? Where would he take his wife? Where would he stash Mrs. Bradley? There are thousands of basements in and around Boston if that’s where he is. But for all we know, he’s taken both women on a twisted road trip. Or, my stomach clenches, we’re already too late. Neither woman is alive.

I shake that thought from my head. Get a grip, Rita.

We near Boston. The city lights blink in the gray early dawn. My phone rings. Lauren.

“We’ve got it, the location of his cell phone.”

“Where?”

“Downtown.” She gives me the coordinates.

“We’re close.” I turn to Joe and instruct him to get off two exits from where we are now.

“Boston PD’s got SWAT on the way,” Lauren says.

“Do we know where he is exactly?”

“Just the intersection I gave you. It’s a neighborhood of old row houses, empty and slated for demolition. Should be lots of basements.”

“All right. We’ll be there shortly. Good work, Lauren.”