“I don’t know.…” He crossed over to the small kitchenette and opened a bag of chips. “Something about this doesn’t feel right to me.”

“This isn’t about what you feel, dude. You need the money and so do I, especially now. I’ve got bills to pay. What else am I supposed to do?”

Emmett didn’t have a good answer. He was in a similar situation.

“Anyway, Bishop is hardly dangerous,” Terry went on. “Jasper Moore beat him to within an inch of his life the night they both showed up at Dr. Talbot’s. Bishop has been in the hospital where I work ever since. That’s how I met him. I’m telling you, it was Moore who tried to kill Evelyn Talbot.”

Swallowing a mouthful of barbecue-flavored potato chips, Emmett stepped back to glance at the cooler door separating him from his prisoner. He could so easily open it and let the psychiatrist go.

He was tempted, but Terry was right. They both needed the money. Besides, they were so close to the end of this thing!

He popped another chip into his mouth and spoke around it. “If he doesn’t let her go after a day or two, I’ll make him do it.”

These words were met with silence. But, after a moment, Terry said, “You planning to double-cross him?”

“I won’t be double-crossing him. I’ll be holding him to his word.”

“That’s true, I guess. Okay. As long as we get paid, I don’t care.”

“He’s bringing the cash with him, isn’t he?”

“That’s the plan. He won’t have access to it until he gets out of here, and he can’t come anywhere near me after that in case someone sees us together. So he’s bringing it all to you.”

“Good. I’ll give you your share when I get back. But before I leave here, I’ll make sure he releases the pregnant shrink.”

“You shouldn’t have any trouble. He’s a weird little man—think Danny DeVito but without the personality—and he’s had a stroke because of that beating I mentioned, so the left side of his body doesn’t work very well. You could easily overpower him.”

“I was never worried about that,” Emmett said, and hung up.

Anchorage, AK—Wednesday, 10:15 p.m. AKDT

Dax O’Leary was quite a bit younger than his brother. He still had his hair and he wasn’t wearing glasses, but he looked emaciated. Amarok was fairly certain he was an addict, which explained the way his wife felt about him and what his brother had said, too.

“Elroy told me you wanted to talk to me.” He stepped outside an old duplex wearing a T-shirt with a stretched neckband, a pair of holey jeans and no shoes. “It’s about time the police did something to find my van.”

Amarok heard a television blaring inside, got the impression others were there—Dax’s roommates, no doubt—but they were minding their own business, didn’t seem to care about what was going on at the door. “Your van wasn’t stolen in my jurisdiction.”