The thunder of falls reached him the closer he drew to the canyon. Branches swayed in the stiff breeze. Not far from a copse of firs near the tree line, he spied a partial footprint in the mud—a fresh one. His pulse quickened.

Dumping his jet suit in a thicket of rhododendrons, Harry increased his pace until he shoved the branches aside and came to a halt on the edge of a yawning chasm.

At the bottom of the gorge, a river tumbled over vast slabs of granite, its white water churning. Here and there along the rock walls, boulders and ledges protruded.

He scanned the space. No trace of Elise or Sammy. Surely they had left some sort of sign? They couldn’t have vanished without something to clue him in to their location. He returned to the game trail and pushed aside a thick blanket of pine needles. Nothing. He kept at it, combing the area, lifting leaves and moss, and examining tender branches for any indication that Sammy and Elise had passed this way.

Along a soft section of earth, he found a series of partial impressions spaced like those of running feet. Whose? Best guess, they were Sammy’s. Elise would have kept to the rocks.

He started west, careful to keep clear of the damp earth. With Gilmont in the vicinity, Harry refused to lead the criminal to the people he cared for most.

The game trail arced through the woods and stopped again at the edge of the gorge. Chills coursed through him. One simple misstep could spell disaster. Surely Sammy had enough sense to stay away from the edge.

Steeling himself, Harry peered over the side. Nothing but boulders and trees, which grew bent and distorted from the sheer cliff face. At the base of the canyon, the river rushed, boiling and foaming, on its way to the loch.

Farther along the gorge’s rim, the trail swung away from the chasm and reentered the woods. Twenty paces beyond, Harry identified another partial footprint. He followed the route another ten meters until the game trail petered out into a large clearing of flattish terrain that stretched to the gorge’s edge.

Nothing indicated that his son or Elise had continued in this direction. Puzzled, Harry shoved back through the brush and backtracked up the trail. He must have missed something.

No one vanished into thin air.

Harry moved up the steep hillside. Here the dense forest gave way to acres of young saplings. The forestry commission had doubtless harvested a mature section of pines or had removed a number of diseased trees due to blight.

Here and there among the saplings, mature lumber lay stacked chest high, held together by tie-rods staked into the ground to keep them from rolling down the steep slope.

Not far from the harvested trees, a natural ravine cut a swath down the hillside. A footprint. Then several more.