Charlie nodded. “A woman with a dick.”

“He said that?”

“He meant it as a compliment.” Charlie paused. “I want Lentil to organize our south-of-the-border canvassing. He speaks Spanish.”

“You really think Falling will dump the child in Mexico?”

“Somewhere down there. I don’t think he’ll kill him.”

“Could he make a second run at more money?”

Charlie shook his head. “He knows he was lucky to trick us the first time. And he knows we know he won’t return the child.”

Kelly snorted. “Why doesn’t he just give us Jimmy? If he is such a swell guy.”

Charlie looked weary. “I don’t know.”

Kelly regretted her outburst. “You blame yourself too much.”

Charlie gestured. “We should have seen what he was going to do once he put David on the boat. We talked about it. Catalina was not an option for him. David was lousy hostage material. The water and the ransom were what mattered. He needed us to put the ransom in the water. That meant he must be in the water—waiting. The formula was simple and we failed to solve it.”

“No one could have anticipated the water was shallow there.”

“We should have figured that he would have found just such a spot.”

“You feel you should have figured it all out, in a split second. That’s asking too much of yourself. You didn’t fuck up, we all did.”

Charlie shook his head. “None of that matters. Only the kid does. At the end of the day excuses are for losers.”

Kelly wanted to argue the point but realized he spoke the truth. A child did not care about strategy. The kid only knew love and comfort. He just wanted to be home with his mom and dad.

Like Charlie, she did not believe the guy would kill Jimmy. Dumping the child south of the border was the logical step for a compassionate kidnapper—and he had shown definite signs of affection for the boy. Kelly made a mental note to tell Lentil to push their canvassing as far south as Brazil. Rio had a big market for white male infants. Falling might try to sell the kid, not that he needed the extra cash.

Kelly had heard a legitimate rumor that Carl Techer, the grandfather, was filing a lawsuit against the FBI for “gross negligence.” He had already hired a team of lawyers, Vicki said, obviously wanting to cash in on the loss of his flesh and blood. Kelly asked herself—if she ended up in court—would she admit that excuses were for losers?