“She sounds scared,” Hunter said. “We should call out to her.”

His son’s brave comment fractured Kevin’s heart anew. Through the agony of helplessness, his boy wanted to reach out to another in need. Chivalrous despite his own terror.

What did they have to lose?

“Hello?” Kevin cringed. His voice rang out louder than he’d intended.

The crying cut off suddenly.

Kevin tried again, with a softer voice. “Is someone there?”

“Here.” Wood scraped above them. “We’re here. I can’t see you.”

We?

“We’re under you. How many of you are up there?”

Something tapped at the top of his cage. Kevin crawled to the edge and reached up through the bars. His fingers closed around a slim, feminine hand.

“Two. There are two of us.” Her skin was ice-cold. “My name is Samantha. My friend Victoria is still unconscious. She won’t wake up.”

Kevin squeezed her hand. “Hi, Samantha. I’m Kevin.”

Hunter crawled into his lap. He stuck his bony arm through the slats and followed Kevin’s forearm up to Samantha’s hand. “I’m Hunter.”

Samantha’s breath hitched. She switched her grip to give Hunter an awkward shake. “Where are we?”

“I don’t know, Samantha,” Kevin answered.

“What’s he going to do with us?” Her voice dropped.

“I don’t know that either.” He was trying to be optimistic for Hunter’s sake, but their captor hadn’t protected his identity. One of the deepest fissures in Kevin’s heart was the certainty that the blond man didn’t care if they knew who he was.

No fear of police lineups, mug books, or sketch artists.

Their captor fed and watered them like a farmer treated the cattle intended for slaughter.

Where was she? Stretched out on his belly, shoulders hanging over the precipice, rain ran into his eyes. “Mandy!”

He strained his ears but heard only the rush of water and wind.

“Where are you?” he shouted.

“Here.” Her voice was strained.

Danny batted the underbrush aside. He caught a flash of bright orange. Her jacket? Lightning flashed. And he saw her, hanging onto a tree root five feet below him. Her feet dangled a few yards above the river.

“Hold on.” He slid back. Where the hell was her backpack? There. He spotted the yellow-and-black nylon on the trail where he’d dropped it to try and catch her. He dug out a coil of rope, tied one end around his waist, and made a loop at the other end. Returning to the trail edge, he tossed the loop toward her. “Grab this.”

Her free hand swiped through the air and missed. The base of the root, loosened by her movement, jerked partially out of the dirt.