All Kevin could do was twitch and watch in agony as the stranger hauled his kicking and writhing son toward the water. His soul screamed as they disappeared from sight. The stranger returned in a few seconds. He pulled a sack over Kevin’s head and tied his hands together. Blinded and bound, panic rose in his chest. Where was his son? Hands grabbed his ankles, and his helpless body was dragged through the dirt. His torso bounced off rocks and exposed roots. The ground smoothed out, then water lapped at his clothes. He was lifted, and his body landed on something hard. Metal echoed, and the scents of river water and fish flooded his nostrils. A canoe or kayak? He managed a slight roll and came up against a small body. Hunter?

The vessel rocked as his captor pushed off and climbed in.

Kevin moved his feet. The connection between his brain and body seemed to be recovering. Had he been Tased?

A rope encircled his ankles and went tight.

“Hold still unless you want your boy to go for a swim right now.” His captor’s voice was flat, and the lack of emotion sent a new wave of terror crawling through Kevin’s bowels. “The way he’s trussed, he’ll drown in seconds.”

Despair filled him as he obediently stopped moving. Whatever this crazy man’s plan was, Kevin and his son were completely helpless.

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER FIVE

Danny steered onto the ramp and followed the directions into the town of Northton. After passing a Walmart, a few strip centers, and an army/navy surplus store, Danny cruised up to the one-story gray clapboard Maine State Police Barracks. The cop who was handling his sister’s case, Detective Rossi, was part of the Major Crimes Unit, a handful of detectives sprinkled over a huge expanse of territory.

The morning sun hit Danny’s back as he crossed the parking lot, but inside, the station was chilly and damp. Danny gave his name to the secretary behind the counter. Ignoring the plastic chairs, he paced the dingy linoleum while he waited. The cold and early morning drive time had left his muscles cramped. The fingers of his left hand had gone twitchy again. He shoved it in his jacket pocket.

Police stations always gave him the willies. In his youth, he’d spent some time on the wrong side of the counter.

“Mr. Sullivan.”

Danny turned.

Detective Rossi looked the same as he had in December, tall and wiry, with sharp, gray cop eyes that swept over Danny and categorized every inch of him in three seconds. “Come on back.”

Trying not to feel like he was fourteen and in trouble, Danny followed the cop to a small, generic conference room.

“Coffee?”

“Sure, thanks.” Danny slid into an office chair.

Rossi handed him a Styrofoam cup. “I’m not sure I understand why you’re here.”