“I’ve asked around,” he said. “Everyone I’ve talked to says you both have the two qualities I need.”

“Which qualities?” Angie said.

“You’re honest.”

“Insofar—”

“—as that goes in a corrupt world, yes, Mr. Kenzie. But you’re honest to those who earn your trust. And I intend to.”

“Kidnapping us probably wasn’t the best way to go about it.”

He shrugged. “I’m a desperate man with a ticking clock inside me. You’ve shut down your office and refuse to take cases or even meet with potential clients.”

“True,” I said.

“I’ve called both your home and office several times in the last week. You don’t answer your phone and you don’t have an answering machine.”

“I have one,” I said. “It’s just disconnected at the moment.”

“I’ve sent letters.”

“He doesn’t open his mail unless it’s a bill,” Angie said.

He nodded, as if this were common in some circles. “So I had to take desperate measures to ensure you’d hear me out. If you refuse my case, I’m prepared to pay you twenty thousand dollars just for your time here today and your inconvenience.”

“Twenty thousand,” Angie said. “Dollars.”

“Yes. Money means nothing to me anymore and I have no heirs if I don’t find Desiree. Besides, once you check up on me, you’ll find that twenty thousand dollars is negligible in comparison to my total worth. So, if you wish, go back inside my study and take the money from the upper-right-hand desk drawer and go back to your lives.”

“And if we stay,” Angie said, “what do you want us to do?”

“Find my daughter. I’ve accepted the possibility that she’s dead. I’m aware of the likelihood of that, in fact. But I won’t die wondering. I have to know what happened to her.”

“You’ve contacted the police,” I said.

“And they’ve paid me lip service.” He nodded. “But they see a young woman, beset with grief, who decided to go off on a jaunt and get herself together.”

“And you’re sure that’s not the case.”

“I know my daughter, Mr. Kenzie.”

He pivoted on his cane and began walking back across the lawn toward the house. We followed and I could see our reflections in the large panes of glass fronting his study—the decaying man who stiffened his back to the wind as his raincoat flapped around him and his cane searched for purchase on the frozen lawn; on his left, a small, beautiful woman with dark hair blowing across her cheeks and the ravages of loss in her face; and on his right, a man in his early thirties wearing a baseball cap, leather jacket, and jeans, a slightly confused expression on his face as he looked at the two proud, but damaged people beside him.