And if I am…that hunk of a highway patrolman is going to come back and arrest me after he runs my identification.

I will not allow that to happen.

CHAPTER 31

I KEEP on staring back at the man who unwittingly now has my future and that of my kidnapped family in his hands.

All right, I keep thinking, suppose I’m not in the NCIC system, but he’s a suspicious sort, and he may want me to consent to a search of the Jeep. If he does that—and unless I tell him first—he’s going to find my Ruger .357 revolver and my 9mm SIG Sauer pistol.

That will certainly get his attention, and not in a good way.

I keep my hands on the steering wheel.

I didn’t have to give him my Armed Forces identification, but I wanted to appeal to his patriotic nature. Sometimes it works, and I’ve heard stories of off-duty guys and gals using their uniforms and ID to get free upgrades at hotels and airline counters. Considering what we get paid and how we’re treated, that’s a perk I can’t argue with.

But it doesn’t look like I’m getting any perks today.

I keep staring at the rearview mirror. It looks like the bulky highway patrolman is talking into a cell phone. Looking for guidance from a supervisor? Did a BOLO come up on me in the NCIC system already?

A cold chunk of lead has just formed in my chest.

I will not be detained today.

I will not be arrested today.

I will not be delayed.

I keep my left hand on the steering wheel and slide my right hand into my open dispatch case, put my hand around the smooth metal of the Ruger revolver.

A hateful decision, but one I’ve just made.

I don’t know this cop, but I do know he won’t keep me from my mission.

Hancock is running Amy Cornwall’s driver’s license through the NCIC system via the cruiser’s computer, and she comes up clean. No outstanding warrants or summonses.

Fine.

His personal cell phone rings, and he glances at the number, recognizes his home number.

“Hey, hon,” he answers, “what’s up?”

His wife, Lucille—whom everyone calls LuLu—says, “God, Clay, I’m sorry to bother you, but the pharmacy just called. The cough syrup for Kimmy’s ready to be picked up. You think you can swing by when your shift’s over?”

“Sure, Lu, I can do that,” he says, keeping an eye on the black Wrangler and the driver.

Something is wrong.

He keeps his eyes on the Jeep and says, “How’s her cough?”

“Pretty rough,” his wife says. “For a six-year-old, I can’t believe how loud she is. Maybe the three of us can get some sleep tonight if that syrup works.”

“That’d be great, Lu,” he says. “Look, I’m in the middle of something and—”

“I know, I know,” she says, laughing. “And tell you what, if our little patient gets to sleep early tonight, I’ll give you a nice big reward later on.”