She watched Garrett awaken in the bedroom and roll upright on the saggy mattress. With his lengthy fingers he combed his mussed hair into place. He looks just like any other teenager in the morning, she thought. Gangly and cute and sleepy. About to get dressed, about to take the bus to school and see his friends, to learn things in class, to flirt with girls, toss footballs. Watching him look around groggily for his shirt, she noticed his skinny frame and worried about getting him some good food—cereal, milk, fruit—and washing his clothes, making sure he took a shower. This, she thought, is what it would be like to have children of your own. Not to borrow youngsters from friends for a few hours—like her goddaughter, Amy’s girl. But to be there every day when they wake up, with their messy rooms and difficult adolescent attitudes, to fix them meals, to buy them clothes, to argue with them, to take care of them. To be the hub of their lives.

“Morning.” She smiled.

He smiled back. “We gotta go,” he said. “Gotta get to Mary Beth. Been away from her for too long. She’s got to be totally scared and thirsty.”

Sachs climbed unsteadily to her feet.

He glanced at his chest, at the poison oak splotches, and seemed embarrassed. He pulled his shin on quickly. “I’m going outside. Have to, you know, take care of business. And I’m gonna leave a couple of empty hornets’ nests around. Might slow ’em up—if they come this way.” Garrett stepped outside but returned just a moment later. He left a cup of water on the table beside her. Said shyly: “This’s for you.” He stepped out again.

She drank it down. Longing for a toothbrush and time for a shower. Maybe when they got to—

“It’s him!” a man’s voice called in a whisper.

Sachs froze, looked out the window. She saw nothing. But from a tall stand of bushes near the trailer the forced whisper continued, “I’ve got him in my sights. I’ve got a clear shot.”

The voice was familiar and she decided it sounded like Culbeau’s friend, Sean O’Sarian. The skinny one. The redneck trio had found them—they were going to kill the boy or torture him into telling where Mary Beth was so they could get the reward.

Garrett hadn’t heard the voice. Sachs could see him— he was about thirty feet away, setting an empty hornets’ nest on the trail. She heard footsteps in the bushes pushing forward toward the clearing where the boy was.

She grabbed the Smith & Wesson and stepped quietly outside. She crouched, motioning desperately to Garrett. He didn’t see her.

The footsteps in the bushes grew closer.

“Garrett,” she whispered.