“Aw, leave off, Luanne. I’m eating.”

Wolgast looked down the length of the counter. The man, Kirk, was poised over a plate of French toast. He had a jowly face and thick, weather-beaten hands and was dressed as a civilian, in snug Wranglers wedged under his belly and a grease-stained Carhartt jacket the color of burnt toast. A little town like this, probably he worked about three different jobs.

Wolgast stepped over to him. “I need to report a kidnapping,” Wolgast said.

The man turned on his stool. He wiped his mouth on a napkin and looked at Wolgast incredulously. “What are you talking about?” His face was unshaven; his breath smelled of beer.

“See that girl over there? She’s the one everyone is looking for. I’m guessing you saw something about it on the wire.”

The man glanced over at Amy, then back at Wolgast. His eyes widened. “Shit. You’re kidding. The one from over in Homer?”

“He’s right,” Luanne said brightly. She was pointing at Amy. “I saw it on the news. That’s the girl. You’re the one, ain’t you, sweetheart?”

“I’ll be damned.” Kirk hoisted himself off his stool. The room had grown quiet; everyone was watching now. “Staties are looking for her all over. Where’d you find her?”

“We’re the ones who took her, actually,” Wolgast explained. “We’re the kidnappers. I’m Special Agent Wolgast, that’s Special Agent Doyle. Say hi, Phil.”

Doyle waved listlessly from the booth. “Howdy.”

“Special agents? You mean FBI?”

Wolgast withdrew his credentials and put them on the counter for Kirk to see. “It’s hard to explain.”

“And you took the girl.”

Wolgast said so again. “We’d like to surrender to you, Deputy. As long as you’re done with your breakfast.”

Somebody, one of the other men at the counter, snickered.

“Oh, I’m done all right,” Kirk said. He was still holding Wolgast’s credentials, studying them like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “I’ll be dipped. Holy goddamn.”

“Go on, Kirk,” the other man said, and laughed. “Arrest them if that’s what they want. You do remember how to do that, don’t you?”

“Just hold the phone, Frank. I’m thinking.” Kirk looked sheepishly at Wolgast. “Sorry, it’s been a while. I mostly dig wells. Not much goes on around here, except a little drunk and disorderly, and half the time that’s me. I don’t even have handcuffs or nothing.”

“That’s all right,” Wolgast said. “We can loan you some.”