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Amanda's eyes remained steady, and when she blinked, there was some certainty in her gaze. “He has this place. It's kind of a toolshed, where he would work. For hours sometimes. Back at our old home. In Acropolis.” She shook her head. “He was always keen on that place. It all kind of fell apart for my father when we lost it. It was his pride and joy. Bank owns it now; it's at the end of a long road and no one ever bought it, as far as I know. There's nothing around it but wetlands and woods, so there's no one—I don't think anyone even knows it's there. And there's this locked closet, attached, where he would keep supplies . . .”

My heart thumping, I pushed Rick's card back through the glass along with a pen from the counter. “Can you write down the address?”

Amanda shrugged. She started to write—a slow, block cursive, almost like someone who hadn't gone past the sixth grade.

3936 Cayne Road

Acropolis

When she was done, she looked back up at me, her eyes shining now, with what looked like innocence. “His heart is in that place. I can't think of nowhere else he would go.”

“Thank you,” I said. My chest was expansive. I remained there a moment just staring at her, as she pushed a wisp of hair out of her eyes and gave me a hopeful smile.

And with it, I knew we were both thinking the same thought.
What if it had all been different?
What if she had grown up with someone else, someone like me? And with a sister like Hallie. Would anything have changed?

“I like horses,” Amanda said. “There was a time he used to say to me, ‘You scamper just like a racehorse, Peachy.'
Peachy,
that was his name for me. 'Cause of my light hair.”

Then the pallor of disappointment crawled back into her eyes. “I hope you get him, Dr. Steadman. And when you do, you make sure you do what it is you have to do to get your girl free. You don't hold back for me. That man . . . He wants to hold those to task who are accountable. You make sure you start with him. You make
him
accountable. You do that to him . . . for me!”

I nodded. Then I stood up. “I'm gonna come back and see you again, Amanda. Maybe if this all works out, we'll both come. Hallie and me.”

“Maybe,” she said, shrugging, and she got up. “
Guard!
In the meantime, you just go do what you have to do to get her back.”

Chapter Sixty-Six

I
basically ran out of the prison, my body alive with the possibility that I knew where Hofer was.

I knew I should alert the police. Not the local police, in Acropolis. Not with my name out there as a fugitive and my daughter's life on the line. But maybe Carrie's brother. The FBI. Of course, there was always the chance Hofer wasn't actually in Acropolis at all, and then I'd have nothing. And everything would be blown.

The bastard had made it clear with that photo of Hallie. Whatever he had planned for her was happening very soon. I realized then that there was no doubt in me—none at all—that I was going to go get her myself.

I turned on the car and plugged “Acropolis, Georgia” into the Buick's GPS. I knew it was north and east from the prison, near the South Carolina border. The route came up. It read, two and a half hours. I could drive there first and figure out my options once I arrived. I already felt close to her.
Hallie, I'm coming! You just hang on, baby.

I felt a power I had never felt in my life take hold of me and it wouldn't let me go.

I got ready to go, but first I found my cell phone and made two calls. The police could come and get me now for all I cared. They could track me down, follow me—I would lead them right to my daughter.

The first call was to Liz. She picked up on the second ring.
“Henry . . .”

“Liz, I said that I'd get back to you, and I just want you to know, I'm going to get our daughter.”

The second was to Carrie.

My blood was pumping as I punched in her cell number. I didn't care who was monitoring. I didn't care if the fucking FBI was sitting at the table playing mah-jongg with her.

“My God
,
Henry!”
Carrie answered, clearly elated to hear my voice. “I was so worried. I didn't know if you had—”

I cut her off.
“Carrie!”
I knew what she was feeling as she realized that I was alive, because reconnecting with her, I was feeling the same way. “Where are you?”

“Driving back home. The chief wants a meeting with me. I'm halfway through Georgia.”

“Turn around.”

“Turn around?”
She hesitated. “Why?”

“Because I think I found him, Carrie! I know where Hofer is!”

Chapter
Sixty-Seven

T
wo
detectives from the Jacksonville Sheriff's Office had driven up earlier that
morning, and Carrie had pretty much laid it all out for them: Hofer; the bogus
gun purchase; his daughter's accident; his relationship with Martinez from years
before; and the tapes she had of his Mazda at each of the two crime scenes. As
well as his call to Henry yesterday. How could she not tell them, whatever
promise she had made to Henry?

And she also told them about Hallie.

Dubious as they were, they listened intently,
writing it all down. Every piece of it pretty much exonerated Henry.

And she got their promise not to release anything
until Hallie was found.

Now she was making her way back down I-95, back
home, to a meeting with Bill Akers and the chief, where they might well take her
report, commend her for finding the truth, then tell her on the spot that she
could pack her things and leave . . .

When Henry's call came in.
“I
know where Hofer is!
”

“How?”
she asked,
slowing, shifting to the right lane.

“I went to see his daughter. In prison. It's a long
story, Carrie, and you actually helped make it happen. I'll tell you about it
when I can. But she told me Hofer has this shed behind his old house in
Acropolis. The one he lost after his wife died. Now the bank owns it. No one's
living there. She says the place is kind of a sanctuary to him. It's deep in the
woods, and has some kind of locked storage compartment attached. That has to be
where he is. And where he's got Hallie. I'm heading there now!”

“Wait!”
Carrie tried to
think it through. If Henry went there alone, he'd likely get them all killed. He
was the one Hofer wanted. And calling the local cops to get there ahead, who
knew what they would believe or how they would handle it? They might well bungle
it. They didn't know the truth yet. This was Jack's terrain. There was also the
possibility that Hofer wasn't even there. Then they'd be alerting the police;
everything would be out in the open. “Henry, listen, you can't go there on your
own. You can't.”

“I
am
going, Carrie.
Just like you'd be going. If it was Raef.”

A tremor of apprehension and dread started to
quiver inside Carrie.

She had been expressly ordered to stay out of this
now. The JSO had a lot of damage control to do. Chief Hall was expecting her in
his office. Her cell phone was probably being monitored as well, so in minutes
they might know Henry had called.
This is crazy!
She'd be putting everything on the line. Her reputation. Her career
. . . the thimbleful that was left of it.

She saw a sign for an exit coming up in a mile.
Hell, she was probably going to get fired
anyway . . .

“Where is it?”
Carrie
asked, pulling into the right lane. “If you're going there, I'm coming too.”

Henry hesitated at first. And she knew exactly why.
It was because he knew she would come! It was because he knew how she'd put
herself on the line for him. And it was because he wanted her there with
him.

Why else would he have
called?

“You have a GPS,” he said. “Head back up toward
Augusta and take State Road 24 to Acropolis.” He gave her the exact address:
3936 Cayne Road. “I'm about two hours away.”

“You're probably an hour ahead of me,” she said,
looking at the navigation map.

Then she said: “I had to tell them, Henry. All of
it. Even about Hofer's call. I'm sorry, but there was no way around it. Now they
just need you to come in so they can hear your side. They promised it would all
stay inside until I meet with the chief. So you can't do anything 'till I get
there. Promise me that. You'll get yourself killed, and likely Hallie as well.
So you just wait for me, and don't do anything crazy. Then we'll figure out what
to do, okay?”

“I'm sorry, but I think it's too late for that. I
think this already qualifies as crazy . . .”

“Then
crazier,
” Carrie
insisted. “You hear me, don't you, Henry? I need you to tell me okay.”

“Okay,” he agreed. But there was something more
than acquiescence in his voice. She couldn't point her finger on it, but it was
deeper. She felt it. She saw the exit, and readied herself to turn around under
the underpass and head back the other way.

“You wait for me, goddammit!”—stopping at the light
and plugging the address into the GPS.

Chapter Sixty-Eight

T
he tiny backwoods towns all melded into one. Jessup. Statesboro. Waynesboro. Places I'd never heard of and might never again.

I drove in a daze, fueled by my dread over Hallie and the anticipation of finding her and what I would do when I got there. Once I knew for sure that that's where Hofer actually was, we could turn it over to the police or the FBI. They were the best chances of getting Hallie out of this.

I knew Hofer didn't
really
want Hallie—he was using her to lure me there!

Around 4
P.M.
, Carrie called again and I seemed to have about a forty-minute lead on her. I tried not to go too far above the speed limits. All I needed was to get pulled over in some local speed trap. And in a stolen car, no less!

Finally, I began seeing signs for Acropolis.

That's when my blood really started to race and I realized I had no idea what I'd be finding there or even what I was getting myself into. I just prayed I'd find my daughter alive.

The GPS told me to turn off onto Seaver Lake Road before I reached the actual town. Part of me expected to run right into a gathering of cop cars and flashing lights, from Carrie's call. But there was nothing out here but open fields, and animal pens and barns. Barely even a road sign.

My nerves began to fray. Hofer had said he would call. So far he hadn't. Did that mean that something bad had happened? What if I was too late? What if Amanda was wrong, and he wasn't even here?

Seaver Lake Road was bumpy and rutted, with weather-beaten trailers intermittently dotting the sides. Flatbed trucks and old-clunker vans pulled up in front of them. Dogs ran out to the road, barking after me. A couple of people who were around stared after the car as I drove by.

At the lake, about a mile and a half down, I ran into Cayne Road.

I was here. I'd never exactly played the hero in life. I played baseball in college, but never got the game-winning hit. I worked on boobs and eyes, never saved a life on the table, never had to risk my own life.

Until now. I was about to face off against someone who had killed, someone who was driven by hate and revenge. I began to think about how terrified and panicked Hallie must be feeling, held captive by someone who was surely crazy. And that fueled my resolve. I still didn't see any sign that anyone had arrived at the scene ahead of me. I thought maybe I should call Carrie and let her know I was here, but I decided just to go on. Hofer had no idea I'd be coming. I figured that was the one thing I actually had going for me. Surprise. I decided I would just get there and make certain they were actually here. Then I'd wait for Carrie.

Hang together, Hallie,
I said to myself, seeing a weathered ranch-style house at the end of the long, rutted drive and a mailbox with 3936 written on it.

It won't be long now.

Chapter Sixty-Nine

I
t might once have been nice; it might once have been the home of an actual family. But scrub and tall weeds now covered the yellowed lawn, which clearly hadn't been cut in years. A wire fence bordered the property, sagging at spots where the wind had knocked it down, a wooden gate hanging from its post. It bordered a dried-up field of what might have been hay, and the back was ringed with dense woods.

Amanda said the bank owned it now, but if they did, this was one property they had written off their ledger long ago.

Farther on, on the shoulder of the road, I saw a blue Mazda, the same Mazda I had seen pulling away from Martinez's police car. The same one, I was sure, that Carrie had found on the tapes of both murder scenes.

Hofer was here.

Which meant Hallie was around here too.

I left the Buick on the edge of the road, out of site from the house. I had no idea if Hofer was inside, or if he'd seen me drive up. Or if he was deep in the woods in that shed Amanda had described.

This is it, Henry . . .

I thought about calling Carrie, but she would only tell me to wait, and my blood was pumping. So I went around the side, hugging the thick brush to stay out of sight. I got about fifty feet from the house, and didn't see any lights. What I did see was a hefty Realtor lock on the front door, making me doubt that Hofer was inside.

I continued around to the back, searching for a clearing in the woods.

I saw a path leading straight from the weed-filled backyard, but I worried I might be spotted if I took it. There was a rotted-out jungle gym in back, and an aboveground pool, filled with crushed pinecones and weeds.

I crept around the side. Twigs crackled under my shoes as I made my own path through the woods, ripping branches out of my way. I didn't know what I would do if I found this shed—only that my daughter was likely to be in it, as was the sonovabitch who had taken her.

You just go do what you have to do to get her back,
Amanda had told me. The dead spark in her eyes was unmistakable.
He's got a host of hate inside him.

I pushed through the brush until I didn't see any sign of the house behind me. My shirt, the one I had worn to the prison only hours earlier, clung to me with sweat.

Then I saw the tiny wooden shed deep in the woods.

No light on inside it.

No sound coming from it.

But I knew they were there. Call it a father's radar.

My heart started to pound. It had a slanted roof and one window and what looked like a storage hut attached to it, as Amanda had described.

The door was slightly ajar, left open maybe in the hope of a breeze to ease the stifling heat. And I knew that's where he was. With my little girl. Only thirty yards away.

I saw a rusted metal pipe on the grass. I picked it up. It was covered with moss and crusted rust.

As I held it, it occurred to me that we all have a certain capacity for violence if you dig down deep enough. If someone threatens what really matters in your life . . . If you went past fear and worry and dread . . .

And Hofer had dug down as deep as was possible in me.

I knew exactly what I would do with that violence if I got the chance.

I went back into the woods until I was sure I was out of sight and pulled out my phone.

I relished saying the words I'd wanted to utter since this whole sick and crazy business started:

“I've got him, Carrie.”