Will knew what had happened to Marie Sorensen. He’d seen the cigarette burns on the boy’s back this morning. Denise Branson had rescued him from the basement. What happened to the boys who weren’t rescued? What despicable things were being done to Benjamin right now?

“Okay,” Faith said. “I sent Amanda the text. We got a no on Cayla in front of the employee entrance to the hospital. She’s not on the roof or in the stairwells, either. How far are you from the house?”

Will slammed on the brakes. The car shook. He jerked the gear back into reverse. He’d almost missed the turnoff. “The road’s at a steep angle from the main highway, roughly ten miles from the interstate.” He silently berated himself for not resetting the odometer when he got off the interstate. “There are a lot of overhanging trees. There’s a yard sign where the turn is.” He recognized the logo. “It’s for the trailer park. It’s got palm trees on it.”

“I’ll let the cruiser know.”

Will laid on the gas as he sped down the dirt road. Red dust curled up behind him. The screen on Sara’s dashboard flashed black. There was no map in the GPS system for the dirt road. Will muttered another curse at his own stupidity. The screen had been in front of him the whole time.

He told Faith, “Track my phone. Maybe the roads will show up on the military GPS.”

“I’m on it,” Faith said. “Call me when you get there.”

Will ended the call and tossed his phone onto the seat. Then he thought better of it and jammed the phone into his back pocket. As long as the trip to Cayla’s had felt the night before, the trip this morning seemed unending. The road spread out ahead of him. It felt like half an hour passed before he saw the trailer park. Kids were out playing in the yard. Will slowed, looking at their faces, checking for Benjamin. They all stared back. Some of them headed home. They’d probably been taught to run if a strange man ever looked at them twice.

The steering wheel jerked as the BMW hit a large pothole. Will fought the turn, overcorrecting. He straightened the tires just in time for another loud bump as the wheels finally hit solid pavement. He was in the subdivision now. The empty lots and unfinished building sites were even more desolate in the light of day. Fortunately, Will could easily see the cluster of completed houses. He skidded to a stop in front of Cayla’s driveway. There was no car there. He jumped out of the BMW. He checked the windows to the garage. Empty.

Will dialed Faith’s number as he ran up the front walk. He said, “I’m here. There’s no car. The house looks empty.”

“The cops from last night are on their way. They’ve got two more cruisers with them. I know you don’t have your gun. Wait for backup.”

“I’m not waiting.” Will ended the call. He stepped back from the front door, then kicked it open. “Benjamin?” he called. His voice echoed through the house. “Benjamin?”

Will opened the coat closet. He checked the back wall to make sure there wasn’t a hidden panel. Next, he went into the garage. The space was unfinished, just the structural studs. There were no hiding places.

The kitchen looked the same as the night before. Will’s cleaned plate was still on the table. The pots and pans were still on the stove. Tony Dell’s beer cans were stacked on the counter.

“Benjamin?” Will called. He took the stairs two at a time. He stopped outside the bathroom, but didn’t go in. There was a surface bolt on one of the bedroom doors. A heavy-duty combination lock held it closed.

“Benjamin?” Will banged on the door. “It’s Mr. Black from last night. I’m a police officer. I’m here to help you.” The lock was secured with bolts, not screws. There was no way for Will to pry it loose. “Benjamin, I need you to stand back. I’m going to break open the door.”

Will waited a few seconds, then raised his foot and kicked the door. The lock rattled against the wood. He kicked again. The wood around the jamb started to splinter. He raised his foot and kicked it again. Then again. Finally, by sheer repetition, he was able to break apart the wood. The door popped back on its hinges. The knob stuck in the sheetrock.

Benjamin was chained to the floor. He was sitting in the corner, his back to the wall. He was obviously terrified.

“It’s okay,” Will told him. “I’m a police officer. I’m here to help you.”

Benjamin didn’t respond. Will quickly took in the situation. A pair of handcuffs linked the boy’s ankle to the chain. The end was attached to an eyehook screwed into the floor. Someone had doused it with Liquid Nails to keep the boy from backing out the screw. Probably Tony. It seemed like the kind of half-ass job he’d do. Tony should’ve thought about the fact that Benjamin wouldn’t have anywhere to use the toilet. The wood had softened from urine. Will easily wrenched the hook out of the floor.

Then he heard a car door slam shut.

Will ran to the front window. Paul Vickery got out of a white Honda. He had a gun in his hand.

“Shit,” Will muttered. He should’ve known Vickery was involved in this.

Will took out his iPhone. He asked Benjamin, “Do you know how to send a text message?”

Benjamin nodded, his eyes still wide with terror.

“You’re going to send a text to my partner.” Will swiped the screen. He selected the right app, then dialed Faith’s number before handing the phone to Benjamin. “Type in your name. Tell her that you’re hiding in Cayla’s house. Tell her to hurry.” Will scooped up Benjamin in his arms as he left the room. There was an attic hatch in the hall. Will had seen it when he stood at the top of the stairs. He held Benjamin up. The boy didn’t have to be told what to do. He pushed open the hatch and climbed into the attic.

Will told him, “Don’t make any noise. If they find you, don’t go anywhere without that phone. Do you understand? It’s got a tracker in it. We can find you if you keep the phone. Put it in your pocket. Don’t lose it.”

Benjamin pulled up the chain around his ankle. The hatch fell into place just as the front door slammed open.

Will barreled down the stairs at a full run. Paul Vickery had attacked him two times before, but each time, the man had surprise on his side. This time, Will had the upper hand. He also knew that crooked as Vickery was, he was a trained police officer. He’d do exactly what Will had done. Check the closet. Check the garage. Check the kitchen.

Vickery was coming out of the kitchen when Will launched himself off the stairs. Vickery’s mouth opened. He didn’t have time to scream. Will tackled him to the floor like a pile driver. Vickery’s gun skittered out of his hand. Will slammed his fist straight into the man’s face. As awful as the situation was, Will couldn’t help but feel the sweet victory of payback as Vickery’s nose exploded like a blown tire.

Will reared back for another go, but Vickery didn’t move. Like most bullies, he had a glass jaw. One hit and he was unconscious. Will sat back on his heels feeling supremely disappointed.

“Damn, Bud,” Cayla Martin said. She was standing at the busted-open front door. She had a Taser gun pointed at Will’s chest.

The M26-C carried a compressed-nitrogen air cartridge that shot two tiny barbed probes up to fifteen feet away. The probes were attached to insulated conducting wires. The wires were attached to eight double-A batteries that delivered up to fifty thousand volts of electricity. Enough juice to cause complete neuromuscular incapacitation.