“I hope you didn’t hurt her,” Thomas said, right on his heels.

“She nearly bit my hand off,” Adam said.

“Yeah, but you brought her down.”

“No, that was Sherlock. I just clamped my arms around her.”

“You weren’t gentle enough.”

“Thomas, what did you want me to do, lie down and let her stomp on me before she ran another four-minute mile?”

“Yeah, Adam,” Agent Hawley said. “She got you good, but it’s not bleeding. Good straight teeth. Put her down on the couch.”

Thomas covered her with an afghan Allison had given him some seven years before. He didn’t realize it was quite hot, since they’d left the front door wide open and all the cold air had seeped out.

“I was careful,” Adam said, but he was sitting beside her, lightly touching her jaw where he’d hit her. “She shouldn’t even bruise. Listen, Thomas, she was going to run and run until we brought her down. She would have fought me until I might have hurt her by accident. She wasn’t thinking.”

“Yeah, I guess I understand.” Thomas raised his eyes to Hawley and Cobb. “We’re in deep trouble now.”

Becca moaned and opened her eyes. She lurched up only to have two hands push her back down, and Adam’s voice close to her face saying, “If you try anything again, I’m going to lock you in your room. If you bite me again, I’ll lock you in your closet and feed you moldy bread and water.”

Her hair was hanging in her face, her jaw felt swollen and sore, and she was so mad she wanted to spit. More than that, she was desperate. She was tired of failing. All she’d done since Krimakov had come into her life was fail. She raised her head and looked him squarely in the eye. “That wasn’t funny. Go to hell.”

“No, I won’t do that. What I want to do is help you if you’ll just let me.”

The three hours were up, she knew it. She had to do something. She had to do something right this minute. But it didn’t matter. It was too late. All of them knew now. She said, trying to control her misery, her deadening fear, “I’ve got to call Tyler. I promised to call him in three hours. If I don’t, I don’t know what he’ll do, probably go to the media. Don’t you understand? Krimakov has Sam. He wants me to come to Riptide, doesn’t want me to tell you or Dad. Tyler is desperate.”

Adam came down on his knees in front of her. “Becca, look at me.”

“I was looking at you. You’re trying to lighten things up. You can’t. You can’t help me. Only I can do something here. I don’t want to look at you. Just because you’re stronger, well, never mind what you are, Sherlock got me first. It doesn’t matter. I’ve got to call Tyler. You can’t help.”

“All right.” He rose and offered her his hand. A big hand, she thought, a strong hand, and she wished she could take it and bite it again, then flip him over the back of the sofa.

“You all right, sweetheart?” Thomas said, handing her a cup of tea.

Sweetheart? He’d called her sweetheart and it seemed to have come out naturally, not a fake endearment. It nearly made her cry. No one had ever called her sweetheart before. Her mom had always called her honey, or when she was a little girl she’d been Muffin.

She didn’t let it touch her. She couldn’t, not now at any rate. “I’ve got to call Tyler, tell him that I’m coming right away to Riptide and that none of you are coming with me. Do you understand? Sam dies if anyone comes with me. No, Adam, just shut up. I will not let that little boy die.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense,” Thomas said slowly. “He wants you, that’s true, but he wants me more. Why doesn’t he want both of us to come to Riptide? The package deal he always wanted? What’s he up to now?”

Becca said, “I don’t know. I agree that it doesn’t make any sense at all, but that’s what he wrote in his note to Tyler. He told Tyler how to contact me, and then when I did call, Tyler was to tell me to come to Riptide alone. Not to tell either of you or Sam would die.”

“Note?” Sherlock said. “What note?”

“The kidnapping note,” Becca said. “Krimakov left it on Sam’s bed after he took him. Told him exactly what to do, told him that if I didn’t come, he’d kill Sam, just like Linda Cartwright.”

“It might not even matter now,” Sherlock said, “but if we can get the note, I’ll give it to our handwriting experts. Also, they can compare the handwriting to other documents that you have, Thomas, with Krimakov’s handwriting on them.”