But there wasn’t much to see. A bit of blood, a small hole, nothing more. “Why did he do this?”

“I don’t know,” Becca said to him over her shoulder, “but I promise I feel just fine. Here’s the dart he shot into my shoulder. You see the rolled paper around it.”

Adam unrolled the paper, frowned as he read it. “The bastard. What is he thinking? What is his plan? I hate this. He’s controlling us. All we’re doing is reacting to what he initiates. Damnation.”

“I know. But we’ll turn it around. Come on, Adam, let’s get out of here. I’m very relieved that Sheriff Gaffney hasn’t found his way here yet. Where is my father? Sherlock and Savich?”

“Sherlock went back to Washington with the handwriting samples. Your father, Savich, Hawley, and Cobb are waiting for us. I’ll tell them to meet us at the airport; we’re out of here.”

They were driving away in her rented Toyota when she thought she saw Sheriff Gaffney’s car in the distance. She stomped down on the gas.

She looked over at Adam’s profile. He looked pissed and very tired. Not physically tired, but a defeated tired. She understood because she felt the same way.

Nothing made any sense. He’d gotten her here, he’d shot her with a dart in the shoulder, and delivered Sam. Nothing else.

Where was Krimakov? What in God’s name was he planning to do now?

Dr. Ned Breaker, a physician whose son Savich had gotten back safely after a kidnapping some years before, was waiting at Thomas’s house when they arrived.

All the men shook hands, Savich thanking him for coming. “She refused to go to a hospital.”

“No one you work with ever does,” Dr. Breaker said.

“This is Becca, Thomas’s daughter. She’s your patient, Ned.”

“Dr. Breaker,” she said, “I’m really okay, nothing’s wrong. Adam already checked me out.”

Adam said, “And now it’s time for the real doctor to step up and have a look at the wound in your shoulder. We have no idea what was on that shaft that Krimakov shot into you. Be quiet, Becca, and do as you’re told, for once.”

She’d honestly forgotten about her shoulder. It didn’t hurt. Adam had washed it with soap and water and put a Band-Aid over it. She was frowning when Thomas said, “Please, Becca.”

“All right then.” She took off her sweater and lifted her hair out of the way.

“Come into the light,” Dr. Breaker said. She felt his fingers on the wound, gently pressing, pushing the flesh together, perhaps to see if any liquid or poison or God knew what came out. Finally, he said, “This is very strange. You were actually shot with this dart in the parking lot of a gym?”

“That’s it.”

She felt his fingers probe the area again, then he stepped away. “I’m going to take some blood, make sure there’s nothing bad going on inside you. It looks fine, just a shallow puncture wound. Why’d he do it?”

“I think it might have just been to deliver a note to us,” Savich said. “There was a note wrapped around the shaft.”

“I see. Interesting mail delivery service this guy has. Well, better to be careful.” He took a sample of her blood, then left, saying that he’d have results for them in two hours.

“A very good man to have as a friend,” Savich said. “I wonder, though, how many more favors he’ll believe he owes me.”

Thomas said to Savich, but his eyes were on his daughter, “You got his kid back for him. He’ll believe he owes you forever.”

It was nearly one o’clock in the morning when Dr. Breaker called. Thomas took the call, looked very relieved as he listened. He was smiling when he turned to Becca and Adam. “Everything’s okay. Nothing there but your beautiful normal stuff, Becca. He said not to worry.”

Becca had rather hoped there might be something, nothing terminal, naturally, but something. Otherwise, they still had not a single clue about anything. Krimakov had kidnapped Sam to get her back to Riptide. Then he’d shot her in the shoulder to deliver that ridiculous note. In the gym parking lot. Nothing made sense.

That night Adam came to her. It was very dark in her room. She was lying there, unable to sleep even though it was very late, staring toward the window, looking at the slice of white moon just above the maple treetops. The trees were silhouetted stark and silent against the night, and they were perfectly still, no breeze at all. Thank God the house was air-conditioned. It was cool in her bedroom.

Her door opened, then closed quietly. His voice was soft, pitched low. “Don’t be afraid. It’s just me. And I’m not here to jump you, Becca.”