She managed to make out the black printing on the unrolled piece of paper in the dim light. It was in all caps:
“It says that Sam’s at home. Nothing more. He signed it ‘Your Boyfriend.’”
What was going on here? She didn’t understand, and doubted that any of the others did, either. She wanted to drive like a bat out of hell to get back to Jacob Marley’s house, to find Sam, but she couldn’t, she was too dizzy. Waves of light-headedness came over her at odd moments. She drove home slowly, watching for other cars, headlights behind her. But nothing seemed out of the ordinary. She knew they had to stay low. No one wanted to risk Sam’s life by showing themselves too soon.
She was clearheaded by the time she reached Jacob Marley’s house. She turned off the engine, sat there a minute, staring at the house. Everything was silent. The sliver of moon shone nearly directly overhead now.
There were lights on only downstairs. She remembered she hadn’t even gone upstairs, hadn’t wanted to, and then the phone had rung.
Had Sam been locked in her closet upstairs all this time where Krimakov had hidden himself waiting for her to get into bed?
She was into the house in under three seconds, racing up the stairs, picturing Sam tied up, stuffed in the back of her closet, perhaps unconscious, perhaps even dead. She yelled at the wristband, “Is everyone still there? Oh God, of course you are! I think you’d better still stay out of sight. I don’t know what he’s up to. You don’t, either. Stay hidden. I’ll find Sam if he’s here.”
She dashed into her bedroom and switched on the light. The room was still, stuffy, closed up for too long. She pulled open the closet door. No Sam. She knew they could hear her footsteps pounding up the stairs, hear her harsh breathing, hear her curse when she didn’t find Sam.
She went into every room, opened every closet, searched every bathroom on the second floor.
“No Sam yet. I’m looking.”
She called out to him again and again until she was nearly hoarse.
She was in the kitchen, pacing, when she saw the door to the basement. Oh, Jesus, she thought, and pulled it open. She flipped on the single light switch. The naked hundred-watt bulb flickered, then strengthened.
“Sam!”
He was sitting on the concrete floor, propped against a wall, bound hand and foot, a gag in his mouth. His eyes were wide, dilated with terror. How long had the bastard left him sitting in the dark?
“Sam!” She was on her knees next to him, working the gag loose. “It’s all right, honey. I’ll have you loose in just another second.” She got the gag off him. “You okay?”
“Becca?”
A thin little voice, barely there, and she nearly wept. “It’s all right,” she said again. “Let me get you untied, then we’ll go upstairs and I’ll make you some hot chocolate and wrap you up in a real warm blanket.”
He didn’t say anything more, not that she expected him to. She got his ankles and wrists untied and lifted him in her arms. When she got back into the kitchen, she sat down with him and began rubbing the feeling back into his wrists and ankles. “It will be all right now, Sam. Do you hurt anywhere else?”
He shook his head. Then he said, “I was scared, Becca, real scared.”
“I know, baby, I know. But you’re with me now. I’m not going to let you out of my sight.” She carried him into the living room and wrapped him in an afghan. Then she went back to the kitchen, sat him down in a chair, the blanket firmly wrapped around him. “Now some hot chocolate. You hungry, Sam?”
He shook his head. “I want Rachel. My tummy feels weird. She knows what to do.”
“Mine would, too, if I’d been through what you have. I’ll tell your dad that you want Rachel.” While the water heated, she poured the cocoa mix into a cup. Then she held Sam close again, telling him how brave he was, how everything was all right now, how she would call his father. While Sam was drinking the chocolate, Becca, not taking her eyes off him, pulled out her cell phone and called Tyler. “I’ve got him. He’s safe.”
“Thank God. Where are you?”
“At home. Krimakov put him in the basement. He’s all right, Tyler.”
“I’ll be right there.”
Obviously they’d all heard her but had waited to see if Krimakov was going to show himself. But no longer. Sam was safe. Still, there wasn’t a sign of Krimakov. She’d forgotten to tell Tyler to get Rachel.
Adam came through the back door like an avenging angel. Then he saw Sam’s white face, saw that the little kid was all wrapped up in a pale-green afghan. He wanted to kill Krimakov with his bare hands.
He slowed down, pinned a big smile on his face. He came down on his haunches beside him. “Hi, Sam. You’re the youngest hero I’ve ever known.”
Sam stared at him for a minute, then he smiled, a really big smile. “Really?”
Adam was surprised to hear even that one short word out of him. “Really. The youngest. Boy, am I impressed. Do you think you could tell Becca and me what happened?”
Tyler came running through the front door. He stopped cold when he saw the three of them, but his eyes were on Becca first, then slowly he looked at his son.
He didn’t say another word, just scooped up Sam in his arms and sat down with him. He rocked him back and forth. Becca thought the contact was more for Tyler than to comfort his son. Finally, he raised his head and said quietly, “Tell me what happened.”
Becca told him, short, stripped sentences, no emotion in them, stark facts, no details.
“But why did this Krimakov take Sam when all he did was get you here then tell you he was here in the house?”
“I don’t know. Adam, did any of you see him? Did you see anything at all?”
Adam shook his head. “We’ve been looking, behind every damned tree.”
She wished then that she hadn’t reminded Tyler that Adam was here. His eyes narrowed, he hugged Sam more tightly to him. “You bastard, this is all your fault.”
“Get a grip, McBride. Your son is all right. Now, if you don’t mind, let’s see if Sam can tell us anything about the guy who took him. You know it’s important. You don’t want Krimakov to get Becca again, do you?”
Tyler said, “Sam rarely says anything, you know that.”
“He had a thick sock over his head. I never saw him. He gave me potato chips to eat. I was real hungry, but he told me to be quiet, that Becca would come for me soon enough.”
Everyone stared at Sam. He looked quite pleased with himself. He grinned at Becca.
“Sam, that’s great.” Becca came down on her knees beside him. “I did come for you, didn’t I? That’s right, sweetie. Take another drink of your hot chocolate. It’s good, isn’t it? Now, tell us what you were doing when he got you.”
But Sam didn’t say anything more. He looked once at his father, yawned, and shut down. It was the strangest thing she’d ever seen. Sam just shut his eyes and went to sleep, slumping against Tyler’s chest. One minute smiling, then just gone.
“He’s a very brave little kid,” Adam said, rising. “If it’s okay with you, McBride, can we speak to him in the morning? At least try?”
Tyler looked like he wanted to shoot all of them, but in the end, he slowly nodded. “I’m taking him home now.”
Adam looked at Becca, then said, “Nah, forget about us talking to him again. Sam probably doesn’t have all that much more to tell us that would be useful. It’s done and over. Please don’t tell the sheriff about it. We’re leaving right now. I guess whatever it was Krimakov wanted, he got.”
“But what the hell did he want?”
“I don’t know, Tyler,” Becca said. She kissed Sam’s cheek. “He’s a very brave little boy.”
“Will you come back to see him again?”
“Yes,” she said. “I will. I promise. We just have to get all this business resolved first.”
When Tyler was out the front door, Adam said suddenly, “Hold it right there, Becca. Your back. With all the excitement, I forgot about your back. He shot you with something. Let me see.”
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
