Preacher’s face fell. “Oh, Jesus,” he said in a breath. “He did this. I know he did this….”

“We don’t know that he came here, Preacher,” Brie said.

“That’s the only thing that could’ve happened. Paige wouldn’t disappear like that. Her car’s here, f’chrissakes. Her purse. Her son!”

“There’s no evidence of a crime. Yet,” Brie said. She reached into her purse again, this time pulling out a Glock 9 mm. She slid it out of its holster and checked it for a full magazine and one in the chamber, then returned it, tucking it into the holster and her purse. “You men should go look around town, call the outlying farms and ranches from Connie’s and Doc’s to keep this phone clear. Somebody look in that old church, very carefully,” she said. “Mel and I will stay here with Chris, and if we have any trouble, I can take care of it. I’ll answer the phone here.”

“You’re carrying?” Mike asked, stepping toward her.

“Hmm. It was necessary,” she said. “And yes, I know how to use it. And no, I’m not afraid to do so.”

Preacher was already out the door when Jack said, “Necessary?”

“It’s not all that unusual to be threatened,” she said. “Not for a person in my job. The people I prosecute are dangerous, often violent. And…I no longer have an armed husband in the house, you’ll remember.”

“Brie…”

“Not now, Jack.”

“Yeah,” he said unhappily. The idea of his baby sister being threatened just added to the tension he was suddenly feeling. He agreed with Preacher—something bad was going on. Paige had relaxed quite a bit, but she was still very skittish about being far from Preacher—it had only been about eight weeks since Lassiter got out of jail. He went to use Doc’s phone to get Jim Post en route to Virgin River from Grace Valley, in case they had to extend their search. Jim had worked undercover for the DEA before retiring and marrying June Hudson and he knew a lot about hidden camps back in the mountains.

In an hour nothing turned up in town, nor had anyone on the ranches and farms they called seen or heard anything. But then the bad news came via phone. A couple of calls had revealed that Wes Lassiter had purchased airfare to Eureka from L.A. the day before. He couldn’t possibly have carried a firearm with him unless it had been secretly and illegally packed in checked baggage, but he had rented a car. And there had been one truck theft in Fortuna in the early hours of the morning. A farmer’s ’83 Ford, tan, went missing. There had been a rifle in the rack.

“He’s got her,” Preacher said. “That’s it, he’s got her.”

“If that’s true, they’re going to find that rented car not far from the farmer’s property,” Brie said. “Fortuna police are taking a look around immediately.”

Preacher went straight to his quarters while everyone stood around, looking at one another. Within five minutes he was back, putting a couple of vests, rifles and sidearms on one of the tables. He also had jackets and flashlights, because night would come and it would get cold and dark. He was ready to move, whether or not he had more information.

Mike went to his vehicle and came back with his own rifle, bulletproof vest and down vest. There was no reason for him to carry a bulletproof vest in his vehicle, but when he worked gangs he always had it with him, in case anything that included gunfire was going down when he was in the area. Ever since Lassiter was released, he’d been at the ready.

Jack shook his head and left to fetch gear from the back of his own truck. When he’d been throwing stuff in the back of the truck, he’d been thinking—she’ll turn up. It’ll end up she was down the street, sitting on Lydie Sudder’s porch, having tea, enjoying the afternoon sunshine. But Preacher didn’t overreact, and on the off chance something sinister was going on, Jack wanted to be prepared. Mel had said, “Oh, for the love of God! Isn’t this a little over the top?”

“I hope so,” he had said. “I really hope so.”

When he got back inside, Rick was putting on one of the bulletproof vests. “Uh, Rick. I’m thinking the women could use someone here in town….”

“Get Doc,” Rick said, pulling on the vest, very big on him because it was one of Preacher’s, and slapping the Velcro straps tight. “Doc can help over here. He’s a fair shot.”

Now, shrugging into his own flak jacket, Jack said to Preacher, “Tell me your plan.”

“I’m sorry, Jack. My head is empty. I just know I have to try to find her.”

“Right. Okay, here’s the deal. The sheriff, Highway Patrol and Department of Forestry will be getting descriptions of vehicles and Paige. They’ll have control of the roads, so we’ll concentrate on going back in the woods. We’ll look for old logging roads or broken-down brush indicating a vehicle passage. If he has that old truck, he won’t be off road—he’ll need a road to traverse. We’ll wait for Jim Post. He knows the area pretty well—maybe better than we do. We’ll concentrate on finding campsites, evidence of movement, maybe a hidden vehicle….”

“He could be far away by now,” Rick interrupted.

“No, he’s not going far,” Preacher said. “He can’t get away, not with Paige. Paige has changed since him—she doesn’t go along quietly anymore. This show-off guy with the three-million-dollar house—he’s not running back to L.A., to some cheap-ass hovel with the woman he thinks is his woman. If he’s got her, he had to kidnap her. He’s not running. He’s hiding. He’s gonna do something bad.”

“Preacher could be right,” Mike said. “Rick, we need maps of Trinity and Humboldt counties. Run over to Connie’s and get some. We’ll plot a course, select rendezvous points. That way we can get back here for new information. Jack, got a couple cases of bottled water?”

“Done.”

“Preacher, are there pictures of Paige somewhere? Maybe in her wallet?”

“I’ll see,” he said, going immediately.

People started moving again, getting things handled. About forty minutes had passed as they gathered up weapons and studied maps when Jim Post walked in, already fully dressed out—the flak jacket under his shirt obvious, wearing sidearms. He took a glance at the search rings and rendezvous points when the phone rang in the kitchen. Brie went to answer it and came back into the bar, grim-faced. “It’s not good news. Fortuna found the rented car. I’m afraid it’s got to be him. In the truck.”

Preacher went to Mel, who stood nervously jiggling the baby against her shoulder. “Mel, Chris is gonna be up from his nap pretty soon. You can keep him from getting worried, can’t you?”

“Sure,” she said. She put her small hand against his face and said, “It’s going to be okay.”

His eyes closed briefly. “It’s already not okay, Mel.”

“John?” came a small voice. There, standing in the doorway from the kitchen, was Chris with his favorite snugly toy, the one with the blue-and-gray plaid flannel leg. “What’cha doing, John?”

Preacher’s face melted into a soft smile and he went to the boy. He lifted him into his arms. “Huntin’,” he said. “Just a little huntin.’”

“Where’s Mom?”

Preacher kissed his pink cheek. “She’ll be back pretty soon. She’s off on errands. And you’re going to stay with Mel and Brie while we’re huntin’.”

While Wes drove, he talked. He didn’t look at Paige—his eyes were roving a little wildly, as though looking for something he’d misplaced. She wondered if it was drugs or if he was lost back in these hills, for he often seemed to be driving in circles. He’d start up a road, then either turn around or back out. But while this was going on, she listened.

She learned how much he hated his life in L.A.; the woman was just a means to an end—she had a place he could stay. There was no way he was going to check in with some state flunky every week, go to those stupid meetings every day, but he knew how to play the game. And they had random drug tests, he said. “Did you know that? They want my pee on a regular basis.” Then he laughed. “There’re a lot of places to get good pee.” And that’s when she knew—he’d managed to stay one step ahead of them for at least two months. He was using something, and if he wasn’t already just plain crazy, the drugs were helping it along.

Paige didn’t respond. She listened and watched. Not only was it dark back here in the trees on these winding roads, but the sun was lowering. Although it was May, it was cold in the forest at night and she shivered. She had no idea where they were.

“You have any idea what it’s like in jail?” He turned his face sharply toward her. “Ever see a prison movie, Paige? It’s worse than the worst prison movie you ever saw.”

She lifted her chin, thinking, Do they beat you, Wes? What’s that like? Huh? But she said nothing.

“Still can’t believe you did that to me. I just fucking can’t believe it! Like you didn’t know how much I loved you! Jesus, I gave you everything. Ever think you’d live in a house like the one I built you? Ever think so? I took you out of that dump you were in and put you in a decent place, a place with some class. What did you ever need that I didn’t give you?” And on and on he ranted. While she listened, the first thought that came was that he was so delusional, it was as shocking as frightening. He really believed that a nice house, some material things, could make the abuse tolerable.

She thought about John—kind, loving John. She remembered what he’d said about being afraid. They teach you to fake brave. Every muscle in her body seemed to tremble with her rising anger. She would be damned if she’d let this delusional maniac take that sweet man away from her, away from Chris.

And the next thing that occurred to her—he never mentioned Christopher. Not since earlier, as he was abducting her—and that was only to leverage her, not because he wanted his son. He’d never wanted a son, never wanted children at all. He hadn’t touched her sexually while she was expecting; it was as if a baby coming disrupted his focus. It was always supposed to be just the two of them.

She should have known those fierce beatings had been intended so that she’d lose the baby. It was a miracle she had Chris.

He drove up a spiraling road that ended at the top of a small rise with only a few trees. Looking down, she could see not only the road that wound its way upward, but the connecting road below. She noted a truck down there, whizzing past and disappearing around the mountain.

“This should be fine,” he said, putting the truck in Park and killing the engine.

“Fine for what?” she asked.

He looked over at her, and while his expression was mean, he put his hand against her cheek. Gently. She shuddered at his touch. He hadn’t hit her yet, and that’s what he did best.

“Why didn’t you just run?” she asked in a whisper. “If you didn’t want to face court again, or the possibility of prison, why didn’t you run? You have money, Wes. You might’ve gotten away.”

He gave a huff of laughter. “You don’t understand much about probation, do you, Paige? My passport was confiscated. Besides, the more I thought about it, about you and me, I decided it would go better like this. We’ll just end it like this.” He gave her a half smile, then reached under the seat and grabbed on to a roll of heavy duct tape. “Come on, Paige. We’re getting out here.”

Jack, Preacher, Jim Post, Mike and Rick lit out at about four, an hour after Paige went missing. They left a rough map behind showing the same rendezvous points as the ones on the map Jack carried. They’d cut widening circles around Virgin River. If they didn’t find anything right away, they planned to swing back through town by eight, and again by midnight, to see if Paige had turned up or been recovered by police. But none of them planned to quit before she was found. They left in two trucks, drove first north of town into the hills. They parked along a wide curve in the road and, with flashlights, went into the trees on foot, looking for any kind of trail to track.