Shaking, she reached for the phone to call 911. She identified herself to the dispatcher and tried to calmly explain. “Two creeps in their thirties just checked into one of my cabins with a fourteen-year-old girl I know was here with her family last week—they were camping here. Her name is Chelsea Smyth and I believe she may have been abducted.”

“Was the girl in distress, ma’am?” the dispatcher asked.

“She looked terrified! Never mind, I’ll call Stan!” She disconnected and dialed Stan’s cell phone.

“Yel-low,” he said thickly, like his mouth was full of dinner.

“Stan! Stan! There’s a kidnapped juvenile and two creeps have her and I gave them a cabin! Need help fast!”

He coughed and spit. “Jesus, Maggie! The Smyth girl?”

“Yes! Yes! I just called 911 and the dispatcher asked me if the girl was in distress! You know about this? Where is her family?”

“The family reported her missing. The bulletin went out a few hours ago—earlier today. They’re searching for her. She walked away from the group to answer nature and didn’t come back.”

“She’s here. I recognized her. She’s with two creepy guys in a dirty, old, muddy truck. Where’d she go missing?”

“Northwest of Leadville, in the mountains. They aren’t looking this far south. They thought she was lost but started exploring abduction just lately,” he said.

“One of the men used her father’s credit card—Gilbert Smyth. Please, hurry before they hurt that girl, if they haven’t already.”

She heard the sound of Stan’s movement, running, car door opening, huffing and puffing, like he was either at home for dinner or at a diner in town. “Where are you?” he shouted to Maggie.

“I’m in the store. I’m alone. Dad’s in the house, hardly any campers. I’ve got this shotgun...”

“Maggie, no!” he shouted. “Don’t you do anything! You lock yourself in the store and wait for me!” Then she heard the car door slam, engine start and Stan flipped on his siren to be en route fast. She listened while he radioed a variety of case numbers and emergency calls to everyone and their brother. She heard him call out in progress and Sullivan’s Crossing. “Maggie,” he said, a little breathlessly. “They armed?”

“Gun in the rack and big hunting knife strapped on a belt. And Stan—they’re big! She’s just a little girl.”

“Stay in the store. We’re on the way.”

Then he tossed his phone, probably onto the seat next to him. She could hear him on the radio in the background so he hadn’t disconnected. She overheard key words like SWAT, abduction, negotiation team, air support, dogs, armed and dangerous. She went to the storeroom for the shotgun. She loaded it. It held four rounds of small pellets and she knew how to use it. It was loud, scary and depending on where it was aimed, potentially deadly. But more to the point, it was probably not deadly. Probably being the operative word...

Where was Cal? Should she go find him?

Maggie, Maggie, her mind asked. When was the last time you had to have a man to help you make a decision?

Well, hell, Cal didn’t seem to be in possession of a gun and who knew if he’d ever fired one. He was a theme park employee!

She grabbed a roll of duct tape out of the store. Maggie loved duct tape—it cured almost everything shy of an aneurysm. She’d even seen a maintenance guy slapping it along the leading edge of the wing of a 757 once! But, if she had the chance, she was going to tape up the hands and feet of two bad guys. She stuffed it in her pocket and went out the back door.