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  An odd thought struck her. If Dolan could locate kidnap victims, then why couldn't he just tell the police where the culprits were?

  Esmerelda leaned forward and set her cup on the table before her twitching hands spilled it. Could it be that Sarah knows something about this? That's why Dolan's name was in her book. It would explain all the interest Dolan and Alex have in her.

  She had to talk to Sarah and evidently Sarah wanted to talk to her.

  A thump from the window behind her made her jump.

  She spun around in her chair just in time to see the edge of a face disappear.

  She got up from her chair and went to the kitchen. In her baking supply cabinet she found a rolling pin. The light switch was near the door. To turn it off would expose her to the open window and whoever may still be out there.

  Her hands shook to the point where she almost dropped the rolling pin.

  With the light on she was too visible. She had to risk being in the open to turn it off.

  She sauntered across the hallway, flicked off the lights, and dropped down, her back against the door. She sat there, listening for any sounds from the outside of the trailer.

  After a few moments of silence, she let her breath wheeze out, chest pumping with the action of breathing.

  The doorknob rattled. Her free hand covered her mouth as a little squeak slipped out.

  She looked up at the brass knob as it stopped moving.

  She edged away from the door with as much stealth as she could muster.

  She picked up her cell and dialed 911.

  Chapter 9

  The cigarette dropped into the ashtray where she butted it out. She'd held it too long. Ashes had fallen from the tip and now lay in her lap. She moved to brush them off, smearing their fragile nature into the red skirt that covered her thigh.

  She looked up at the ceiling tiles of her office and gritted her teeth in an effort not to lose control.

  Documents lay before her on the desk in disarray. She gathered them up and tossed them into a corner tray. She picked up the phone and hit speed dial.

  When the phone was answered, she wasted no time. "Any word yet?"

  "No, but I'm down at the motel sizing things up."

  "Do whatever's necessary. Just tell me if it'll work or not."

  "It looks like a fit. I think it'll work. We just need to punch out one wall and set up a secure perimeter. Once the subject is located here, we can finish the reconstruction. This means we can move within a day."

  "Call me with confirmation."

  She rubbed a palm against her throbbing forehead after hanging up. Pausing long enough to control her breathing, she got up, grabbed her coat and flicked off the lights. The lock clicked as she turned the key.

  A brief image of her mother filled her head. She stood on the doorstep of her office, eyes closed. Whatever happened to her? Where was she now? And what made her think about her mother?

  Maybe it was that stupid psychic stuff she always went on about. Maybe her mother planted a thought in her head?

  She laughed. Craziness.

  Her mother had left for the circus many years ago. At least that's what her father called the Psychic Fair. He used to always ridicule her after she left. He'd say that it wasn't 'mother knows best,' with Esmerelda, it was 'mother knows everything'.

  Rain started to hit the pavement. She watched it, remembering she had read last week that rain fell at approximately twenty-seven kilometers an hour.

  She lifted her small purse over her head and ran for the car. After getting in, she opened the glove box and pulled out her Mickey. A small silver flask filled with ten year old scotch.

  Today's drink would be stronger than on most other days.

  The rain sounded like a small machine gun as it pounded the roof. She held the flask a moment, listening to the rhythm of it. Water seeped down the back of her neck from her wet hair.

  The alcohol had lost its grip on her months ago. She'd only recently started again. Her long and trusted friend, Mickey, had traveled in her glove box the past few days for just such a moment.

  Her cell phone started chirping. She recapped the flask and tossed it into the glove box, shutting it hard. Maybe some other time, she thought as she answered the phone.

  "Yeah?"

  "It'll work. One hundred percent. Everything measures perfect."

  "Good. Send them in. Get it ready for the delivery. You know the drill. Do it quietly. I want no one to even know you're there. Understood?"

  "I'm on it."

  She hit the end button and tossed the phone on the passenger seat.

  She found herself staring at the glove box. Her mother came to mind again. She wondered if she was still alive. Imagine if her mother knew what she'd done with the trust fund left to her. If only her mother knew that she made more money now than the trust fund ever gave her.

  She reached over and opened the glove box.

  Chapter 10

  People normally stare at her face or probe further to see if she had any hair. For the last hour, as she walked toward her appointment with another kidnapping, she hadn't noticed anyone paying extra attention to her. Her shirt sleeves dropped below the elbow. Her bandanna was a red one tonight. The one she usually wore to do her notebook's bidding.

  Sarah was watching the passersby more than they watched her. There was the danger Esmerelda talked about, but there was also a sense of foreboding she was feeling. Like somehow, she was being watched.

  She thought about her mother and felt remorse from their fight. She hated lying to her mom.

  Maybe it was the call that was spooking her?

  To top it all off, Mary couldn't be trusted either. An earlier precognition had told her to use Mary, so she did. But she wasn't comfortable about it.

  The streets in this area were getting busier. She was a few blocks from downtown. About a thirty minute walk to Birk Street

  She passed by a store front and stopped. She needed to know the time and she'd left her watch at home in her hurry to leave. The crumpled paper came out of her pocket with a little protest. She opened it to the entry.

  Tonight. 9:23pm. Birk Street North Face. Kidnapping.

  She slipped the paper into a large pocket below the knee area in her pants. Too bad she couldn't just call the police and tell them what was going to happen. Let them handle it. That was their job anyway. But she knew the answer to that. She hated cops. Ever since the cop who used to babysit her years ago had done things to her. She shivered at the memory. She'd never be able to trust a cop. Ever.

  Thinking about her ordeal only made her want to pull. She stepped into the store she'd been standing in front of, checked the clock mounted on the wall and stepped back out to the sidewalk.

  8:30pm.

  She reached up and pushed the red bandanna a little above her ear. Stray hairs tumbled out. Savoring the moment as she continued toward Birk Street, she took her time easing them from their roots. She could almost feel the exact moment when the follicles disengaged.

  She dropped her hand and stuffed it into her pants pocket. The hairs she'd claimed from her scalp were entwined through her fingers. She rolled them around, trying to quell her nervousness.

  She didn't want this, nor did she ask for it. She didn't want the police in her life either. Sitting in their cruiser earlier had been horrible. It made her feel weak.

  She was weak once.

  Despair, loneliness, depression.

  After the incident with the babysitter she remembered how she withdrew for a while. He'd told her that his fellow officers had his back. They'd be watching her. If a cop ever took a statement about what happened between them, they'd throw it in the garbage when she left. He even nodded and waved to a fellow officer in her presence.

  Sarah shook her head back and forth. Memories of those days always rattled her. This wasn't the best time for that, but they were like some kind of memory tumor.

  She came up to a busy intersection, crossed on the green and
headed south.

  There were a couple of dark years after that, where her depression went unnoticed by her parents. They only got juiced about the decline in her school report cards.

  And now her entire eyebrows and lashes were gone. Most of her forearm hair was missing along with small amounts of pubic hair.

  Her mother had taken her to the doctor to find out why Sarah was losing so much hair and they'd misdiagnosed it as Alopecia areata. Then they thought it was a fungal infection. A few years back a new doctor diagnosed her with trichotillomania. This meant she was a "puller". Other people were cutters, but Sarah was a puller.

  The doctor prescribed Zoloft, which she refused to take because she enjoyed being alone, depressed. She didn't want to be like everyone else; happy and fake. The dark moods were something she didn't want to discard. They'd become a companion. A form of comfort.

  Besides, it wasn't like she wanted a lot of friends because she couldn't do some of the basic things friends did, like swimming in a public pool. Everyone would notice the hair loss and she wouldn't fit in.

  Sarah had never fit in.

  In the beginning she tried to only pull from the regions of her body that were less noticeable, staying away from her head. As hair thinned, it became harder to find quality strands. Then her head was fair game, starting above the nape of her neck where it wouldn't be seen as much and it spread from there.

  She wondered if she pulled all her hair out, would her parents notice her then? Would they stop arguing about her?

  Sarah slowed up about a block and a half from Birk Street. She had to collect herself, get her thoughts back to the job at hand. She wiped a tear away and took a couple deep breaths.

  After a moment she started walking again. What did North Face mean? Was the victim going to face north or be on the north side of the street? Then she recalled Birk Street ran east and west. It was a relatively short street, intersecting with the entertainment district.

  Within minutes she walked up to the corner of Birk and Acton Street. A theatre on Birk was showing the new movie with Al Pacino. To the left she saw a convenience store and a Topper's Pizza. People were milling around the pizza shop waiting for the late show.

  Maybe North Face was meant for her to face north. She looked up and down Birk Street. How was she supposed to know who was going to be kidnapped and who was going to do the kidnapping with all these people hanging around?

  This precognition seemed to have more unknowns than the others. They never were too clear, but at least on other precognitions she was given an article of clothing, a hair color, or something specific to watch for, like Bring Hammer.

  Not this time.

  She turned to her right and walked down about half a block. She saw it was 9:10pm from a clock on the wall inside a closed barber shop.

  A door sat recessed in a way that it was hidden from the street in shadows. Sarah stepped up, turned around and leaned against it. From her vantage point she could almost see the whole north side of Birk Street, including the entrance to the theatre and the pizza joint where it seemed most of the people were converging. She could smell the pizzas cooking from where she stood.

  While she waited, she reread the note about tonight. I'm as prepared as I can be, she thought to herself, trying to quell her stomach.

  A sneaking suspicion that the danger Esmerelda referred to only caused her to wonder what the hell she was doing here. If this was the danger, she could be in a lot of trouble. Maybe the police should be the ones watching this street. She may not like them or trust them, but not all cops were bad. They could have the street surrounded at this very moment if she told them what was going to happen. She'd have more credibility if she revealed who she really was. The television news anchor would broadcast her as a hero and the other people she saved would verify her story. So it seemed irrational for her to not involve the police.

  But yet, she couldn't.

  She didn't want to be a public person and she had no trust and a lot of hate for cops.

  She leaned out and glanced in the barber shop window.

  9:20pm.

  In three minutes, someone will be kidnapped on this street and not only does she not know who yet, but she doesn't know where.

  Chapter 11

  He sat in the passenger seat wondering why his brother was being such a dick. They have been staking out the theatre for about an hour, waiting for their intended victim to show up. The subject of his discontent had come up again, only to have his brother knock it down.

  He'd done all the hard work on this one; scouting the place out, following the girl. He almost got caught watching her house. He always obeyed commands because of the respect he had for his older brother. If it hadn't been for Matt, he wouldn't be doing this at all. He'd probably be in jail by now.

  But Matt was the one who handled the boss. He was the one barking the orders and he was the one who always got paid more money.

  Enough is enough. Gert wanted a little something. He wanted to play around a little with the next girl they took. He didn't care how old she was. If she was old enough to bleed than she was old enough to breed.

  "So, how about it? Why not?"

  "No way. You know what the boss thinks of that stuff. Personally, I think the boss would have you taken out if you were too rough with any of the subjects."

  "Where's the fun in just kidnapping them? Why can't we have a little something on the side?"

  "I'll tell ya what. The next time I'm talking to the boss, I'll hand you the phone. You ask."

  Gert shook his hands back and forth, waving that notion off. "Forget it. That's like asking permission to get laid. No way. Not me. I don't ask permission for that."

  "Since you're asking me then, I think there might be a reason you want permission. Could it be because of the additional charges if we're ever caught?"

  "You mean arrested?"

  "Yeah, dummy. If you never touch the girls then they can only charge you with kidnapping. You fuck one of them, and now, not only do they get you on kidnapping, but they'll have you on a whole slew of sex related charges. Those are the ones where you do real time. And while you're doing time, someone claims you as his bitch and rips you a new one for touching a little girl."

  Gert looked at the dash clock and saw it was 9:21pm. It was time to talk about something else because he didn't like where this was going. "Once we take the girl, is the place ready for us?"

  "Yes. I talked to the boss earlier and it looks like it's all set up, or getting set up. Something like that. Either way, we got the go-ahead to move the subject there after we pick her up."

  Gert looked down at the floor boards. One of these days he was going to do his own thing. Why couldn't he kidnap these stupid rich teenagers on his own, set up the money arrangements and keep every penny for himself. He was practically doing all of it on his own as it is. He could even have his way with the girl for a week or two while she was tied up in a basement or a cage.

  Matt smacked his arm and put the car in gear.

  "This is it. I'll handle the girl. You keep the boyfriend off our back. Let's do this and be quick about it."

  "I still want to fuck her."

  Chapter 12

  The area was getting busy as a movie was let out. Dozens of people were milling around, waiting to get in for the late show. A girl wearing a blue vest and what looked like her date hanging off her shoulder walked right by Sarah. The girl looked up and locked eyes with her. Sarah stared as the couple turned toward the street, looked both ways and walked across to the north side.

  Something about the girl bothered Sarah. The vest was too warm for a night like this. The streetlights gave off enough light to see the logo on her vest, but not the name. It consisted of two edges that looked like an "L" with each tip of the "L" connected by a half circle. It was a familiar brand, but she couldn't put her finger on the name.

  Sarah stepped back into the recessed doorway again. Darkness covered her.

  A dark colored Chrysl
er pulled away from the curb half a block down and started a slow advance toward the pizza joint.

  The North Face. She snapped her fingers. That's the name of the company with the logo on the girl's vest. The North Face.

  So she did get an identifier for the intended victim and she missed it. The girl had been right beside her not one minute ago and now she was across the street loitering in a small crowd in front of the pizza shop.

  Sarah stepped out from the recessed doorway. She had to get to the other side of Birk Street. She had to warn the girl to take cover, get away and hide. Without looking at another clock Sarah was pretty sure it was 9:23pm.

  She stepped onto the street and went to cross.

  Her heart skipped and pounded out an extra beat, as if it was struggling to break a rib. She caught her breath when she looked into the windshield of the Chrysler moving her way. Both men were staring at the North Face girl as they eased along.

  What shocked her was the man sitting in the passenger seat of the car.

  She recognized him.

  It was the same guy from six months ago. The one who tried to kidnap Mary Bennett. Mary had turned and ran back to her dad's car after Sarah pleaded with her to run. This guy was in a van that night. The side door open, ready to pull Mary in as the van trolled by. Sarah remembered how he'd grabbed at her for interfering. He'd ripped her bandanna off her head and then reeled back at the sight of her missing hair. That was the only reason she escaped his grasp.

  One of her most dangerous exploits to date. She would never forget his face. It had been her first and almost her last.

  They hadn't spotted her yet. She could make a run for it. She could still get away. But what about the kidnap victim? Could she live with herself if she didn't try to stop this?

  She put one foot in front of the other and started across the road. Time stood still. The night air covered her, cooling her skin. This moment was akin to being in the zone.