Strange to feel her presence now, so close that he could almost smell her jasmine lotion. The crazy corkscrews of her hair were in the breeze that touched his face as he ran.

But he was not in danger. Bree was. Bree, alone with Coral Lee Pine. That was probably what was bothering him.

He glanced at his phone. Bree and Trey had both lost signal, but his shittier carrier somehow still had a faint connection. He was navigating with the map on his phone and some still shots he’d taken off Google Earth. All aerial views, looking down on his location from space. It had been fall the last time the satellite passed over. The pictures made this place look lonely and cold, with brownish red clay the only warmth threading through dark granite and the thick cover of the turning leaves.

Today, though, was all sunlight filtered through the vivid green. There was birdsong, and to his left something small, a squirrel or a rabbit, dashed away. Down here it was a beautiful spring day, and he had missed something. He knew it. He’d made a mistake. But what?

He ran as lightly as he could, avoiding twigs that might snap and the low, leafy branches that might rustle. If Coral Lee heard him, if she realized what they were doing, she might decide it was better to take Trey’s wife away from him than take nothing. That must be why he felt Betsy brushing through him as he hurried up and up, the hill so steep that he was already a little winded. But they’d known this risk going in. Bree believed that Coral would not hurt her, and if she was wrong, she didn’t care. All she wanted was for him to find the baby. Get Robert out safe. That was his only job.

He was skirting close to Funtime, but the woods were thick and well shaded, widespread branches reaching for the sun in competition with one another. That would make him harder to see, plus it meant that there was not a lot of ground cover. The time he was saving felt worth the risk.

He caught a flash of electric blue through the trees far off to his right. Funtime Jack’s hat. He was already flanking the entrance. The carousel was just beyond. Was he too close? He had on his good hiking boots and dark jeans with a green-patterned shirt he hoped might blend with the woods. Now he must stay fast and yet be so quiet. He said it over and over to himself, like a mantra. Fast and quiet, fast and quiet.

The top edge of the carousel’s collapsed roof came into view. He angled out, though he was too far to clearly see Bree or Coral. If they were talking, he could not hear their voices, and this was good. He hoped to God this meant they could not see or hear him.

Then he was past the carousel roofline, heading northwest on an angle farther up the slope. If this was not officially the Blue Ridge Mountains yet, it was damn close. It was plenty hilly here. His breath came short.

There was no fence around Funtime proper. He had to guess how far he needed to go to get around the old gold-panning site. In the aerial pictures, it had been two matched squares of dirt, wood-framed, behind the carousel. Gold-mine attractions like these were often nothing but large planting boxes full of sandy earth. He and Bets had taken Cara to one up near Dahlonega when she was little. The owners seeded the loose soil with souvenir “nuggets” and let kids pan until they got something. The pits did not take up a lot of room. He must be past them now.

He angled back the other way, skirting the back edge of Funtime. According to Mrs. Denton, there had once been a path leading directly from the gold mine to the hidey-hole. He scanned for gaps in the trees that felt deliberate, but the woods were thinner here. Any of the spaces through the trees could be parts of a former path.

He turned back up the slope and pressed on, no longer running. Now he was searching. There should be a cleared space up nearby, the remains of the Dentons’ old garden. Past that was the hidey-hole, which might be hard to see. He hadn’t been able to see it at all on Google Earth.

He felt that it was close. He also felt his unease rising, the smell of danger. He’d missed something. He was so tired. He felt that he’d aged years, as if the last two days had been a shortcut straight to middle age.

The earth was red with clay, the spring leaves and needles shading everything. He pulled himself up a small, steep incline. It leveled off into a shelf, and when he stood, he found himself in the open.

The garden. It was on a rare level place, the hill rising up again behind it. Over half of it was still skirted by the remains of a low rail fence. Some rails were missing. Other sections had been pulled over or coated by blackberry vines. Just to his left, a rusty gleam of silver caught his eye. An old bale of chicken wire, lying on its side.

His heart was pounding. The hidey-hole must be very, very close. He started across. The sun hit this cleared space directly, so bushes and wildflowers and vines had taken hold. Blackberry and wild-rose thorns snagged at his pants as he pushed through. On the far side, an improbable stand of bright sunflowers towered, off-season, tall, and crazy.

He scanned the hill ahead, and a flash of light pulled his attention. The gleam of heavy glass shining through the trees.

A window. The Dentons’ hidey-hole was right in front of him. He’d practically been looking at it, but only now did the shapes resolve. There was a weathered wall of gray siding built into the hillside. The cabin was narrow and tucked under a rocky overhang, in shadow. It had a heavy door and a single window. It had been built to blend, and as Mrs. Denton had said, the bulk of the house had been dug out from the hill itself.

His heart thumped hard, a booming in his chest. If he was right about anything, then it was this: Robert was here. Robert was fifty feet away, on the other side of that ancient wooden door. He knew it. He felt it. So why did he hesitate?

She wouldn’t bluff about this. She means him harm, Bree had said.

He felt Betsy’s fingers brush the back of his neck in warning, making the small hairs rise. Was someone with Robert after all? Lexie?

He unholstered his .38 and crept parallel to the cabin, moving out of the view from that single filthy window. Then he started forward again, angling his path to approach from the side.

He felt stupid doing it. Lexie wasn’t up here. Coral, who read mysteries and thrillers, would not let Lexie deposit forensic evidence at the scene of a kidnapping. Still, he felt watched. Still, he kept sneaking gingerly toward the window from the side, silent. If Robert was not alone, then it had to be Lexie. Who else would love Coral Lee Pine enough to help her steal a baby? Engineer Spence’s death? Coldly murder a toddler? There wasn’t anybody else.

If he looked through the window and saw Lexie holding the baby, he would have to make a choice. He could put a bullet in her eye, then kick the door down and dig the baby out from underneath her body. Or he could hope she would not have her mother’s ruthlessness and kick the door down first, commanding her to put her hands up, away from Robert’s frail, small neck.