Identity Crisis. Kate Donovan

      “He said Coach Horton reminded him that he was just a kid. That he shouldn’t carry his grief inside. That no matter what he said or did, his teachers and parents and community cared and would support him. It made sense, Essie.”

      “It still does,” she assured the agent. “That’s just the kind of thing a really good guidance counselor would say. I just didn’t think…”

      “You didn’t think Horton was a ‘really good’ one? Why not?”

      She took a deep breath, then admitted, “Instinct, pure and simple. I’ll admit he didn’t fit the profile in several key respects. At least, no more than any of the other men the cops questioned. But there were those two years of his life, in his late twenties, when he suddenly didn’t have a real job. I just kept coming back to that.”

      “His mother was dying. Emphysema, right? She needed him to come home. And she had enough retirement money so he could afford to help her full-time. That’s what the file said. His relatives and neighbors made it sound like he was a frigging saint,” Justin added, his tone slightly frantic. “But you don’t think so? Is that it? You think…what?”

      “I guess I don’t think anyone’s a saint,” Kristie admitted. “And I don’t think twenty-eight-year-old men who’ve been holding themselves out as Mr. Macho for years suddenly quit their jobs and break their engagement to their high-school sweetheart and move home to play nursemaid for two whole years—no matter how sick their mom is—unless there’s something else going on.”

      “Geez, Essie, don’t say that.” Justin heaved an exaggerated sigh, then muttered, “Okay, say it. Your gut instinct has been flawless in every case we’ve worked together. Almost eerie. So…?”

      Her heart was pounding again. “Either I’m right or I’m wrong. Obviously. But if I’m right—”

      “If you’re right, Lizzie might still be alive? That’s what you’re thinking? Based on what?”

      “Horton wants the search directed elsewhere. Away from him. Buying himself more time—more time to spend with Lizzie. He doesn’t really think he’s going to get away with it, but he wants it to last as long as possible. It’s right there in his file, Justin. I see it, even though I can’t explain it.” Kristie’s voice almost cracked with desperation. “He’s not finished yet, Justin. We still have time.”

      “Damn, Essie, I want that to be true.”

      “I know you do. Her big brother does, too. So—” She took a deep breath, then exhaled and instructed him briskly, “Just do exactly what I say.”

      Kristie had promised Justin Russo she’d wait a full half hour before putting their plan into action, allowing plenty of time for him to smuggle a phone into Randy’s room at the juvenile detention center. The agent was risking his case by putting her in touch with a detainee without alerting defense counsel, and was probably risking his career as well, all because of his faith in a woman he had never met.

      Now it was up to Kristie. Or rather, up to Melissa Daniels. Because Kristie Hennessy definitely intended to delegate this particular assignment to her red-haired counterpart. Melissa had gotten her this great job, and had been a virtual operative for several of her most challenging assignments. Now she was going to crack this kidnapping case.

      The spinner propped three pictures on a shelf in front of the phone for inspiration. The first was a photo of fourteen-year-old Randy Rodriguez, a typical boy with bravado to spare, yet gentleness behind his soft brown eyes. According to all reports, Randy had played hero in his five-year-old sister’s life since the very day she’d been born.

      Little Lizzie Rodriguez. She had the same brown eyes and dark hair as her brother and was just as adorable. Staring back at Kristie from the second photo, her eyes danced as playfully as the teddy-bear emblem on her pink polo shirt.

      Each of those photos was an inspiration, but given the chutzpah needed for this endeavor, Kristie focused on the third picture—a computer-generated image of Melissa Daniels. Long legs and a perfect body, cut-and-pasted from the Internet and clad in black leather. Luxurious red curls framing a face that was based on Kristie’s, but with shamrock-green eyes, sharper cheekbones and a sinfully generous mouth, all accentuated by sultry makeup and a saucy smile.

      When she was just about as psyched up as she could hope to be, Kristie glanced at her watch, confirmed that it was time, then took a deep breath and reached for the no-frills cell phone she kept in the top drawer of her dresser.

      She didn’t dare use her home phone to make this call, knowing that SPIN monitored and taped it. Her cell, on the other hand, wasn’t registered, since she had purchased it solely for the purpose of making private calls. Not that she generally made any such calls, but she had always hoped her love life might one day reactivate itself, and when it did, she didn’t want anyone, much less Ray Ortega, listening in.

      Meanwhile, this phone’s day—or rather, its night—had apparently arrived.

      Bracing herself, Kristie entered the phone number, then began to count the rings. One, two, three—

      “H-hello?”

      The plaintive voice brought a lump to the spinner’s throat, but she banished it and spoke confidently into the phone. “Hi, Randy. My name is Melissa Daniels, and it’s my job to help little girls in trouble. I’m six feet tall with flaming-red hair and a black belt in karate. And I’m not afraid of a damned thing in the whole damned world. How does that sound to you?”

      Dead silence greeted the announcement.

      “Randy? Are you still there?”

      “I already told the police—”

      “I know what you told them. I also know why you told them that. I’m very proud of you, Randy, but you and I both know there’s more to be done, don’t we? And we have to act fast. Right?”

      “I don’t know.”

      “That’s because you’ve never done this before. But I’ve saved hundreds of children, so I know exactly what to do. Just stay on the phone with me, and keep listening to my voice, and everything will be fine. Okay?”

      He didn’t reply, but the sound of rapid breathing told her he was beginning to panic.

      “Take a deep breath, sugar. I’m going to ask you a question, and you’re going to answer it yes or no. And after that, we’re going to go find Lizzie and bring her home. Okay?”

      A small sob that sounded suspiciously like his sister’s name was his only response.

      “Are you ready for the question, Randy?”

      “Y-yes.”

      “Okay. When Coach Horton talked to you today—”

      “I can’t talk about him! Please don’t make me! If I do—”

      “If you do, he’ll hurt Lizzie? That’s all I needed to know.” Kristie’s pulse began to race. “Horton told you she’s alive, right? That’s why you confessed—to keep her alive. You did the right thing. The smart thing. The only thing. And now with your help, I’m going to make sure he never has a chance to hurt her again.”

      “You don’t understand! He doesn’t have to do anything to her. He already did it.”

      “Did what?”

      “He buried her in the dirt, in the middle of the woods, and he’s the only one who knows where she is. If he gets arrested, we’ll never find her and she’ll run out of air. Oh God, now what? I promised him—”

      “Randy! Listen to me. Take a deep breath.” She waited a moment, then demanded, “What color hair do I have?”

      “R-red.”

      “And what am I afraid of?”

      “Nothing,” he whispered.

      “And