a run, racing several hundred yards before coming to a stop.
“We made it. We’re in America now!” They laughed and hugged each other.
The forest continued to draw on in front of them, with no end in sight, and finally they trudged silently onward. Nightfall came, and they were still in the forest.
All of their food was gone. Jaci’s stomach twisted in hunger, so violently that she thought she would gag. And it was cold. She pulled Silvet’s pink sweater out of her bag and yanked it over her head.
“I saw a movie once where a homeless man put newspapers and leaves in his clothes,” Amanda said. “At night. For insulation.”
“Worth a try.” Sara scooped up dried leaves and stuffed them down her shirt.
Jaci grabbed her own handful. “I guess we’re stopping, huh?”
No one answered. Jaci took that for a yes. She lay down and wrapped her arms around herself, burying her head under arms.
September 26
Montreal, Canada
“Can’t you at least tell me who printed this ad?” Carl tried hard to keep the frustration from his voice. He had visited five police stations in the past two days, all proving as unhelpful as this one.
He had a horrible craving for one of those giant, arm-sized whole dill pickles. His mouth puckered in anticipation.
The officer peered at him from under the rim of his red cap. “We don’t keep a record of ads printed in the newspaper.” His thick French accent dripped with sarcasm. “Did you try the newspaper office?”
Carl bit back a retort. Nobody at the Toronto Sun had been able to give him any information. The address they had on file was bogus; the name equally so.
Carl was reluctant to call the phone number on the ad and risk tipping his presence to The Hand.
“What about Officer Fayande? Is he here? He was listed on the ad, and the online directory said he works in this department.”
The man stiffened ever so slightly. “I don’t know the name.”
Red flag. “Let me speak with your superior.” Carl pulled himself up to his full height, trying to appear imposing. He didn’t have any power or jurisdiction here, and the Montreal officer knew it.
The man stepped into a glass-enclosed office. Carl took the opportunity to lean over the desk. He didn’t touch anything, but his eyes flicked over the papers.
There had to be something. If the phone number was from Montreal, The Hand lived close by. Or at least had a hide-out close by.
Not that he expected The Hand to be making waves here. No, of course not. This was home. He would want a safe haven. And privacy.
Carl straightened. Maybe he was in the wrong place. Maybe he should be checking with the department of land and agriculture instead of the police station.
A noise behind him made him turn. The officer stood by the door to the glass office. “The chief will see you now.”
Carl stepped away from the desk, giving his best innocent expression. “Thank you.” He entered the chief’s office, pulling the door closed behind him.
The man behind the desk leaned back in his chair, putting his fingers together and raising an eyebrow. One corner of his mouth curled upward. “I am Chief Pierre. How can I help you?”
Carl pulled out his badge and slapped it down in front of the man. “I’m Detective Hamilton, from the Idaho Falls police department. Two weeks ago, these four girls went missing.”
He slapped down the picture of all four girls. “Last week, the Toronto Sun printed this flier.” He slapped down the flier with pictures of the three surviving girls.
“I have reason to believe that their kidnapper lives here in Montreal. Why can’t I get any information?”
The man kept his steely gray eyes on Carl, not even looking at the pictures. “I don’t know what you expect us to do. I haven’t seen the girls. We didn’t print the flier.”
“But you saw the flier!” Carl slammed his fist down. “You knew those were the girls. Did you start a search for them to counteract this
“We made it. We’re in America now!” They laughed and hugged each other.
The forest continued to draw on in front of them, with no end in sight, and finally they trudged silently onward. Nightfall came, and they were still in the forest.
All of their food was gone. Jaci’s stomach twisted in hunger, so violently that she thought she would gag. And it was cold. She pulled Silvet’s pink sweater out of her bag and yanked it over her head.
“I saw a movie once where a homeless man put newspapers and leaves in his clothes,” Amanda said. “At night. For insulation.”
“Worth a try.” Sara scooped up dried leaves and stuffed them down her shirt.
Jaci grabbed her own handful. “I guess we’re stopping, huh?”
No one answered. Jaci took that for a yes. She lay down and wrapped her arms around herself, burying her head under arms.
September 26
Montreal, Canada
“Can’t you at least tell me who printed this ad?” Carl tried hard to keep the frustration from his voice. He had visited five police stations in the past two days, all proving as unhelpful as this one.
He had a horrible craving for one of those giant, arm-sized whole dill pickles. His mouth puckered in anticipation.
The officer peered at him from under the rim of his red cap. “We don’t keep a record of ads printed in the newspaper.” His thick French accent dripped with sarcasm. “Did you try the newspaper office?”
Carl bit back a retort. Nobody at the Toronto Sun had been able to give him any information. The address they had on file was bogus; the name equally so.
Carl was reluctant to call the phone number on the ad and risk tipping his presence to The Hand.
“What about Officer Fayande? Is he here? He was listed on the ad, and the online directory said he works in this department.”
The man stiffened ever so slightly. “I don’t know the name.”
Red flag. “Let me speak with your superior.” Carl pulled himself up to his full height, trying to appear imposing. He didn’t have any power or jurisdiction here, and the Montreal officer knew it.
The man stepped into a glass-enclosed office. Carl took the opportunity to lean over the desk. He didn’t touch anything, but his eyes flicked over the papers.
There had to be something. If the phone number was from Montreal, The Hand lived close by. Or at least had a hide-out close by.
Not that he expected The Hand to be making waves here. No, of course not. This was home. He would want a safe haven. And privacy.
Carl straightened. Maybe he was in the wrong place. Maybe he should be checking with the department of land and agriculture instead of the police station.
A noise behind him made him turn. The officer stood by the door to the glass office. “The chief will see you now.”
Carl stepped away from the desk, giving his best innocent expression. “Thank you.” He entered the chief’s office, pulling the door closed behind him.
The man behind the desk leaned back in his chair, putting his fingers together and raising an eyebrow. One corner of his mouth curled upward. “I am Chief Pierre. How can I help you?”
Carl pulled out his badge and slapped it down in front of the man. “I’m Detective Hamilton, from the Idaho Falls police department. Two weeks ago, these four girls went missing.”
He slapped down the picture of all four girls. “Last week, the Toronto Sun printed this flier.” He slapped down the flier with pictures of the three surviving girls.
“I have reason to believe that their kidnapper lives here in Montreal. Why can’t I get any information?”
The man kept his steely gray eyes on Carl, not even looking at the pictures. “I don’t know what you expect us to do. I haven’t seen the girls. We didn’t print the flier.”
“But you saw the flier!” Carl slammed his fist down. “You knew those were the girls. Did you start a search for them to counteract this
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