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She felt her thoughts start to race again.

Emmy had to remind herself that Gerald wasn’t testing her.

He was teaching her. If there was one thing her father excelled at, it was listening.

She mentally backtracked to when they had first walked up to the SUV.

The pissy little argument between Lance, Hugo, and Angela.

The answer hit her like a lightning bolt.

“Hugo said the caution tape was already broken before he drove onto the field.”

“Yep.”

“If he was telling the truth, that means a different vehicle drove onto the pitch before Hugo did, probably during the fireworks display, because neither Hugo nor Lance volunteered that someone drove onto the field before they did.”

“Yep.”

Emmy pointed her flashlight back at the Miata, easily locating the deep set of impressions made by the wide tires of Hugo’s SUV. This was what she had missed. There was a shadow tracing along the impressions, a second set of prints from a smaller set of tires.

“Hugo was telling the truth,” Emmy said. “Another car broke the caution tape first.”

“Sedan,” Gerald said. “Lighter weight.”

The sedan’s shadow tire impressions branched out on their own about twenty yards from where they stood, taking a right toward a stand of pine trees that overlooked the hill.

Emmy walked carefully across the field, keeping herself parallel to the path of the sedan.

She willed her heart to stop shaking in her chest. There could be all kinds of explanations for Madison abandoning her bike in the middle of the pitch, not just the bad ones.

Emmy kept trying to spin up her hope until she reached the edge of the pitch.

The tracks ended. The sedan had come to a stop.

She raised the flashlight toward the trees.

Emmy felt another lurch in her heart, this time like a knife had stabbed her straight through.

There was a second bicycle. Vivid blue. Multicolored beads on the spokes.

Pink streamers hanging from the handlebar grips.

Matching blue basket on the front. She had seen the bike countless times, abandoned in Hannah’s front yard, blocking her driveway, scuffing the paint off her porch railing, resting a few feet away from Madison’s light turquoise bike with the yellow basket because the two girls were practically attached at the hip.

She told her father, “That’s Cheyenne Baker’s bike.”

Gerald looked down at her. He’d heard the tremble in her voice. He’d felt the same shift in the air. The tickle. The bad feeling. The Don’t Feel Right . The good explanations were gone.

He tried, “These girls the types to run away?”

Emmy was shaking her head before he’d finished the question. She didn’t know Cheyenne that well, but Madison was too smart to abandon her bike on a soccer field and run away at ten in the evening when her parents were expecting to see her at home.

“She might run away, but not like this.”

“You got her number?”

Emmy took out her phone and tapped through to Madison’s cell.

She fought the tears that sprang into her eyes as she listened to the single ring before the call was sent to voicemail.

The mailbox was full. Emmy shook her head again.

She ended the call. Her hands had started to tremble. This was bad. This was really bad.

“Emmy?” Hannah called from across the field.

Emmy quickly turned the flashlight away from Cheyenne’s bike. Hannah had clearly heard about Hugo’s accident. She was bouncing Davey on her hip as she jogged toward them. His eyelids were droopy as he fought off the urge to fall asleep.

“What’s going on?” Hannah asked. “I heard Hugo ran over Madison’s bicycle.”

Gerald asked, “Do you know where she is?”

“We told her to be home by eleven, but—” Hannah looked at Emmy. The color quickly drained from her face. They had been best friends since kindergarten. They knew each other’s darkest secrets and wildest dreams. There wasn’t a lot that Emmy could hide from her.

“Is she—” Hannah’s voice caught again. “What happened?”

“We don’t know,” Emmy said, because that was the God’s honest truth. “When I saw Madison, she was holding her phone. Can Paul track it?”

“What?”

“You told me that Paul had a tracker or something on her phone, right? That he wouldn’t let you use it?”

“Y-yes,” Hannah stuttered. She knew this was bad. “He can—maybe he can—”

Hannah didn’t finish the sentence. She ran back toward the parking lot. Davey looked at Emmy over his mother’s shoulder. His eyes were wide. He’d absorbed Hannah’s panic.

So had Emmy.

“Steady.” Gerald pressed his hand to the small of her back. “The way you help her is to keep your head down and do your job.”

Emmy nodded, but it was so hard.

“Tell me about Madison’s phone.”

Emmy made herself look away from Hannah. She closed her eyes, trying to summon the memory of the phone Madison had been holding. The sweltering heat. The stink of sweat and beer. Spotting Madison under the tree. Getting the idea that now was the time to make Hannah’s case.

Madison was in pink ballet flats that were scuffed green from the grass.

Lips pursed in thought. White shorts too tight.

Light blue North Falls Choral Club T-shirt stuck to her chest. Antsy, irritated.

Had she looked worried? Her skin was bright pink.

Emmy had walked toward the girl, silently lecturing herself not to start out with a negative about getting sunburned, then she’d stupidly told Madison to drink more water.

“Okay,” she told her father, “It was an iPhone. White case with flower stickers on the back. The same one she always has.”

“What time was it?”

“I saw her twice. The first time was around eight fifteen, eight thirty. She was standing under the oak tree. I went to find her because I thought I could help with—” Emmy knew her father wasn’t asking about the strained relationship.

“Madison seemed annoyed that I was talking to her. Not the usual annoyed, more like she had somewhere else to be. She said that she’d told Cheyenne that she’d meet her at the SnoBall stand ten minutes ago. But there’s no SnoBall stand.”

“And no Cheyenne?”

“No. I haven’t seen her all day. She’s usually with Madison.”

“And the second time?” Gerald asked.

“It was about ten minutes before the fireworks started. I was walking up the hill and saw Madison standing by the bleachers. I think she wanted to talk to me. I brushed her off. I went to the bathroom. I looked for her after the fireworks, but I couldn’t find her.”

Gerald studied her with his piercing blue eyes. “Did she have anything else on her? Sunglasses? A purse?”

“Nothing,” Emmy said. “Hannah told me she only carries a purse when she’s on her period. But there was a bulge in the front pocket of her shorts. Not a tampon or lip gloss. It was bigger. Maybe a Ziploc bag with snacks or something.”

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s look at the bike.”

Gerald took the flashlight. He kept his hand on her back as they walked the longest distance of Emmy’s life.

Her heart felt like it was churning inside of her chest. She fought to keep the tears from falling.

Her body was registering the horribleness of the situation before her mind would let her go there.

Cheyenne’s bike had been thrown instead of dropped.

The handlebars had turned backward. One of the grips dug into the earth.

The bike had slid several feet before hitting the trunk of a tree.

The pine straw was furrowed, the soil gouged.

The bike had been thrown with force. Some of the bark had chipped off the base of the pine.

An adult had done this. Probably a man.

Emmy held her breath as Gerald trailed the light along the vivid blue frame, the colorful spokes, the pedals, the handlebars.

The chain was broken. The back wheel was bent.

The tire was flat. He let the flashlight beam crawl across the area.

To the right. To the left. Her heart flinched at the sight of a phone approximately five feet from the bike’s rear tire.

White case. Flower stickers on the back.

iPhone. The screen was fractured into pieces.

Gerald pivoted the light a few feet past the phone. “See?”

Emmy saw. The earth was saturated, dark liquid pooling the same way oil had pooled under Lance Culpepper’s Miata.

Except this was not oil.

It was blood.

“Okay,” Gerald said. “We’ve got a kidnapping.”