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busy as clients arrived, having just gotten off work. Maria had a lesson going in the dressage ring. Another client was warming up her horse on the wide track that bordered the polo field. Felix and a couple other players rode casually up and down the field, working their ponies with a little stick-and-ball practice.
    Leah loved this time of day at the ranch, the late afternoon, when the sun was beginning to slip over the purple hills and take its baking heat with it. In another hour or two the cooler ocean air would find its way to the valleys. Then the clients would be gone and the horses would settle in for their dinner and a quiet evening munching hay.
    That was really Leah’s most favorite time of day in the barn, when the horses far outnumbered the people, though her mother rarely let her stay that late. One of the reasons she was allowed to work at the Gracidas’ at all was the fact that there were people around all day to keep an eye on her.
    Not that her mother worried about her getting into trouble. She worried about trouble finding Leah. As trouble had found Leslie.
    That was one of the many things that sucked about what had happened to Leslie. Leah had become a prisoner because of it. She could go nowhere alone. She wasn’t allowed to ride her bike by herself into town—or even up and down Old Mission Road, where they lived. In fact, she especially couldn’t do that because the road was kind of isolated and the houses were hidden. If someone tried to grab her off her bike, there might be no witnesses to see it happen.
    Nor was she allowed to stay home alone, which, at fifteen—almost sixteen—was nothing short of embarrassing. Most girls her age were babysitting to earn spending money, not being looked after by their own babysitters. But most girls her age didn’t have a sister who had been kidnapped.
    “Hey, Leah!” Wendy called.
    While Leah had seen to Jump Up, Wendy had gone into the lounge and changed out of her riding clothes to a pair of khaki shorts and a purple polo shirt with the collar turned up. She walked hand in hand with a dark-haired little girl maybe eight years old, and side by side with a pretty, dark-haired woman carrying a toddler.
    Leah latched the stall door and dusted her hands off on her britches.
    “This is my friend Anne,” Wendy said. “And Haley and Antony.”
    At the mention of his name, the toddler grinned and waved. His hair was a thick, tousled mass of black ringlets.
    Leah managed a shy hello.
    “It’s nice to meet you, Leah,” Anne said. “Wendy tells me you’re new to the area.”
    “My mom and I just moved here about a month ago.”
    “From where?”
    “Santa Barbara.”
    “Have you had a chance to meet many people?”
    “Not really.”
    “Not at all,” Wendy said. “All you do is work here and go home.”
    “Would you like to join us for pizza tonight?” Anne asked. “My date is standing me up. He got called to a case. He’s on his way to Phoenix.”
    “Vince used to work for the FBI,” Wendy explained. “Now he’s like this rock star profiler. He goes all over the world.”
    “Wow,” Leah said as her mother’s black BMW rolled into the yard.
    “You should come with us,” Wendy said.
    “It’s just us girls,” Anne started to say.
    “Me too, Mommy!” the little boy piped in.
    “And Antony,” his mother added.
    “I’m all boy!” he announced.
    His mother smiled at him and kissed his curly head. “You certainly are.”
    The boy grinned. “Pizza! Pizza!”
    Haley, the dark-eyed little girl, looked up at Leah. “Do you ride horses too?”
    “Yes.”
    “I got to ride a pony for my birthday.”
    “Come with us,” Wendy insisted.
    Leah gave a little shrug. “My mom’s here to pick me up.”
    “She should come too.”
    Leah said nothing. Wendy didn’t know her mother.
    Lauren Lawton slowed her step as she neared, looking suspicious to find her daughter with a group of strangers, like maybe she was walking into an ambush or