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decided that putting the baby up for adoption was better for the child.
    Better than being raised by a mother suffering serious psychiatric problems. “Thanks, Dr. Clover. I’m going to make an appointment today with my ob-gyn.”

    Darby Wesley’s face haunted John.
    Although the man who’d kidnapped Darby was dead, someone had paid for the boy, and John was damn well going to find out who.
    Anxiety needled him with every passing minute they had no answers. Whoever had wanted the boy would be looking for a replacement.
    Which meant another child might be abducted any minute.
    He accessed the files of children who’d disappeared in the state over the past year and attached them to the whiteboard, noting the dates of the disappearances, places the children had been abducted, and their family circumstances.
    Finding commonalities, if they existed, would help them track down any unidentified subjects, or unsubs, as the team called them.
    Child predators typically stuck to a pattern—they chose victims of a certain age and gender. But child traffickers sought all types, especially if they had orders to fill.
    Slaughter Creek wasn’t far from Atlanta, Georgia, a hub for human trafficking. The unsub could easily hide out in the mountains, then drive to Atlanta to meet with a broker or buyer.
    It could have been what Billingsly was planning to do with Darby.

    Amelia stared at the ob-gyn in shock. It had taken all her nerve to go to the appointment. But she had to have answers. “You’re saying I’ve given birth?”
    “Yes.” The doctor looked at her over his bifocals. “I can confirm that.”
    The sterile white walls swirled around her. The scent of a cleaning chemical was so strong, she had to exhale to keep from being nauseated.
    “I understand you were given a variety of drugs while you were in the sanitarium. Do you remember anything about being pregnant?”
    Frustration made fresh tears well in Amelia’s eyes. “No. Just the dream of the delivery. What about the narcotics they gave me?”
    A sick feeling clawed at her. Maybe that was the reason the baby had been taken away. Because it had been deformed or stillborn.
    No, she’d heard the infant’s cry . . .
    Hadn’t she?
    Or was the dream her subconscious forcing her to face another brutal truth?
    “It’s difficult for me to say at this point,” the ob-gyn said. “Is it possible the doctor who held you captive stopped the drug regime during the pregnancy?”
    “I don’t know,” Amelia said. But someone would know.
    Dr. Tynsdale was dead. But there was Ms. Lettie. The woman she’d trusted. The woman who’d deceived her by working for Arthur Blackwood.

    John’s head throbbed, but he refused to give in to the pain. He had to find this unsub.
    The list of missing children mocked him from the whiteboard. What was the connection?
    Devon Ruggins—seven, Caucasian, abducted from the neighborhood park after a youth softball game. The mother had turned her back for a moment to talk to her boyfriend. Other parents had said she’d yelled at Devon for missing the ball, and twice she’d forgotten to pick him up, leaving him to wait for an hour or more. No one had seen or heard anything the night he went missing, though. Not a scream or a panicked cry. Zilch.
    Next Regan Ludson—six, Caucasian, abducted from the sidewalk as he walked home from school. Another kid living with a single mother, who worked the graveyard shift at a local factory. An elderly grandmother kept the child at night, although Social Services had been called because a neighbor was concerned the grandmother suffered from dementia and often wandered off, leaving the boy alone. Neighbors claimed they saw a white van in the neighborhood during the days before the kidnapping, although no one witnessed the boy’s abduction or saw the driver of the van.
    And last, Corey Olson, nine. Slightly older than the other victims, but he was small for his age. If the perp had been looking for a younger