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happier days. “When Stan met Randi, she was a single mom struggling to make it on a waitress’s salary. She’d never married Alec’s father. Stan married Randi and legally adopted Alec.” He sighed. “They were a happy family once, Clay. Really happy.”
    Clay was quiet for a long moment. “Why did Stan and Randi wait so long to get Alec the implant? If he had meningitis when he was two, why’d they wait until he was nine?”
    This Ethan remembered clearly and he’d already started making conclusions. “The surgery’s expensive, over fifty thousand dollars, and it wasn’t covered by their insurance. Stan and Randi didn’t have any money back then. Stan was working at his dad’s electronics store, barely making ends meet. We all worked to add to the savings account for Alec’s surgery, but Richard couldn’t afford to add much. He had a family.”
    “Three girls, right?”
    Ethan thought about them, the little girls that had been the foundation of Richard’s life. The little girls that would grow up without a father. The grief welled up, but Ethan pushed it back. “Yeah. Then Stan started growing his dad’s business, adding new stores. Made enough to get Alec the surgery.”
    “And in the process made an enemy that hated him enough to kidnap his kid?”
    “The thought occurred to me. Stan promised a list of his customers and suppliers.”
    Clay nodded briefly. “Do you believe they’ll kill Alec if we call the cops right now?”
    Ethan had expected the question, asked it of himself a hundred times since he’d agreed to help. “They’ve already killed one man. They don’t have a lot to lose. I know Stan and Randi believe it and I know there’s no way they’re calling the cops. If the cops or the FBI get involved, it’ll be because we called them. I couldn’t live with myself if Alec got killed because we did.”
    “What about him?” Clay jerked his head toward the shed.
    “McMillan? Stan needs to report finding him. He can say he found a suicide on his property. Maybe the locals will be able to find something on the body that will help.”
    “Will Stan do it?”
    Ethan pursed his lips. Tried to reconcile his memories of Stan with the man who’d stood on this very dock planning to use his boat to drag the body of an innocent man out to sea. “If he wants our help he will.”
    Clay was silent another long moment. “Then let’s go trace that e-mail.”
    Chicago, Friday, July 30, 10:45 P.M.
    Dana stood in the shadows at the east exit of the bus terminal. It was the most inconspicuous place to wait if one didn’t want to be seen. She’d lost count of the number of times she’d waited here over the years, but never forgot the women she’d met here. The face of each one was indelibly stamped in her memory. They came from all walks of life, different backgrounds, places, ages. Their paths might never have crossed under normal circumstances, but these women didn’t live under normal circumstances. Too many had never even known normal circumstances. All had been battered, some worse than others. Most wore the evidence where it could be easily seen by anyone who cared to look. Their cuts and bruises would be treated and in time would heal.
    The scars to their souls were much harder to treat. Some would find the strength to pick up and go on and others would not. It was as simple and as complicated as that.
    Tonight she was to meet a woman named Jane Smith. Not terribly original as an alias went, but it would do for the time being. Jane was coming from downstate and she had a ten-year-old son. Erik was his name.
    The children were always the hardest for Dana to personally deal with. The fear she saw in their eyes, the utter desolation. The defeat and the shame. The knowledge that regardless of what she personally did, each child would grow into an adult who would always carry those internal scars. This she knew all too well.
    She straightened, watching. The bus had just come in and passengers