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screaming woke me. I tried to stop him, but he was using Carlo as a shield. I couldn’t get off a good shot.”
    “He wore a mask,” Stacy said. “A ski mask. I couldn’t see his face. But his voice didn’t sound familiar.”
    “There were two of them,” Patrick said. “The driver was a big, bulky guy. The one who snatched Carlo was slighter. The car was a dark sedan with mud smeared across the license plate.”
    “You saw them! Then you could find them.” Her eyes lit up with hope. “They won’t suspect you—you’re not in uniform, or driving a cop car. They probably don’t even know you’re here. I didn’t, so why should they?”
    “Except they shot at me. And I shot back.”
    “But they wouldn’t have gotten a good look at you. Please, Patrick. Say you’ll help me.”
    Only a colder man than him could have been immune to the pleading in her eyes. He wanted to promise her that he’d find Carlo, and soon. That he would protect them both from whoever was threatening them. He wanted to make that promise, but the knowledge that he might not be able to keep such a vow held back the words.
    “Let’s go back to my room and take care of that cut on your head,” he said. “Then we’ll decide what to do.”
    He found Stacy’s coat and purse and draped them over her shoulders, then steadied her while she slipped into her boots. The gash had stopped bleeding and though she’d probably have a heck of a headache for a while, he hoped the damage wasn’t more serious.
    He led her to his room and shut the door behind them. She sat on the bed he hadn’t slept in. “You’ll be safer here with me,” he said.
    “I wasn’t safe tonight. How did they find me?”
    “If we can track you by your phone, they can, too.”
    She stared at the purse on the bed beside her. “Should I destroy the phone?”
    “Not yet. The kidnappers may try to reach you through that number.”
    “Do they want money?” she asked. “Is that what this is about—ransom?”
    “If they knew the Giardino family, they know Sam had money. Maybe they want to take advantage of his death to get their hands on some of it.”
    “Then maybe they won’t hurt Carlo.” Fresh tears filled her eyes and she covered her mouth with her hand, as if to hold back sobs.
    Patrick squeezed her shoulder. “I know it’s hard, but you need to pull yourself together. For Carlo’s sake.”
    She nodded and made an effort to compose herself. He pulled out his phone again. “Who are you calling?” she asked.
    “My office. I want to find out if anyone has noticed any unusual activity related to other people we’re tracking in this investigation.”
    “You can’t tell them. The kidnapper said—”
    “I won’t do anything I think will endanger Carlo. Why don’t you go into the bathroom and clean the rest of the blood off your face while I make the call.”
    She glared at him, but stood and did as he asked. While she was out of the room, he’d talk to his supervisors about getting her into WITSEC right away—before the people who’d come after Carlo decided to come after her, too.
    * * *
    S TACY STARED AT herself in the hotel bathroom mirror. She looked horrible—no makeup, blood matting her hair, an ugly bruise forming above her left eye. But what did it matter, with Carlo gone? Who would have taken him? Some enemy of the Giardinos, intent on revenge? Someone after money? She closed her eyes against the pounding in her head and tried to think, but her mind offered up no answers.
    She debated eavesdropping on Marshal Thompson’s phone call, but she didn’t really want to hear what he had to say. And she needed to stay on his good side—he was the only one who could help her find Carlo. He’d seen the men who’d taken her boy, and he had weapons and a car and she presumed some training in tracking people. She wasn’t going to do better right now.
    She told herself she ought to be angry he’d followed her to Durango, but if he hadn’t, she’d