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Call me when you get home, okay?”
    Lucy glanced at the time, then closed her eyes.
    “Jesus, I have to call Richard. God, that's going to be awful, telling him about this.”
    Richard Chenier was Lucy's ex-husband and Ben's father. He lived in New Orleans, and it was only right that she tell him that his son was missing. Richard and Lucy had argued often about me. I guessed they would argue more.
    Lucy fumbled with her briefcase and her keys, and all at once she started crying. I cried, too. We held each other tight, the two of us crying, my face in her hair.
    I said, “I'm sorry. I don't know what happened or who would do this or why, but I'm sorry.”
    “Don't.”
    I didn't know what else to say.
    I walked her out to her car, then stood in the street as she drove away. The lights were on in Grace's house, Grace with her two little boys. The cold night air felt good, and the darkness felt good, too. Lucy had been kind. She had not blamed me, but Ben had been with me, and now he was gone. The weight of the moment was mine.
    After a while, I went back inside. I brought the Game Freak to the couch and sat with it. I stared at the picture of me with Roy Abbott and the others. Abbott looked like a twelve-year-old. I didn't look much older. I had been eighteen. Eight years older than Ben. I didn't know what had happened to Ben or where he was, but I would bring him home. I stared at the men in the picture.
    “I'll find him. I'm going to bring him home. I swear to God I will.”
    The men in the picture knew I would do it.
    Rangers don't leave Rangers behind.

4
            
    The Abduction: Part One
    T he last thing Ben saw was the Queen of Blame gouging the eyes from a Flathead minion. One moment he was with the Queen on the hillside below Elvis Cole's house; the next, unseen hands covered his face and carried him away so quickly that he didn't know what was happening. The hands covered his eyes and mouth. After the initial surprise of being jerked off his feet, Ben thought that Elvis was playing a trick on him, but the trick did not end.
    Ben struggled and tried to kick, but someone held him so tightly that he could neither move nor scream for help. He floated soundlessly across the slope and into a waiting vehicle. A heavy door slammed. Tape was pressed over his mouth, then a hood was pushed over his head, covering him with blackness. His arms and legs were taped together. He fought against the taping, but now more than one person held him. They were in a van. Ben smelled gasoline and the pine-scented stuff that his mother used when she cleaned the kitchen.
    The vehicle moved. They were driving.
    The man who now held him said, “Anyone see you?”
    A rough voice answered from the front of the vehicle.
    “It couldn't have gone any better. Make sure he's okay.”
    Ben figured that the second voice belonged to the man who took him and was now driving. The man holding him squeezed Ben's arm.
    “Can you breathe? Grunt or nod or something to let me know.”
    Ben was too scared to do either, but the first man answered as if he had.
    “He's fine. Christ, you should feel his heart beating. Hey, you were supposed to leave his shoe. He still has his shoes.”
    “He was playing one of those Game Boy things. I left the game instead. That's better than a shoe.”
    They drove downhill, then up. Ben worked his jaws against the tape, but he couldn't open his mouth.
    The man patted Ben's leg.
    “Take it easy.”
    They drove for only a few minutes, then they stopped. Ben thought they would get out, but they didn't. He heard what sounded like a power saw in the distance, and then someone else climbed into the van.
    The third man, one who Ben hadn't yet heard, said, “Heez owt on heez dek.”
    Ben had heard Cajun French and French accents for much of his life, and this was familiar, though somehow different. A French man speaking English, but with some other accent under the French. That made three of them; three total