"He's going to jail for a long time," I replied.

My answer seemed to satisfy her. From the pocket of her dress, LeAnn removed a small white envelope, and handed it to me. I started to put the envelope into my pocket, and she asked me to open it.

I tore the envelope open. Inside was a color photograph of Abb, Sampson, and Jed sitting on Abb's motorcycle. Their physical resemblance was uncanny, right down to their toothy grins. I slipped it into my shirt pocket.

"That's a keeper," I said.

LeAnn kissed me on the cheek. I wasn't expecting that, or the long hug that came with it. She went back inside without another word.

Abb and I finished drinking the beers. Then, in a quiet voice, he told me how the state was planning to compensate him for the years he'd spent in prison, and pay him for every day he'd been behind bars, adjusted for inflation. He told me the sum, which was over a million dollars, and laughed under his breath.

"One day I'm sitting on death row, the next I win the lottery," he said.

There was no rest.i.tution for lost time. But the money was better than nothing. I slapped him on the shoulder, and told him that I hoped he enjoyed the rest of his life.

"I'm sure going to try," Abb said. "There's something I was meaning to ask you."

"What's that?"

"Those Jane Does I was accused of killing. Were the police able to identify them?"

The question hit me hard, and it took a moment for me to realize why. Abb still cared about those women. He'd always always cared, even when he was sitting on death row, awaiting the executioner's song. He was a good man, and it was a crying shame that no one had seen it before. cared, even when he was sitting on death row, awaiting the executioner's song. He was a good man, and it was a crying shame that no one had seen it before.

"The police found their identification in Vorbe's bedroom," I said. "Their families have been contacted and given the news."

"So it's all finished and done with," Abb said.

I nodded. The case was closed, the files put to bed.

"Good," he said.

Jessie came outside. Her basketball game was in a few hours, and she needed to get back to her hotel. I said good-bye to Abb, and fetched Buster from the bushes. Abb waved to us from the curb as we pulled away.

"Did you have fun?" I asked.

Jessie smiled. I removed LeAnn's photograph from my pocket, and showed it to her. She said, "Oh, wow," under her breath, and didn't speak again until we were sitting in b.u.mper-to-b.u.mper traffic on the interstate.

"Is this why you do it?" my daughter asked.

She was still holding the photo in her hand.

I pulled my eyes away from the road. "What do you mean?"

"You didn't just save Sampson. You saved all of them, Daddy. Is that why you take the chances you take?"

Traffic began to move, and I put my foot on the accelerator. I did not see myself as a savior, or a saint. I just found missing kids. But if my work also brought families back together, and revealed long-hidden truths, then that was fine by me.

"Yes, honey," I said. "That's why I do it."

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.

Without the following people's help, this book could not have been written. A big thank-you to Lisa Buchholz and Richard Theis, who didn't mind when I called them at odd hours with questions, and to my rooting section at Ballantine Books-Dana Issacson, Gina Centrello, the incredible Linda Marrow, and Libby McGuire.

Special thanks to Andrew Vita, Team Adam Consultant with the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children and former a.s.sociate Director/Enforcement for the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms. His help again proved invaluable in writing this book.

And, finally, I owe a long ovation to my wife, Laura, who can look at anything I write, and always find the story.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR.

JAMES S SWAIN is the author of eight bestselling novels. In 2006, he was awarded the Prix Calibre 36 for Best American Crime Fiction. He lives in Florida with his wife, Laura.

ALSO BY JAMES SWAIN.

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Grift Sense

Funny Money

Sucker Bet

Loaded Dice

Mr. Lucky

Deadman's Poker

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