IT WAS TUESDAY AT one-fifteen in the afternoon, and with the precision of a Swiss watch Tate Baxter’s therapist leaned back in her chair, closed her notebook, smiled, then said, “Is there anything else you’d like to tell me?”

Tate’s response was just as mechanical. “No, Dr. Bay. Nothing to report.”

“Well, I have something I’d like to show you.”

Tate lifted her head. One-fifteen was the end of the session. Dr. Bay never went over. Never. “Oh?”

The doctor flipped her notebook over and pulled out a newspaper article. “Take a look at this,” she said.

Tate took the paper, torn between reading the article and watching Dr. Bay. The therapist, whom Tate had been seeing for almost two years, was clearly excited. That hardly ever happened. In fact, it never had. Not like this. Dr. Bay was a behaviorist, always setting up new challenges and goals for Tate to accomplish between sessions. The outcome never elicited anything but a favorable reaction, no matter the performance. Even when Tate had surpassed her own expectations, the doctor had always been reserved. But now Dr. Bay’s eyes were wide with anticipation and her pale cheeks looked flushed.

Tate glanced down and the headline sent her own pulse racing. Kidnapping For Hire. She looked back at Dr. Bay.

“It’s all right, Tate. Please, read it.”

After a moment of hesitation, Tate started reading.

It begins with a list of your wildest fears. For a few thousand dollars Jerry Brody’s personalized kidnapping service will make them come true. Your kidnappers might stuff you into a duffel bag or blindfold you and take you to a faraway cabin.