This story is dedicated to

my wonderful critique partner, Diane Whiteside,

who went above and beyond the call of duty to help me

turn it into something readable.

Thanks, babe.

Rain dripped from Sergeant Lucas Rollings's uniform hat and rolled down his neck in a constant, cold stream. His feet were slowly going numb inside his uniform shoes, which squelched unpleasantly with every step across the sodden leaves. Even his bulletproof vest was wet, and the gun felt slippery in his hand. He ignored the discomfort.

Any chance they'd find the little girl was worth it.

"The dogs have lost the scent in this rain." Beside him, Ray Johnston grimly watched his two big German shepherds work a spiraling pattern through the trees. Though pushing sixty and barely five-foot-seven, Ray was wiry and tough. His angular face looked years younger than it actually was under his thatch of thick, black hair, and his eyes were a piercing Paul Newman blue. "Wish it could have held off." He shot Lucas a look. "You know, you don't have to chase this hunch with me. Everybody seems pretty sure Myer has the girl."

Somebody had called in a tip to 911, saying they thought their pedophile next door neighbor had dragged a four-year-old who matched Jennifer Rosemond's description into his house. The SWAT team went to investigate, and he'd fired on them. Now damn near every cop in Harrisville was parked outside his house while a hostage negotiator tried to talk Jerry Myer into giving up.