Witt strode into the room, knocked over the lamp and swore. Suddenly comprehending that his daughter was truly missing, he began tearing the dresser and bed apart, as if he could find his precious child or some evidence of her in the room.

“Leave it alone! For the police!” Kat threw herself at him. “Just call the damned security!”

“She’s not gone,” Witt said, suddenly stone-cold sober. “She can’t be. She’s in this hotel. In the wrong room.” He opened the door and bellowed into the hallway, “Jason! Zach! For Christ’s sake get in here!” Turning to Katherine, he said, “Well find her. And that damned nanny. And when I do, I swear I’ll strangle Ginny Slade for this little prank!”

Witt’s words were bold, but his face grew ashen and Katherine knew the cold, jabbing fear that she might never see her daughter alive again. Guilt and fear took hold of her. She loved London, she did. With all her heart. All the times she’d been jealous of her little girl because of the attention she received from her father flitted through her mind and she wondered, vaguely, if she were being punished. She didn’t believe in God, but…Oh, please, please, let her be safe! She ran back to her room and with shaking fingers dialed the main desk. Before the clerk could answer, she said, “This is Katherine Danvers. Send up security. Room 714. And call the police. London’s missing!”

4

Witt loosened the top two buttons of his collar and stared out the window to the city he’d loved, the town he’d trusted. The streetlights, skyscrapers, and traffic looked the same as they had on any predawn Sunday morning, but now the town seemed sinister and menacing. Portland, his home, had turned on him.