CHAPTER ONE

Now

Ganet Fekadu clenched her teeth against the bombardment of pain: the aching in her legs from her attempt at running, the jabbing in her back from the zigzagging wires of the rusty bed frame, the throbbing in her wrists and ankles where handcuffs secured her to the headboard and foot. But none of that could distract her from her dread listening to Sheriff Pope's jolly whistle and the rasp, rasp, rasp as he sharpened his knife.

I have to keep my wits. Ganet had seen Pope whip up a mob to murder a sweet, blameless woman she'd considered a friend. She couldn't let herself be intimidated by the smile that wreathed his face when his eyes strayed to poor Abel slumped in the corner.

Despite the twinge when she twisted her head, Ganet had to assure herself he was still alive. Yes, praise God. Chained to the radiator by his arms, chest and legs, her dear sweet Abel was bruised and bloody, yet he breathed.

He might not love her—not like he loved Saba—but he hadn't wanted to leave her at the mercy of the sheriff. Ganet had to do something so that good deed wasn't his last.

Pope pulled a hair from his head. He tested it against his knife. His grin broadened.

Ganet swallowed but didn't flinch. Even here, under the control of the vilest man upon the face of the earth, she had skills that could win her freedom and Abel's as well.

I'm a licensed clinical social worker, aren't I?

All she had to do was get that telephone to ring.

One Week Earlier (Give or Take)

All the telephones were ringing—all except Ganet's. She looked up from her desk, across the empty cubicles and through the glass window of the break room. Cheryl's surprise engagement party was bubbling over with balloons, torn wrapping paper and soda pop toasts in plastic cups. Without a ringing phone, what excuse did she have not to join in? None. At least none that wouldn't require an explanation she didn't want to give.

I kind of, maybe broke up with my boyfriend last night—right in the middle of my first get-to-know-you visit with his parents. I didn't want my bad night to cast a shadow on your good day. But congratulations! I chipped in for the running shoes. Hope you like them. And a piece of advice: don't take your condo out of your name. Thank goodness I didn't.

One by one, the telephones in the other cubicles fell silent. With a sigh, Ganet pushed her chair back from her desk. Time to go offer best wishes.

Then her telephone rang.

Saved by the bell!

She picked up the receiver. "Trust, Inc. Family is our business. How may I help?"

"Is this Ganet? Ganet Fekadu?"

A client asking for me personally? "Do you want to make an appointment?" As she spoke, she caught movement at the open doorway that led to the main foyer. A middle-aged man with shaggy brown hair had stretched out the receiver cord on the reception desk phone to take a look at her. As their eyes met, he smiled.

"No need. I'm already here."

Anew client. An intake interview would easily use up the remaining twenty minutes scheduled for Cheryl's party. "Come on back, Mister…"

"Doctor—Dr. Oscar Keefers."

"I'm waiting for you."

As the new client strode down the row of cubicles, Ganet pulled up a fresh intake form on her computer and typed in his name. Swiveling her chair, she glanced at the interview rules taped to the frosted glass between her and the next desk. When she heard the visitor's chair scrape, she quickly turned back around.

Dr. Keefers wore wire-rimmed glasses and a rumpled brown suit at least one size too big. He was that odd combination of skinny limbs and potbelly that came from too much sitting at a desk, yet he had the lofty gaze and benevolent smile of a man who spent his time bestowing wisdom. A doctor of philosophy then, not a physician. More than anything, he looked like one of her professors from graduate school. In other words, someone who'd have a hard time taking her seriously.

Ganet ran through her repertoire of warm-up questions and decided on the most innocuous: "I hope you didn't have a hard time finding us."

"Hard time?" Dr. Keefers chuckled. "That doesn't begin to describe it. You wouldn't believe what a hard time I've had finding you. My goal is to reconcile my sister-in-law and my brother. And you're the perfect one to do it."

Ganet nodded. She hadn't held her current position long, but she was already used to hearing you when clients were really referring to her employer. "Yes, Trust Inc. is one of the most highly regarded family mediation and reconciliation practices around." Basically, social workers for rich people.

"I'm sure it is, but I didn't mean your company." Dr. Keefers leaned forward. "I meant you—Ganet Fekadu. You're the perfect one to help reconcile my brother and my sister-in-law. You see, her name is Saba Iskander. Like you, she's a Habesha." Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out his wallet and flipped it open to a photograph.

Interview rule one, establish rapport.Ganet glanced down at a serious young woman in her early twenties with high cheekbones, a long straight nose and skin the color of roasted coffee. Her family's from East Africa, all right. Habesha—like me.

A tall young man with bright blue eyes and brown hair even shaggier than his brother's stood behind Saba, hugging her so tightly his hands clasped under her breasts. She was cuddled into him as if nothing could ever go wrong that would require reconciliation.

Applause broke out from the break room. Ganet glanced up. Cheryl was displaying the "Fifty Secrets of a Happy Marriage" poster Manager Judy had framed for her.

Good luck with that. Ganet returned to her task. Rule two, look for clues. Saba favored the big hair look popular three decades back—masses of loose curls on top of her head and tumbling down her shoulders. Her husband's tie was incredibly narrow. Either this couple was into retro or the picture was uselessly old.

Rule three, ask open-ended questions.When Ganet couldn't think of one, she tried, "How long ago was this taken?"

Dr. Keefers took his wallet back and stared it. "Abel is twenty-seven in this photo. He's twenty-eight now."

Ganet raised her eyebrows. Dr. Keefers looked closer to sixty—the same age difference as between her father and his youngest brother. Of course, he had ten siblings in between. A woman having one baby then deciding two decades later, Oh, guess I'll have another, would be an uncommon pattern. Rule four,let them talk, only worked when a client wasn't quietly staring back like Dr. Keefers. Time for rule five, request clarification."How large is your family?"

Dr. Keefers leaned back. "Just the two of us. And before you ask, we have the same mother and father. I'm just… a lot older now."

What an odd way to put it. But Ganet decided to forego clarification and be direct. "Why are you the one arranging for reconciliation? Isn't it more usual for the couple to arrange it for themselves?"

Dr. Keefers's mouth twitched. "At the moment, they're not really in a position to do that. Hard to explain. Trust me. What you need to know is that it's my fault they're separated. I'm doing the best I can to make things right."

Ganet didn't have to consider rule six, screen for red flags.This one was waving in her face. "So… Saba and your brother have no idea you're trying to hire us?"

Dr. Keefers shrugged. "If Saba's relatives were here, they'd call a family counsel. All her brothers, sisters…"

"…cousins, aunties, uncles. Yes, you know the culture. But you don't know that's what Saba and Abel want." Instead, you're trying to be your brother's keeper.

Dr. Keefers gazed down at his photo again. "I'm just trying to right a wrong. All I'm asking is that you go talk to Abel. I'm sure it won't be long before you see I'm correct. I've checked you out thoroughly. There's no doubt in my mind. You're the best choice."

Thinks he can tell me how to do my job. Double red flags.Despite that, Ganet kept her expression neutral. "If you can get your brother to come in, someone could talk to—"

"You don't understand. He can't come here. Someone has to go to him. That can be arranged, can't it? And that someone has to be you."

Dr. Keefers thinks I can work a miracle. Double red flags crossing and waving. Ganet laced her fingers. "I mostly do intake. Some children's interviews. A little fact-finding. I've never handled a reconciliation—"

"Children's interviews? That's another reason you're perfect. There is a child—my niece Candace." Dr. Keefers flipped to another photo and held it up. In this one, a slightly younger Saba was hugging a giggling four-year-old.

Ganet felt her heart melt. Adorable."She's with her mother?"

"No."

Ganet pressed her lips together. Abel has her—using her as a pawn in his squabbles with his wife.

"I've looked up your qualifications," Dr. Keefers continued. "You have your masters in social work and your clinical license. You're certified in family mediation and arbitration."

"Yes, but someone a little more experienced—"

"Won't have your special understanding. Habeshas are different."

You're more than a little different yourself. Ganet held her tongue. Rule seven, don't judge.

"Let me tell you a little more about Saba and Abel." Dr. Keefers smiled. "I'm confident that after you hear their story, you'll help me work this out."

Later

As Friday afternoon dragged on, Ganet kept sneaking in Internet searches. Dr. Oscar Keefers was easy to find. Apparently, he wasn't a professor, but he was a Ph.D.—a noted biologist in the field of cryogenics.

According to the Internet, Abel Keefers—unless she'd heard the name wrong—didn't exist. She couldn't identify a likely Saba Iskander either.

Did I mess up both their names? Stupid. If I can't even gather accurate information on an intake form, what hope do I have of being assigned the case?

When her manager came strolling down the row of cubicles, dangling a large manila envelope, Ganet quickly clicked to the Stress Inventory Assessment she was in the middle of evaluating.

Judy stopped. "Missed you at Cheryl's party."

Ganet was glad her complexion obscured flushing. "I was just going to come when a new client walked in."

"About that—" Unexpectedly, Judy smiled and began swinging the envelope at her side. "I read your intake form. Well done. I think you analyzed the salient points quite well."

"Thank you."

"And I agree with the client. You're perfect for the case."

I am? Ganet broke into a smile. Yes, I am. "Dr. Keefers wants someone to go see his brother. Apparently, an unannounced visit. I've done that sort of thing during my internship with Children's Services. I have my own car."

Judy laughed. "I don't think you'll want to drive your car to this interview. It's in Idaho."

Idaho?

"After we agreed to terms, Dr. Keefers made arrangements." Judy held up the envelope. "I've printed out everything—plane tickets, rental car, lodging and a generous allowance for meals and incidentals. Four days. You're leaving in the morning."

Ganet was still trying to wrap her head around Idaho. "The only travel I've ever done is flying from Los Angeles to the East Coast and back." My first field assignment for Trust, Inc. and I'm going to Idaho?

"I have faith in you. And I think you'll have fun. You'll be going to a little town in the Rocky Mountains. It sounds like a vacation resort—Wayward Pines."