Author's Note: Thank you, readers, for your kind words! I love reading all your reviews. For those who are interested, Mike's story is told in Chapter 20 of The Hard Road (number six of this series). I still need to edit that chapter a bit to reflect events of this story, but nothing substantive will change. Marbo, I've answered some of your questions in this chapter. Yes, Guinness definitely knew who Johnny was and targeted him intentionally. He really is a nasty character, but that kind of makes him fun to write! Thanks again, Piscean6724 and katbybee! You ladies are the best!

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Roy wasn't sure how long he'd been sleeping when the ringing telephone woke him, but when he blinked open his eyes, the house was dark. When the phone kept ringing, he realized he was alone — Jo hadn't come home. His heart sinking, he nonetheless scrambled to get to the wall phone in the kitchen. Maybe the police had found Megan. "Hello," he said breathlessly. "Roy De —"

Jo's voice interrupted him. "Roy?" Her breathing was coming awful fast, as if she were in a panic, and she sounded like she was crying.

Conflicting emotions tore at Roy. Relief, anger, guilt, fear — he felt it all in the space of a heartbeat. Suddenly, though, he heard Stoker's voice in his head. Things like this can destroy a marriage… you and Jo need to stick together more than ever right now. He furrowed his brow, trying to remember where that had come from. Had Mike really visited him today, or had it been a dream? Whichever it was, his advice rang true. Roy drew in a deep breath, trying to force himself into a semblance of calm. "Jo? Where are you, honey?"

"I'm… I'm at your mom's. I brought Chris here this morning." She sniffled and choked back a sob. "I've been trying and trying to call you and you didn't answer and part of me wanted to go home and check on you, but… well… part of me was afraid of… of what I might find and… oh, Roy. I'm sorry I just left like that."

He didn't have to ask her why she'd done it. He knew why. He had never said in so many words that he blamed her for Megan going missing, but he had completely shut her out, even going as far as to sleep in the guest room instead of with her for the last couple of nights. It wasn't fair of him. He knew that. He really blamed himself more than he blamed anyone else, but it was so much easier to take it out on her and Chris. "I'm sorry, Jo," he said softly. "I should've listened to you. I… I should have —"

"Roy…" She sniffled again. "It's not your fault. You couldn't have known. No one could have."

"Come home? Please?" He blinked, forcing his tears back. "I need you, Jo. I can't handle this alone." His fingers touched the handset — his connection to her was his lifeline.

"I'll leave right now. Mama said she'll keep Chris as long as we need her to. I… I love you, Roy."

"I love you too. See you soon." The connection ended, and Roy returned the handset to its cradle. He stood back, taking in deep breaths. Then he spied the unopened beer bottle sitting on the kitchen counter. So, Mike was here… it wasn't just a dream. He shook his head, further clearing the cobwebs. "I oughta slug him for pulling that stunt with the coffee," he muttered, "but… I guess the sleep did me some good." His head was clearer now, even with the headache he had from a hangover.

He glared at the beer bottle. Yeah, Mike was right about that too — it wasn't going to help. Deep inside, he had known that already. Far too often, he'd had to deal with the results of people trying to drink their demons away… the car wrecks, the abused spouses and children, even a house fire started by a guy who had fallen asleep in a drunken stupor with a lit cigarette in his hand. Roy picked up the beer and put it back in the fridge, then grabbed the two empty bottles from over by his recliner and threw them out. All temptation to drown his sorrows with liquor had fled.

When Jo walked in the door, Roy had showered and shaved for the first time in days and was dressed in clean clothes. He pulled her into his arms and held her close. She wrapped her arms around him and sobbed into his chest, and it took every bit of strength he had to remain dry-eyed himself. He was determined to stay strong for her. He wasn't going to let her down again.

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Roy couldn't help feeling as if there was something perverse about wanting his best friend to pull off another bank robbery. But Crockett thought there might be something to Mike's theory, so the DeSotos paid careful attention to the news. And indeed, the robberies continued. On Friday, Johnny hit a bank in Bakersfield. Nothing happened over the weekend, when the banks were closed, but on Monday it was a bank in Riverside, and then on Tuesday afternoon, a bank in Barstow.

After one newspaper ran an editorial speculating that the bomb vest was a fake and that Fireman/Paramedic John Gage was only showing his true colors, Crockett and his FBI liaison held a press conference. "Based on witness statements," he said, "we of the Los Angeles Police Department and the FBI — Los Angeles Office remain convinced that Paramedic John Gage is being coerced. He is a victim, not a criminal, and we ask that anyone who has any knowledge regarding this case come forward immediately. The FBI is offering a reward of ten-thousand dollars for information leading to the apprehension of those responsible for the robberies and the abduction of John Gage; an additional ten-thousand dollars is being offered by the Los Angeles County Fire Department for information leading to the safe return of their paramedic."

Crockett had explained to Roy and JoAnne in advance that Megan's name would not be mentioned in the press conference. "For one thing," he said, "we don't know for certain that the two cases are connected. But if they are — and I strongly suspect they are — we don't want the kidnapper to know we're thinking along those lines."

And so no official connection was made between Megan DeSoto's disappearance and John Gage's. Of course, that didn't stop reporters from drawing their own conclusions. Roy shook his head at the various wild theories. He avoided the tabloids, but Chet read them all and then shared what he read. Apparently, one gossip rag claimed it was all part of a plot by the Soviets to erode American citizens' trust in their public servants, and several persisted in considering it a fraud perpetrated by a paramedic who had finally snapped under the pressure of a stressful job with not enough pay. Roy didn't pay much heed to these ridiculous stories. Then there was the sketch artist's rendering based on witness statements after the second robbery. The face that stared out from the drawing was Johnny's, but he had blond hair that looked like it came out of a peroxide bottle. According to Mike, when Chet and the guys saw that report at the station, Chet had observed, "If I didn't already believe he was being forced into this, that would convince me right there — Johnny would never willingly do that to his hair."

What Roy really wanted was to be involved in the search, but Crockett had put his foot down on that. "Roy, I'd really rather put you and your family in protective custody, move you to a secure location, but you've refused, and I can't force you," he'd said. "We haven't been able to pinpoint a suspect, and as far as we know, you could be a target too. If Megan was taken to control Johnny, that means this guy knows about you… most likely he has a prior connection to the two of you. So, here's how you can help best — go through your logs and let me know if anyone in particular stands out — a victim or a family member who might have a grudge against you. That will help us come up with a suspect list."

So here he sat in the station, the log books open on the table in front of him. Roy had been poring over the logs for hours. His head ached, and he thought he might be starting to see double. He heaved a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I just don't know," he muttered.

Jo set two fresh cups of coffee on the table, then sat beside him and put her hands over his. "You need a break, honey. You're exhausted."

"I have to figure this out, Jo. Just give me a little more time."

She nodded, then took a sip of her own cup of coffee and picked up her knitting — a colorful afghan she was making for the new baby. A moment later, she lay the needles down. "Roy?"

"Yeah," he grunted without ever taking his eyes off the log book.

"Pastor Jordan has organized a prayer vigil for Megan and Johnny tonight. He was… uh… hoping we could —"

"No." Roy sat back, his gaze going to the ceiling. Why did she have to bring this up again? She knew how he felt about it. Church was fine for her if it made her feel better, but he wasn't interested. "It's not Easter, it's not Christmas. You go with Mom if you want to, but I'm not interested."

"Fine," she said, her voice brittle. She blinked rapidly, and he felt a fresh wave of guilt go through him.

"Look, Jo… I'm sorry, honey. But you… you know I'm not religious like you are." There was a lot more he wanted to say, but he kept it to himself. Like, if your God is so loving, why'd he let this happen in the first place? She gave a brisk nod, but she still looked like she was about to cry. "Come on, Jo… I'm not getting anywhere. I've gone over those logs twice now and nothing stood out. Let's go before the guys get back from their call." He really didn't want to hear the latest tidbit Chet had gleaned from the tabloids anyway.

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Eddie crushed his empty beer can with one hand as he listened to the news report on the car radio while Gage was inside the First Bank of Santa Clarita. They had another statement from that high-and-mighty Detective Crockett about the Gage case. Imagine that, Crockett. You probably never thought you'd have to tangle with ol' Eddie again. You're on my list too, ya know. He looked up and saw Gage hot-footing it toward the vehicle — today it was a beat-up old VW bus he'd hotwired at a body shop in Altadena after abandoning the station wagon. He switched off the radio and threw the crumpled can into the floorboard when he saw Gage shambling down the alleyway. Gage made for an excellent partner, Eddie had to admit, even if he was an unwilling one. He seemed to have an innate ability to move quietly and evade notice when necessary.

Eddie stepped out of the bus and quickly disabled the bomb, then got Gage in through the back doors and secured under the tarp. He made sure the kid was still sleeping, then climbed back in the driver's seat. It was time to head home for the day.

As he drove, though, Eddie couldn't get that smug detective off his mind. Crockett was the one person he hated as much as the paramedics. Well, there was one more, actually… but according to Eddie's research, since their last encounter, Sam Sterling had moved out of state and was out of reach for the time being. On a whim, he pulled into a gas station in Sylmar. Shawna will kill me if she finds out I did this. Outside the station, far enough away from the doors to provide a bit of privacy, was a phone booth. Eddie parked next to it, then hopped out of the vehicle, lifted the handset, and stuck a dime in the slot. He had written down the phone number Crockett gave for the tip line, and now he dialed it. When a too-chipper young woman answered, he growled out his message. "Tell Crockett, I've got the fireman and the kid. He'd better watch out because he's next." Then he slammed down the handset, sauntered back around the van, and slid in behind the wheel.

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It was well-past quitting time, but Ron Crockett couldn't bring himself to call it a night. Today marked one week since the DeSoto girl had gone missing. John Gage had been missing a couple days longer. Ron needed a break in this case, and he needed it now. He and the paramedics had gotten off to a rough start the previous year, but by now he considered them friends. That made this one personal.

Stifling a yawn, he picked up the file folder containing the transcripts of calls to the two tip lines he'd set up, one for Gage and one for the DeSoto girl. Time to go through them again in hopes that something would pop out. Most of it was a load of hogwash, like the pair of stoners who claimed to have watched as aliens abducted John Gage, or the old man who said that not only had aliens done the deed, but they told him to say the Russians did it. One nosy woman was convinced that her next-door neighbors had a houseful of stolen children and had recently added Megan DeSoto to their collection. Ron had ignored the first two tips but had checked out the last one just in case, only to discover that the neighbors in question were respectable foster parents, and all the children in their keeping were there legitimately and well-cared for. Not one of them fit Megan's description.

As he turned to the next page of notes, he realized for the first time that two of the thin sheets of onion skin paper had been stuck together. Dana was probably drinking soda at her workstation again and spilled some. He peeled the pages apart carefully, then set to reading the one he'd missed. It had come in shortly before noon, less than an hour after the Santa Clarita heist. Tell Crockett, I've got the fireman and the kid. He'd better watch out because he's next. The caller didn't stay on the line long enough for a trace to go through, so there was no way to tell where the call had come from, but Ron knew instantly who it was.

He jumped to his feet and made his way to the captain's office. "Sir, we've got a suspect on the Gage and DeSoto kidnappings." He thrust the page down on the captain's desk. "Take a look at that, right there at the top. We haven't publicized in any way our suspicion that the two cases are related. And there's only one case that would involve both the paramedics and me. Remember when Sterling was shot?"

Fifteen minutes later, Crockett was sitting in the DeSoto living room, sharing what he'd learned with Roy. "It has to be Eddie Guinness, Roy. He's the fellow who was driving that stolen car, the one that almost wrecked your Squad, that day we met.* We caught him, but he made bail and skipped out before his case ever went to trial. We never did figure out where he disappeared to."

"But why would he take Johnny? And how did he even know about us?"

"I know he saw the number on your Squad because I heard him blustering about it after we arrested him. And his lawyer found out who treated his brother Orville at the scene… that's the one who didn't make it. He blamed you for that. This is a revenge play, pure and simple."

"Nothin' pure about it, Lieutenant."

DeSoto's wry observation elicited a slow nod from Crockett. "True enough. Well, he also blamed me when he got caught and the money he and his brother stole was confiscated. You know the type — their bad fortune is everyone's fault but their own. He made a lot of threats and I tried to get the judge to hold him without bail, but McGillicuddy was a bleeding heart who didn't think he presented any real threat and refused to keep him in custody pending trial." Crockett stirred some sugar into the tea JoAnne had served and took a sip before he continued. "I'm really surprised he's been able to stay out of sight this long, because he's known for being sloppy. And this call is a sloppy mistake. He's on our radar again."

The phone rang, and JoAnne went to the kitchen to answer. A moment later, she returned. "Lieutenant, it's for you."

"Thank you, JoAnne." Ron moved to the kitchen, aware that Roy was following him. He picked up the handset off the kitchen counter. "Lt. Crockett here…. Yes, Captain. I understand, Captain. Thank you for letting me know." He hung up the phone and turned back to the frazzled parents. "He's made another mistake. A stolen station wagon was located in Victorville this afternoon. The forensics team found a stuffed animal that had fallen under a seat. Could you tell me again about the stuffed animal Megan was carrying?"

"The teacher said she picked out a stuffed wolf from the zoo gift shop," JoAnne said. "I had sent along some spending money for Megan to choose a souvenir, and that's what she wanted. Apparently, she insisted on carrying it herself. She reached into her purse, which was on the table, and plucked out a Polaroid. "There's a picture of her holding it."

Crockett nodded. "Bingo. It was a small stuffed wolf, brand new, with the tags still attached, wearing a little t-shirt that said 'Los Angeles Zoo.' The team also found a few strands of strawberry blond hair on the middle seat, as well as strands of both black hair and bleached blond hair in the cargo area. Of course, we can't say for certain that the hair belongs to Megan and Johnny, but it definitely fits our theory. They're running the fingerprints from the vehicle now and we'll see if it traces back to Guinness, but I'm already sure of it."

Roy had grabbed his wife's hand while Crockett was talking. "So, what's next, Lieutenant? What do we do now?"

"You stay here. I'm going to go meet with Agent Levison from the FBI and take a look at that car. I'll have a guard on this house around the clock. I promise you, Roy, we're going to get this guy. We're going to get him soon." He patted JoAnne on the shoulder. "Take it easy tonight. Jo, you mentioned that prayer vigil… if you want to attend, one of the officers will escort you. Best you not go anywhere alone. I'd go, but I need to keep working the case. But know that I'm praying too. I can see myself out."

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Hope. Roy felt it surging through him. After the detective left, he wrapped JoAnne in his arms and bent to kiss her head. "Megan will be home soon," he said. "I'm sure of it."

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*This refers to the episode Communication Gaffe, in which Crockett was first introduced.