Criminal

arms wouldn’t give. Which they eventually did. He dropped straight down like the blade on a guillotine.
    “Will?” Sara was in the open doorway. She got down on her knees. “Are you all right?”
    Pieces of wood poked into his back like sharp fingers. Sawdust filled the air. Will’s nose had banged into his knee so hard that pinpoints of light exploded in front of his eyes. He touched the side of his ankle. A nail had scraped across the bone. His teeth ached at the memory.
    “Will?” Sara’s tone rose in alarm. “Will?”
    “I’m all right.” He felt his ankle squick as he moved. Blood pooled into the heel of his shoe. He tried to make light of the situation. “Looks like I was right about needing that tetanus shot.”
    She mumbled a shocking expletive.
    Will tried to stand, but his feet couldn’t find purchase. He blindly reached out, thinking Amanda was close by. He got on his knees, leaning out farther, and finally was rewarded with a foot. Her shoe was missing. Her pantyhose were torn.
    “Amanda?” Carefully, Will picked his way across the shards of wood and broken nails. He put his hand on her shin, then her thigh. He gently felt along until he found her arm folded over her stomach.
    Amanda moaned.
    Will’s stomach roiled as his fingers followed the unnatural angle of her wrist. “Amanda?” he repeated.
    She moaned again. Will knew she’d have a Maglite in the Suburban. He dug his fingers into the front pockets of her jeans, trying to find her keys. He could send Sara out to the car. She would have to search for the flashlight. He would tell her it was in the glove compartment or one of the locked drawers. She would spend several minutes looking for the light, which was exactly what Will needed.
    “Amanda?” He checked her back pockets. The tips of his fingers brushed along the broken plastic case on her BlackBerry.
    Suddenly, Amanda’s good hand clamped around his wrist. She asked, “Where’s My-kel?”
    Will stopped searching for the keys. “Amanda? It’s Will. Will Trent.”
    Her tone was terse. “I know who you are, Wilbur.”
    Will felt his body go rigid. Only Angie called him Wilbur. It was the name on his birth certificate.
    Sara asked, “Is she okay?”
    Will had to swallow before he could speak. “I think her wrist is broken.”
    “How’s her respiration?”
    He listened for the cadence of her breath, but all he could hear was his own blood pounding in his ears. Why was Amanda here? She should be out looking for the missing girl. She should be leading the team. She shouldn’t be here. In this basement. With a hammer.
    “Will?” Sara’s tone was softer now. She was worried about him.
    He asked, “How long before the ambulance gets here?”
    “Not much longer. Are you sure you’re all right?”
    “I’m fine.” Will put his hand on Amanda’s foot again. He could feel a steady pulse near her ankle. He’d worked for this woman most of his career but still knew very little about her. She lived in a condo in the heart of Buckhead. She had been on the job longer than he had been alive, which put her age in the mid-sixties. She kept her salt-and-pepper hair coiffed in the shape of a football helmet and wore pantyhose with starched blue jeans. She had a sharp tongue, more degrees than a college professor, and she knew that his name was Wilbur even though he’d had it legally changed when he entered college and every piece of paper the GBI had on file listed his legal name as William Trent.
    He cleared his throat again so that he could ask Sara, “Is there anything I should be doing?”
    “No, just stay where you are.” Sara used a raised, clear tone Will thought of as her doctor’s voice. “Amanda. This is Dr. Linton. Can you tell me today’s date?”
    She groaned out a pained breath. “I told Edna to shore up those steps a million times.”
    Will sat back on his heels. Something sharp pressed against his knee. He felt blood sliding across his ankle, dripping through his sock. His heart was pounding so hard that he was sure Sara could hear it.
    “Will,” Amanda mumbled. “What time is it?”
    Will couldn’t answer her. His mouth felt wired shut.
    Sara took over, saying, “It’s five-thirty.”
    “In the evening,” Amanda said, not a question. “We’re at the children’s home. I fell down the basement stairs.” She lay there taking deep breaths of the pungent air. “Dr. Linton, am I going to live?”
    “I’d be very surprised if you