Riptide

can't believe this."
    "No, Becca, it's happened. Sam is gone. Gone from his bed
    when I looked in on him this morning. There was this note pinned
    to his blanket that said I had to call you, that I could get to you by
    calling the office of the CIA director. So I did. And now you've
    called."
    "No, Sam can't be gone," Becca said, but she knew that he was,
    she just knew it.
    "He wrote in the note that I wasn't to say a word to anyone, not
    the local cops, not anyone, just you. He wrote that he'd kill Sam if
    I said anything."
    She heard his breathing hitch before he said, "Thank God you
    called, Becca. Jesus, what am I going to do?"
    Becca heard the awful deadening fear in his voice, the anger, the helplessness.
    "Don't call Sheriff Gaffney,Tyler. Don't. Let me think."
    He nearly yelled,"Of course I won't call Sheriff Gaffney. Do you
    think I'm nuts?"Then he added, more calmly now, "He wrote that
    you had to come to Riptide."
    Oh, God, she thought, and said, "Just a second, Tyler, let me get
    Adam."

"No!" She nearly dropped the phone he'd yelled so loud. Then
    she heard him draw a deep breath. "No, Becca, please, not yet.
    He says if you tell anyone--including your father--he'll kill Sam.
    Dammit, I didn't even know you had a father until the media went
    nuts over you and him. Jesus, Becca, the guy's just murdered four
    more people. He's got Sam. Do you hear me? That maniac's got
    Sam!"
    "I know, I know. Read me the entire note,Tyler."
    "Oh God, all right." He was breathing hard, and she knew he
    was trying to get control. Finally, his voice more steady, he read:
    " 'Mr. McBride, you will speak as soon as possible to Rebecca Matlock.
    To find her, call the office of the director of the CIA. Tell
    them to inform her that she is to call you immediately, that a life is
    at stake. Then you will tell her to come to Riptide. You will tell her
    not to tell anyone, including her father, or else your son is dead. You
    don't want him to end up like Linda Cartwright. You have twenty-four
    hours.' "
    "How did he sign it?"
    "He didn't sign any name at all. Just what I read to you, that's it.
    Oh God, Becca, what am I to do? You know what he did to Linda
    Cartwright, what he's done to all those other people. Look at what
    he did to you. All of Maine is up in arms about Cartwright's murder."
    He waited a beat, then yelled, "Aren't you listening to me? A
    fucking Russian agent has got my son!"
    "I wonder why he doesn't want my father to come? It's my father
    he's after. It just doesn't make any sense."
    "I've listened to everything on the news,"Tyler said, calmer now.
    "It doesn't make any sense to me, either. Please, Becca, you've got to
    come. If you hadn't called me, I don't know what I'd have done."
    "If I come, he'll hold me to get my father. Then he'll kill both

of us." She didn't add that he would also kill Sam. Why wouldn't
    he? She was afraid that Sam was already dead, but she wasn't about
    to say it aloud. Just the thought nearly brought her to her knees.
    Not Sam, not that precious little boy. No, she couldn't fall apart.
    Think. There had to be something she could do.
    "Oh shit, I know he'd try to kill both of you. Yes, I know that.
    What are we going to do?"
    "I don't know,Tyler."
    "Please don't tell that Adam character or your father, please."
    "All right. Not yet, anyway. If I do decide to tell them, I'll call
    you first, warn you. I'll get back to you in three hours, Tyler. Oh
    God, I'm so sorry. It's all my fault. I should never have come to
    Riptide. The man's crazy, obsessed."
    He didn't disagree with her, on any of it. "Three hours, Becca.
    Please, you've got to come. Maybe you and I together can trap
    him. Somehow."
    When Adam came into Thomas's study five minutes later, he saw
    her standing at the front window, staring out over the fine green
    lawn. She was rubbing the bridge of her nose with her fingers, her
    shoulders slumped. She looked defeated, beaten down. He frowned.
    "What's going on? Why did McBride have to speak to you?"
    She shrugged. "It was just as you thought. He was worried
    about me, very worried, what with all the stuff on TV."
    "I don't believe that's all, is it?"
    Then she turned slowly to face him. "Of course it is. The FBI
    people have just pulled up." The car was black, the two men were
    wearing black, their hair was cut short. And Krimakov had taken
    Sam. He moved fast, too fast, faster than any of them could have
    imagined. What to do?

    "What's wrong, Becca? You look white around the