There was a pharmacy on the first floor, and I strapped myself into the free blood pressure machine to check my blood pressure and pulse. I’d had guns pointed in my face before, and I knew how it affected me. My blood pressure and pulse were both sky high. I went to my car, popped James Taylor’s greatest hits into my tape deck, and started petting my dog. After a while, I started to feel better. Then my cell phone rang. “I just wrapped up my news conference,” Burrell said. “You should come inside. The Wakefields want to thank you.” “Tell them I’ll take a rain check,” I said. “What’s wrong?” “There’s another little boy who needs to be rescued.” “I’ll be out in five minutes.” I drove Burrell to the Village Inn to retrieve my car, and neither of us spoke a word. Then I followed her to police department headquarters on Andrews Avenue. Finding a parking space, I rolled down the windows for my dog. “I’ve had every detective from Missing Persons tracking down the Armwood hotels in Fort Lauderdale,”
