The man behind her tightened his hold, one hand on her mouth, the other around her chest. Trees surrounded her like bars of a prison. Again, he sent hushed words into her ear, but she deciphered none of them. Her internal screams wailed too loudly as she struggled to break free. Not a single soul knew where she had gone. The note from the cafe, stored in her jewelry box, would not be found in time. The horror of it all slowed the scene to a crawl. Her thoughts stretched out, long and thin, the strands of an endless web. She had become the missing little girl, the one from the paper, leaving loved ones to grieve with few clues and no answers. She saw her own mother weeping, her father distraught. This would be the tragedy to revive the couple’s bond, or sever it forever. She pictured Luanne and Gene, dazed by a swarm: officers and detectives, rookie reporters. In the midst of world war, the abduction of a diplomat’s daughter would barely make a headline. Could it be for a ransom? How long had the man followed her?
