A bad morning turned into a crummy afternoon, coordinating a motley crew of federal agents, local deputies, and eccentric volunteers in a search near a misbegotten cell tower. Agent Lefleur had griped and snarled his way through another muggy afternoon and evening. He even found himself hoping someone would get kidnapped near the Canadian border, a thought he regretted.

But other than a headache and another shirt lost to pit-stains, the search was fruitless. No girls. No perp. No clues.

Handing the remnants of the search to the local sheriff, a good man, Agent Lefleur hopped into his rented Grand Am and headed back into town. But somehow, lost in a thoughtful haze as thick as the air chugging through a burned-out air conditioning unit, he overshot town.

By the time he realized, he didn’t care. A glance at the GPS spurred his mind back from the dark recesses of memory it had been visiting. He knew this route; this was the way to Cole’s riverfront bungalo.

And Agent Lefleur still had questions.