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Back at the sheriff's department, Quentin and Galen were attempting to do the same thing, asking questions and trying to find some shred of information, assisted by the deputies who had returned there.

Lucas stood outside the barn, vaguely aware of people rushing all about him with driven efficiency. He stared toward the other end of the valley, blindly, the coldness in the pit of his stomach spreading outward until even his fingers felt frozen.

"Luke."

He didn't want to look at Jaylene's face, didn't want to hear what he knew his partner was going to tell him.

"Luke-"

Wyatt joined them, his face grim. "One of my junior deputies is missing. Caitlin is saying she saw him heading back toward the lounge where Sam was resting, and says she never saw him after that. He took a cruiser out, but he's not answering his radio."

"He wouldn't have had a partner," Lucas murmured. "He wouldn't have trusted a partner. I'm sure of that."

"Yeah, well, here's the thing," Wyatt said, even more grim. "On a hunch, one of your people just ran the prints we had on file for this deputy, who was calling himself Brady Miller and had absolutely no criminal record under that name. Only that isn't his name. Turns out his name is Brady Gilbert. He's Andrew Gilbert's son."

"Why were his prints on file?" Jaylene asked.

"Petty theft, out in L.A.," Wyatt told her. "Couple years ago. He was barely old enough to avoid the juvenile system and got a slap on the wrist due to Daddy's money. After that, not a peep from him. Until now. I'm guessing Daddy's money also paid for his nice new name and pristine background."

Jaylene looked at her partner. "He would have trusted his son, wouldn't he, Luke? To do what he couldn't?"

"Maybe," Lucas said, feeling even colder. Some part of him had hoped against hope that Sam had merely left the sheriff's department, maybe to return to her motel or the carnival. Had hoped that it had simply not been possible for Gilbert to get his hands on her. And it hadn't.

But… he enjoyed killing by remote control.

He would have viewed his son as an extension of himself, particularly if he felt secure in his domination. So that tracked, that made sense.

And with the sheriff's department nearly deserted, how difficult would it have been for a junior deputy to incapacitate an already fragile Samantha, perhaps with chloroform, carry her down to the garage, and drive away with her?

The box had already been prepared and ready for what Gilbert and his son had waited for-the chance to grab Sam. All Gilbert's son had to do was put her in it, cover it over with dirt, and leave.

Leave her alone there. Buried alive.

"I've got an APB out on Brady," Wyatt was saying. "And your boss made it federal as well, on the grounds that he was undoubtedly involved in the kidnappings."

Lucas heard himself ask, "Gilbert's death-is that out yet?"

Wyatt swore and said, "It went over the police radio that we got him. I'm sorry as hell, Luke, but… if Brady was still in his cruiser, then he knows."

"And has no reason to stick around," Lucas said. "They would have been prepared to run. Another car, maybe an SUV or ATV, probably already packed. He'd ditch the cruiser immediately and follow his father's plans. He's gone."

Jaylene took her partner's arm and turned him bodily to face her, an action so unexpected that Lucas found himself staring at her, seeing her.

"Which means you have to find Sam," she said flatly.

"Jay, you know I can't just-"

"We're not going to find anything here, Luke. You know that. Quentin and Galen won't find anything helpful back at the sheriff's department. And we're running out of time, Sam's running out of time."

"Goddammit, don't you think I want to find her?"

"I don't know, do you?"

He stared at her, literally feeling whatever color he had left draining from his face.

Jaylene pressed on, her voice insistent. "I don't know what it'll cost you, I really don't. I don't know what this block inside you is. But I know Sam was right in thinking you'll never be able to use your abilities as they were intended to be used until you get past it. And if this won't do it, if saving the life of the woman you love isn 't enough… then you'll spend the rest of your life as a half-functioning psychic who can only tap into your abilities when you're too tired to think. Is that what you really want, Luke? To be half alive? To lose Sam? Is avoiding your own pain really worth that price?"

No.

"No," he said slowly. "It isn't."

"Then open up and reach for Sam," Jaylene said, releasing his arm. "Find her, Luke. Before it's too late for both of you."

Lucas wasn't even sure how to do this with deliberation, not with anger or out of exhaustion but to clearly and consciously tap into his abilities. He had never been able to do that.

But…

All he knew was that he needed Samantha and that he was not going to lose someone else he loved. He had to find her, had to help her…

And a wave of icy black terror swept over him with such force that it dropped him, literally, to his knees.

Samantha couldn't even pretend that she wasn't terrified. She didn't think she'd ever been so frightened in her life. Even though…

Memories of her stepfather and that tiny closet wouldn't leave her alone, tortured her. She heard herself whimpering out loud, like that brutalized, terrified child had whimpered when, finally, late in the night, he had gone away and she could allow her terror to find its voice.

When he was angriest he had left her in there, for hours and hours, sometimes for days, loudly forbidding her mother from so much as talking to her. The house would get quiet, still. Dark. And she felt so utterly alone.

She had dreaded that "punishment" worse than anything else he had inflicted on her. Because she had been convinced that one day he would simply not open the door.

And she would die in there, terrified, hurting, and so alone there weren't even words for the vast emptiness of the feeling.

Now Samantha fought the panic, or tried to, but those memories, those old feelings of helpless terror, kept swamping her. She heard herself sobbing, felt her hands begin to ache as she pounded on the rough wood above her.

A distant, rational part of her mind told her she was using up precious oxygen, that the tank's hissing had grown quieter as it emptied its contents into her coffin, but the panic overrode everything.

Until…

Sam.

She went still, trying to choke back a last sob.

Sam, I'm coming.

"Where are you?" she whispered.

Near.

"There isn't much air left," she whispered again, realizing with another jolt of terror that it was becoming difficult to breathe.

Lie quietly, Sam. Close your eyes. I promise you… I'll get there in time.

It was one of the hardest things she'd ever had to do in her life, but Samantha managed. She closed her eyes and forced her throbbing hands to lie quietly at her sides.

There was just enough trust left in her to trust that Luke would reach her in time.

Just enough.

There were a dozen willing hands and shovels following him when, after more than an hour, Lucas stopped the Jeep suddenly on the road out of Golden and raced about twenty yards off to one side of the pavement. And he didn't have to tell them where to dig, because the freshly turned earth, in its chillingly gravelike shape, was obvious.

Immediately, the men were frantically digging, driven by their own fears and by the ashen, haunted face of the federal agent who was using his hands to scrape away the dirt filling Samantha's grave.

Other men were ready with pry bars, and the instant wood was uncovered, they were prying up the boards. And a collective gasp sounded when the sight of Samantha's white face and closed eyes greeted their efforts; in that instant, most of them thought she was gone.

But Lucas knew better. On his knees beside the shallow grave, he reached down and grasped her wrists, avoiding the badly bruised flesh of her hands, and pulled her up.