“The image of Melinda hanging in a killer's closet was tearing me apart. I had gotten her into this mess, and it was my responsibility to get her out. Only I didn't know how. The clock on my dash said it was eleven. I decided to call Scott Saunders in Tampa to see if the FBI had matched the Hispanic abductor in Skell's gang against the faces of any known sexual predators. If the FBI could tell me the Hispanic's identity, I could track him down and rescue Melinda. It was a big if, but it was all ...I had left. I called Saunders's cell number and got voice mail. I explained my dilemma and left my number. Then I folded my phone and waited for him to call back. Several cars appeared in the parking lot. Three teenagers wearing McDonald's uniforms went into the restaurant. Then a low-slung Acura coupe squealed in, and a guy with spiked hair and a necktie hurried inside. The night crew had arrived. I heard my stomach growl. I hadn't eaten dinner. Worse, I hadn't fed my dog. I glanced at Buster and saw his little tail wag.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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