The Embassy Suites
Omaha, Nebraska

Nick tried not to panic. It wouldn’t do any good to panic. And yet, he couldn’t stop thinking that it was happening all over again just like four years ago.

No, that wasn’t right, that wasn’t fair. Timmy was older now. And he wouldn’t go with just anyone. But what if someone had grabbed him? Brother Sebastian was a lot taller and bigger than Timmy. Why hadn’t he taught the boy some self-defense stuff? Yeah right, how could he? How could he teach Timmy anything from thirteen hundred miles away in Boston. Nick shook his head. It wouldn’t help to beat himself up with guilt.

He had asked the desk clerk, on the off chance that someone from the hotel had called his suite. No such luck. The clerk had been there since three and hadn’t taken any outside calls for a Nick Morrelli. Although the clerk thought he remembered putting through a room-to-room call to a Morrelli. That didn’t make sense. Something wasn’t adding up.

He checked everywhere—the swimming pool, the fitness center, the terrace, even the restaurant and lounge. He felt like a parent looking for his toddler and asking everyone he saw.

He walked each floor’s hallway and asked housekeepers coming in and out of rooms. Those who spoke no English just shrugged. Those who spoke English also shrugged.

Finally after what felt like several hours but was, in fact, not even one hour, he returned to the suite.

“Did he call?” he asked Gibson as soon as he came in the door.

“No. You didn’t see him?” Gibson sat on the edge of one bed, rocking back and forth.

“Nobody’s seen him. And I’ve been all over this place.”

Nick started pacing but stopped at the window and looked out over the Old Market. He was the adult. He was supposed to keep them both calm but all Nick could think about was four years ago when Timmy had been kidnapped by a madman and they had almost lost him for good. Where the hell could he be? Should he call Christine? No. It was too soon to call Christine. He had to be around here. He couldn’t have just disappeared into thin air.

“Do you think he would have gone over to the Old Market?” Nick asked. “You know, just to pick something up or out of curiosity?”

Gibson shrugged and Nick looked out at the small shops across the street, checking out anyone wearing orange or red.

“Mr. Morrelli,” Gibson said and Nick didn’t know what to tell the kid. He let out a sigh before he turned around to look at him, expecting him to have questions.

“I think there’s something I’d better show you,” Gibson said and pulled out of his backpack what looked like a leather portfolio.