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Kane waits.

“Frank drove girls to Sally when he could. But Patrick said Sally changed the route. That means there was an old route.”

“For moving the girls,” Will says.

I shake my head.

“For moving something else.”

Sean leans forward.

“What?”

“I don’t know. But Sally owned a diner. Truckers stopped there all the time. Nobody would notice one more truck.”

Kane looks at Holt.

“The diner was a transfer point.”

“For the girls?” Hayley asks.

“Maybe for the ledger,” I say.

The men exchange glances.

“What?” I ask.

Kane turns his computer so I can see a map.

Sally’s diner sat less than two miles from a freight depot.

Dalton Freight used to lease half the property.

Frank’s truck traveled through the depot the week after Marisol escaped.

Then again two days before the diner burned.

“Frank moved Sally and Marisol,” I whisper.

“That’s possible,” Kane says.

“Then Patrick burned the diner when he couldn’t find them.”

“And faked his death after Frank stopped using the company.”

I look at Patrick’s photograph.

“He’s been hunting them this whole time.”

The plane begins descending toward New Mexico.

Mountains rise beneath us.

Beautiful.

Remote.

Filled with places a man could hide someone he took from a ranch.