Grady turned from the window. He’s been staring out it, but not seeing the snowy wasteland. He saw Paris. London. Cannes. Madrid. The world. It would all be his if the phone would just ring…

It did. The summons shrill and welcome. It didn’t come by cell or radio but on the land line.

“Turn on your scrambler,” Larry said. His voice sounded resigned and discouraged in Grady’s ear.

Without comment, Grady activated the scrambler, then listened while Larry updated him. When he was done, he knew Larry expected him to chew him a new butt hole, but there wasn’t time for that. Not if he was going to save his world. He had the prototype of SHEILD in his possession already. His men from that job had arrived as the storm left. He fingered the supple, mesh-like fabric, amazed that it could stop anything, let alone a bullet. He’d have to conduct a test before he’d believe it, but in the meantime…

“I’m sending you some help,” he said. “I want that highway covered tighter than a hooker’s ass. Also the towns on either side. No telling which direction they’ll head. You said there was blood? Put someone on the hospitals between Estes Park and Denver and have everyone use their police scanners. Monitor all activity. Also, get back to that cabin and get me the license plate number on the truck. If we miss them on the highway, they’ll eventually head for Denver. If we have to, we’ll take them before they get home. We can’t let her get back to Kincaid. Our only chance is to take her on the road.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Be sorry later. Get me Prudence Knight. And get rid of whoever she’s with. We can’t afford to leave witnesses behind.”

He hung up quietly. Now was not the time to give in to the rage and frustration trying to crawl out of his gut. This was his time, his big chance. She would be found. She would be found or people would die.