The bag held a small amount of money. Anyone who looked quickly would see stacks of hundreds. Anyone who took the time to dig through the money would find stacks of ones.

Ben reached across the table and took her hand, his gaze telling her to loosen up. She blinked and then relaxed. They were supposed to look like any other married couple out for a special dinner before Christmas, but she was probably putting out the vibes of someone who was ready to run a marathon. She’d layered a slinky top with a gold jacket and even worn flashy earrings and bracelets. The holiday look was compliments of Robin, who’d seemed to enjoy dressing her up. The bottom half of her outfit was her own. Sensible black slacks and black flats that worked for sprinting. She knew that because she’d put them to the test. Ben looked his usual business self in a jacket and button-down shirt.

He needed to put down his phone. Anyone watching them must feel sorry for her because her husband had been on his phone for their entire dinner. They both wore earpieces, but Ben had also made a half-dozen calls.

The agent at the bench gave the backpack a shove with his foot, tucking it farther under the bench. He stood, glanced around, straightened his jacket, and walked south. A young couple had sat on the bench with him for a solid ten minutes, cuddling and pointing at the water. Ava had breathed a sigh of relief when they’d left moments ago. The backpack seemed totally obvious to Ava, when in reality it probably went unobserved by most. The lighting in the area wasn’t the best; a casual passerby shouldn’t notice the bag. She squeezed Ben’s hand, and he gave a slow nod, ending his call.

Go time.

Minutes ticked by. Shoppers continued to stroll, people at the tables outdoors continued to eat and drink, and Ava sat straighter and straighter in her seat.

“Relax,” muttered Ben. “You look like you’re about to jump out of your chair.”

She forced her shoulders to slouch. A bit.

A busboy with a water pitcher filling glasses at an outdoor table did a double take at the backpack.

No. Leave it alone.

He glanced around the area and back to the pack. He filled glasses at the next table and then headed for the bench.

Damn it. A do-gooder.

He bent over and pulled out the pack, paused, and looked around again for the owner. He headed for the front door of the restaurant.

“Shit,” said Ben.

“An employee has picked up the backpack and is headed into the restaurant,” came through her earpiece.

Ava lost her view of the employee.

“Wait! He’s running for it!”

Ava and Ben leaped out of their chairs in unison with the other two agents in the restaurant and dashed for the front doors. Other diners looked up in surprise and jerked in their chairs as the agents thundered past.

They must think we’re dining and dashing.

She followed Ben, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw a ruckus outside the restaurant. They pushed through the heavy front doors in time to see a black figure running down to the river.

Yes!

He was going to run straight into the arms of their agents at the water. Shouts filled the air, and Ava felt adrenaline pump through her system. She followed Ben past the bench and down the rough slope. Ahead, she could tell two agents already had their man on the ground, an agent’s knee in the center of his back.

She slid to a stop, trying to get a look at the face of their kidnapper. He struggled on his stomach, fighting the two men who held him down. Both agents yelled at him to hold still, and she heard one ask where Henley was.

The man stilled, his head slumping to the ground.

Ben shoved at him with his toe. “Where’s Henley Fairbanks? If you’ve hurt that little girl, you’re a dead man.”

The man strained his neck to look up at Ben. His youthful appearance startled Ava.

“I don’t have her,” the teenager said.

Mason couldn’t believe it as he stared through the glass. A teenager sat slumped at the interview table.

He’s about the same age as Jake.

The FBI had taken the boy to the closest holding facility, the downtown Portland Police Department’s building. The teen had been processed and then handcuffed in an interview room, where he’d had a pleasant conversation with Special Agent Wells.

Ava had called Mason immediately. “A nineteen-year-old grabbed the backpack and ran. He says he’s not a kidnapper and that he was just trying to make a buck.”

“Did he leave the note?” Mason had asked.

“Yes. He claims he didn’t think anything would come of it, but he decided to give it a try.”

Mason had relayed this information to the family. The other three adults had just stared at him.

“He’s not the kidnapper? He doesn’t know anything about Henley?” Lilian had whispered. Lucas made her sit down. She appeared dizzy and unstable on her feet and seemed to crumple in on herself when she heard the news.

“We’re right back where we were,” Lucas said slowly. “All this time focusing on the ransom note, and it wasn’t even real.” The man looked numb.

“The FBI has been pursuing leads other than this one,” Mason answered. “They said from the beginning there was something fishy about it. Even Ava questioned why the note was left in such a public place, where it was bound to fall into the FBI’s scientific hands.”

“A stupid kid,” muttered Robin. “Yanking us around. Like we haven’t been through enough.”

Mason had left them to lick their fresh wounds and driven downtown, thankful the kid hadn’t been taken to OSP, where Mason might cross paths with some of his coworkers.