THE ONLY WITNESS

When a child is abducted in front of Laney Kensington, she desperately tries to save the girl. But Laney is shot and left for dead; the kidnappers, their dark van and the girl long gone. FBI agent Grayson DeMarco explains she’s the only witness to a worldwide child-trafficking ring. And if the kidnappers discover she’s alive, they’ll be back to finish the job. Yet Laney is determined to find the missing children. Even if it means returning to the search and rescue work she thought she’d left behind. And Grayson is just as determined to keep his sole witness protected. Especially when evidence hints that the real threat is closer than he ever imagined…

Was someone there? Laney wondered, a chill racing up her spine.

She grabbed her cell phone, hands shaking as she found Grayson’s number and dialed. He picked up on the first ring.

“Grayson?” Laney whispered, her voice trembling. “The dogs are growling, and I thought I saw a shadow pass by my window.” She paused, listening.

“I’m on my way,” Grayson said. “Stay away from the windows. Call 9-1-1, wake up Rose and turn on every light in the house.”

“Okay, I’ll do that now…” A muffled thud interrupted her, followed by a sudden shout from down the hall.

Aunt Rose!

“Oh no,” she gasped, dropping her phone as she launched herself from the bed with a yell. “I’m coming, Aunt Rose!”

Heart in her throat, she ran toward the door, grabbing her mace from the dresser and rushing down the hall, the dogs at her heels. Flinging the guest-room door open, she barged into the room, mace at the ready, prepared for the worst.

The window was wide-open, screen missing. The curtains flapped in the breeze. Bright silver light illuminated the room.

And a man. Dressed in dark clothing and wearing a ski mask.

MARY ELLEN PORTER’s love of storytelling was solidified in fifth grade when she was selected to read her first children’s story to a group of kindergartners. From then on, she knew she’d be a writer. When not working, Mary Ellen enjoys reading and spending time with her family and search-dog-in-training. She’s a member of Chesapeake Search Dogs, a volunteer search and rescue team that helps bring the lost and missing home.

Into Thin Air
Mary Ellen Porter

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Many are the plans in a man’s heart,

but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails.

—Proverbs 19:21

To Eldridge, for always believing in me, even when I doubted myself. Your love, support and unfailing encouragement are the foundation of all my achievements.

To my children, Skylar and Trey. No mother could be more proud than I am of you; you make me smile every day. May you find God’s special purpose for your lives within your hopes and dreams.

And to my sister, Shirlee McCoy, whose ten years of persistent and “gentle” prodding resulted in this book. Smart. Talented. Tenacious. Stubborn. A definite combination for success. It’s finally my turn to say “Me, too.” Thank you for never letting me forget my dreams. This one’s for you.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Epigraph

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

ONE

It was a passing glimpse, no more. A young teen walking slowly along the edge of the darkening side street, a violin case tucked in the crook of her arm, her face illuminated by her cell phone screen as she furiously texted, aware of nothing but the phone in her hand.

The van made even less of an impression, the driver all but invisible as the vehicle passed Laney Kensington’s Jeep Wrangler.

Both should have been easy to ignore, but they nagged at Laney’s mind—made the hair on the back of her neck prickle. Laney told herself it was just her imagination getting the best of her—but she couldn’t simply drive on.

Call it intuition, call it divine intervention—Laney called it never wrong.

She’d never ignored it on a search. She wouldn’t ignore it now.

She glanced in the rearview mirror, pulse jumping as the van swung a wide U-turn and headed back toward the girl. Laney did the same, stepping on the gas, her Jeep surging forward.

The slowing van closed in on the girl. She finally looked up, eyes widening as a figure jumped out and sprinted toward her. The violin dropped from her arms and she tried to run.

Too little, too late.

The man was on her in a flash, hand over her mouth, dragging her toward the van. In seconds they’d be gone. One more child missing. One more family broken.

Not today. Not if Laney could help it.

Although it had been years since she’d last prayed, Laney found herself whispering a silent plea to God, begging Him for help that deep down she knew would never come. She’d learned a long time ago that the only one she could depend on was herself.

Putting her trust anywhere else was just too risky.

The van was right in front of her, and there was only one thing Laney could think to do to stop the kidnapping. She braced for impact, ramming the front of the van with her Jeep in the hope of disabling it. In the back seat, Murphy yelped at the jarring stop; there was no time to comfort the dog.

Leaping from the Jeep, Laney threw herself at the would-be kidnapper. His weight off-balance from the struggling child, he tumbled over. The girl went with him, her high-pitched scream piercing the still air. Laney snagged the girl’s hand, yanking her to her feet.

“Run!” she shouted, but the kidnapper was on his feet again, snatching a handful of the girl’s shirt and dragging her back.

“Back off!” he commanded, his voice chilling.

Laney slammed into him again, this time with so much force they all fell in a tangled mass of limbs, pushing and grabbing and struggling. The kidnapper grunted as Laney kneed him in the kidney. His grip on the girl loosened, and Laney shoved her from the heap.

But the kidnapper would not let his prey go without a fight. He reverse punched Laney, propelling her backward. She tumbled onto damp grass, her head slamming into hard earth. She had a moment of panic as blackness edged in. She could not lose consciousness. She willed herself up, lunging toward the struggling pair as they neared the van. Laney yanked the guy’s arm and slammed her foot into the back of his knee. He cursed, swinging around, the girl between them.

“I said back off!” he growled, his dark eyes filled with fury, his hand clamped firmly over the girl’s mouth.

Laney eased around so that she stood between him and the van. She saw that the girl was still fighting against his hold, but her efforts were futile. She met Laney’s eyes, the fear in her gaze something Laney knew she would never forget.

It’s okay, Laney wanted to say. He’s not going to take you. I won’t let him.

“Let her go,” Laney demanded.

“I don’t think so.” The man glanced just beyond Laney’s shoulder, a cold smile curving his lips.

The girl stilled, her eyes widening.

Laney knew without even looking that someone was behind her.

Her blood ran cold, but she turned, ready to fight as many people as it took for as long as she had to. Eventually, another car would come, someone would call the police, help would arrive. She just had to hold the kidnappers off long enough for that to happen.

A shadowy figured jumped from the van’s open door. Laney had the impression of height and weight, of dark hair and cold eyes, but it was the gun that caught and held her attention. Although the gunman was shorter and more wiry than his stocky partner, the firearm in his hand made him far more lethal.

“Don’t move,” he snapped, the gun pointed straight at Laney’s heart.

Laney stopped in her tracks, hands in the air in a display of unarmed surrender.

She wanted him to think she’d given up; she needed him off guard. She had to get the gun out of his hands, and she had to free the girl.

“Get the kid in the van before someone else comes by,” the gunman ordered his accomplice.

“What do we do with the woman?” the other man asked as he dragged the child around Laney, grunting and tightening his grip as the girl’s sneaker-clad foot caught his shin.

“Get rid of her. She’s a loose end. No witnesses, remember?” The words were spoken with cold malice that sent a wave of fear up Laney’s spine.

No cars coming, nothing to hide behind. No matter what direction Laney ran, a bullet could easily find her. If the girl was going to survive, if Laney was going to, the gunman had to be taken down. Laney braced herself for action, waiting for an opening that she was afraid wouldn’t come.

Please, she prayed silently. Just give me a chance.

The girl grunted, trying to scream against the hand pressed to her face. They were close to the van door, so close that Laney knew it was just a matter of seconds before the girl was shoved in.

“Bite him!” she yelled.

“Shut up!” the gunman barked, glancing over his shoulder to check on his accomplice’s progress. That was the opening Laney needed. She threw herself at his gun hand. He cursed, the gun dropping to the ground. They both reached for it, Laney’s fingers brushing cold metal, victory right beneath her palm. He slammed his fist into her jaw and she flew back, her grip on the gun lost in a wave of shocking pain. A dog growled, the harsh sound mixing with the frantic rush of Laney’s pulse.

Murphy! She’d not given him the release command, yet he raced toward them, teeth bared.

The man raised the gun. Laney tried to scramble out of the way as he pulled the trigger. Hot pain seared through her temple, and she fell, Murphy’s well-muscled body the last thing she saw as she sank into darkness.

* * *

Grayson DeMarco rushed through Anne Arundel Medical Center’s fluorescently lit hallway, scanning the staff and visitors moving through the corridor. He’d been working this case for almost a year. He’d dogged every lead to every dead end, traveling from California to Boston and down to Baltimore, and he’d always been a few steps behind, a few days too late.

Sixteen children abducted. Four states. Not one single break.

Until tonight.

Finally the abductors had made a mistake.

A young girl was missing. The police had received her parents’ frantic call less than thirty minutes after a woman had been found shot and unconscious on the sidewalk, a violin case and cell phone lying on the grass near her. The case had the missing girl’s name on it.

Grayson had been called immediately, state PD moving quickly. They felt the pressure, too; they could see the tally of the area’s missing children going up.

Like Grayson, they could hear the clock ticking.

They’d found a gun at the scene, spattered with blood, lying in the small island of grass that separated the sidewalk from the street. Grayson hoped it would yield useable prints and a DNA profile that could possibly lead him one step closer to the answers he was searching for.

He prayed it would, but he wasn’t counting on it.

He’d been to the scene. He’d peered into an abandoned Jeep, lights still on, driver’s door open. He’d opened the victim’s wallet, seen her identification—Laney Kensington, five feet three inches and one hundred ten pounds. He’d gotten a good look at the German shepherd that might have been responsible for stopping the kidnappers before they were able to kill the woman. He’d pieced together an idea of what might have happened, but he needed to talk to Laney Kensington, find out what had really gone down, how much she’d seen. More importantly, he needed to know exactly how valuable that information might be to the case he was working.

Time was of the essence if Grayson had any chance of bringing these children home.

Failure was not an option.

A police officer stood guard outside the woman’s room, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression neutral. He didn’t move as Grayson approached, didn’t acknowledge him at all until Grayson flashed his badge. “Special Agent Grayson DeMarco, FBI.”

“Detective Paul Jensen, Maryland State Police,” the detective responded. “No one’s allowed in to see the victim. If that’s why you’re here, you may as well turn around and—”

He cut the man off. “We don’t have time to play jurisdiction games, Detective. As of tonight, three kids are missing from Maryland in just under six weeks.”

“I’m well aware of that, but I have my orders, and until I hear from my supervisor that you’re approved to go in there, you’re out.”

“How about you give him a call, then?” Grayson reached past the detective and opened the door, ignoring the guy’s angry protest as he walked into the cool hospital room.

The witness lay unconscious under a mound of sheets and blankets, her dark auburn hair tangled around a face that was pale and still streaked with dried blood. Faint signs of bruising shadowed her jaw, made more evident by the harsh hospital lights. A bandage covered her temple, and an IV line snaked out from beneath the sheets. She appeared delicate, almost fragile, not at all what he was expecting given her part in the events of the night. Fortunately, as fragile as she appeared, the bullet had merely grazed her temple and she would eventually make a full recovery.

Unfortunately, Grayson didn’t have the luxury of waiting for her to heal. He needed to speak to her. The sooner the better.

He moved toward the bed, trying to ignore the pine scent of floor cleaner, the harsh overhead lights, the IV line. They reminded him of things he was better off forgetting, of a time when he hadn’t been sure he could keep doing what he did.

He pulled a chair to the side of the bed and sat, glancing at Detective Jensen, who’d followed him into the room. “Aren’t you supposed to be guarding the door?”

“I’m guarding the witness, and I could force you out of here,” the detective retorted, his eyes flashing with irritation and a hint of worry.

“What would be the point? You know I’ve got jurisdiction.”

The detective offered no response. Grayson hadn’t expected him to. Policies and protocol didn’t bring abducted kids back to their parents, and wasting time fighting over jurisdiction wasn’t going to accomplish anything.

“Look,” he said, meeting the detective’s dark eyes. “I’m not here to step on toes. I’m here to find these kids. There’s still a chance we can bring them home. All of them. How about you keep that in mind?”

The guy muttered something under his breath and stalked out of the room.

That was fine with Grayson. He preferred to be alone with the witness when she woke. He wanted every bit of information she had, every minute detail. He didn’t want it second-or third-hand, didn’t want to get it after it had already been said a few times. He needed her memories fresh and clear, undiluted by time or speculation.

Laney groaned softly and began to stir. Just for a moment, Grayson felt like a voyeur. It seemed almost wrong to be sitting over her bed waiting for her to gain consciousness. She needed family or friends around her. Not a jaded FBI agent with his own agenda.

He leaned in toward Laney. Though only moments ago she had appeared to be on the verge of waking, she had grown still again.

“Laney?” he said softly. “Can you hear me?”

He leaned in closer. “Laney?”

She stirred, eyes moving rapidly behind closed lids. Was she caught in a dream, or a memory? he wondered.

“Wake up, Laney.” He reached out, resting his hand gently on her forearm.

She came up swinging, her fist grazing his chin, her eyes wild. She swung again, and Grayson did the only thing he could. He ducked.

TWO

“Calm down,” a man said, his warm fingers curved around Laney’s wrist. She tried to pull away but couldn’t quite find the strength. Her head throbbed, the pungent smell of antiseptic filled her nose, and she couldn’t manage to do more than stare into the stranger’s dark-lashed blue eyes.

Not the kidnapper’s eyes. Not the eyes of his accomplice. She wasn’t lying on the pavement in the dark. There was no Jeep. No van. No struggling young girl with terror in her eyes. Nothing but cream-colored walls and white sheets and a man who could have been anyone looking at her expectantly.

“What happened? How did I get here?” she asked, levering up on her elbows, the hospital room too bright, her heart beating an erratic cadence in her chest.

“A couple of joggers found you lying on the sidewalk,” the man responded. “Do you remember anything about tonight?”

Anything?

She remembered everything—heading home from Murphy’s training session, seeing the girl and the van, struggling and fighting and failing. Again.

“Yes,” she mumbled, willing away nausea and the deep pain of failure.

“Good.” He smiled, his expression changing from harsh and implacable to something that looked like triumph. “That’s going to help a lot.”

“Help who?” Because her actions tonight certainly hadn’t helped the girl or her family. Overwhelming sadness welled up within her, but Laney forced it back. She had to get a grip on herself. She had no idea how long she’d been unconscious, what had happened to Murphy, or most importantly, if the police even knew a child had been taken.

“I’m Special Agent Grayson DeMarco with the FBI,” the man explained. “I’m hoping you can help with a case I’m working on.”

“I’m not worried about your case, Agent DeMarco. I’m worried about the girl who was kidnapped tonight.” She shoved the sheets off her legs and sat up. Her head swam, the pain behind her eyes nearly blinding her, but she had to get to a phone. She needed to tell Police Chief Kent Andrews what had happened. They needed to start searching immediately if there was any chance to save the child. And there had to be a chance.

“The girl is my case—and several other children like her,” Agent DeMarco responded. “The local police are at the scene of the kidnapping. They’re gathering evidence and doing everything they can to locate her, but she’s not the only victim. If you’ve been watching the local news, you know that.”

Because he seemed to expect a response, Laney nodded, realizing immediately that was a mistake as pain exploded through her temple. Her stomach churned.

“Lie down.” Somehow Agent DeMarco was standing, his hands on her shoulders as he urged her back onto the pillows. “You’re not going to do anyone any good if you’re unconscious again.” The words were harsh, but his touch was light.

Laney eyed him critically. She’d been working around law enforcement—local as well as Secret Service and DEA—for much of her adult life. She knew how the agencies operated. The FBI wouldn’t be called in on an isolated, random child abduction.

“I’m fine,” she muttered, pushing the button on the bed railing until the mattress raised her to a sitting position.

“You came within an inch of dying, Laney. I wouldn’t call that fine.” He settled back into the chair, his black tactical pants, T-shirt and jacket making him look more like a mercenary than an officer of the law.

She gingerly fingered a thick bandage that covered her temple and knew Agent DeMarco was right. “Murphy must have thrown his aim off.”

“Murphy is the dog that was found at the scene?”

“Yes, I need to—”

“The local police have him. I was told he was being brought back to the kennel.”

“Told by whom?” she asked. Agent DeMarco was saying all the right things, but she didn’t know him, hadn’t seen any identification, still wasn’t a hundred percent convinced he was who he said he was.

“Chief Kent Andrews. He’ll probably be here shortly. He’s still overseeing the scene.”

“I’d like to speak with him.” She and Kent went back a couple of years. She often worked with the Maryland State Police K-9 team, correcting training issues with both the dogs and their handlers in an unofficial capacity.

“You will, but I need to ask you a few questions first.”

“How about you show me some ID? Then you can ask your questions.”

* * *

The request didn’t surprise Grayson. He’d been told that Laney knew her way around law enforcement and that she wasn’t someone who’d blindly follow orders. While working with the state K-9 team as a dog trainer, her skills with animals and the trainees alike had garnered the respect of the police chief and his men. More than that, Grayson got the distinct impression that Kent Andrews really liked Laney as a person and wasn’t surprised at all that she would put herself in danger to help another.

“Sure.” Grayson fished his ID out of his pocket, handed it to her.

She studied it, her wavy hair sliding across her cheeks and hiding her expression. She didn’t trust him. That much was obvious, but she finally handed the ID back. “What do you want to know?” she asked.

“Everything,” he responded, taking a small notepad and pen from his jacket pocket. “All the details of what happened tonight. What you saw. Who you saw. Don’t leave anything out. Even the smallest detail could be important.”

“I was on my way back from Davidsonville Park with Murphy when I saw her.”

“Was she alone?”

“Yes. She was walking by herself. I always hate seeing that. I can’t even count the number of kids my team and I have searched for who were out by themselves when they disappeared.” She pinched the bridge of her nose and frowned. “Sorry, I’m getting off track. This headache...” She shook her head slightly and winced.

“Want me to call the nurse and get you something for the pain?” He would, but he didn’t want to. He needed her as clear-headed as she could be.

She must have sensed that. She rested her head on the pillow. “That would be nice, but I’m not sure I’ll be any good to anyone filled with a bunch of painkillers.”

“Don’t suffer for your cause, Laney. If you need pain medication, take it.”

She smiled at that, a real smile that brightened her eyes and somehow made the smattering of freckles on her cheeks and nose more noticeable. She was pretty in a girl-next-door kind of way. He tried to imagine her taking on a guy with a gun. Couldn’t quite do it. “I hate taking narcotics,” she muttered. “I’ll ask for Tylenol later.”

He wasn’t going to argue with her. “You saw the girl walking alone,” he prompted her.

“Yes. I was headed home. A van was coming toward me in the opposite direction. We passed the girl at nearly the same time.”

“Passed her?” He’d assumed she’d driven up as the girl was being abducted.

“Yes. The van made me think of the news reports of other abductions in the area. I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the van U-turn. I did the same.” Laney looked away as if unable to meet his gaze. “Unfortunately, it reached her first. She was texting and didn’t even see them coming.”

“Could you see the color of the van?”

“Not initially, but I got a good look at it when I rammed it with my jeep. It was a dark charcoal gray. My front fender probably scraped off some of the paint. It will have a fresh dent on the front passenger side...” Laney’s voice faltered.

“Did you see the person who grabbed her? Can you describe him?” he asked, every cell in his body waiting for the answer. If she saw the guy, if she had a description, if there was DNA on the gun, they’d finally have something to go on.

“I had a pretty clear view. There were streetlights and the headlights from my Jeep.”

“Tell me what you remember. Don’t hold anything back.” Grayson urged.

“He was about six-foot-one with the build of an ex–football player—beefy but not in great shape anymore. His hair was dark brown and cropped close, like a military cut. He was wearing jeans with a black hooded sweatshirt and black work boots. He had brown eyes and an olive complexion. I saw part of a tattoo on the back of his neck, sticking out from the collar of his sweatshirt, but I didn’t get a good look at it.” She paused, frowned. “He wasn’t alone. There was another guy in the van. He came out to help. He was shorter—I’d guess about five-foot-ten. Thin—like a runner’s build. His hair was light brown, nose slightly crooked. He was the one with the gun.”

Grayson scribbled notes furiously. “What about their ages?”

“Early to mid-thirties. Both of them.”

“Did either speak?”

“Both did, but they didn’t call each other by name.”

Too bad. That would have been another lead to follow.

“What about accents?”

“None that I could distinguish.”

“Did the girl seem to know her kidnappers?”

“If she knew them, it didn’t show. As far as I could tell, she was an arbitrary target, but the way the van was parked would have made it nearly impossible for anyone on the street to see the kidnappers. It seemed random...but not.”

“How so?”

“Like they were trolling the streets looking for someone, but once they picked a target their actions were deliberate—no hesitation—like they’d done the same thing before. If I hadn’t been there, the girl—”

“Olivia Henley. She’s thirteen. She was on her way home from her weekly music lesson. Her parents reported her missing shortly after the joggers found you.” He wanted Laney to have a name to go with the face. He wanted her to know that there was a family who was missing a child. Not because he wanted her to feel guilty or obligated, but because he wanted her to understand how serious things were, how imperative it was that she cooperate.

“Olivia,” she repeated quietly. “If I hadn’t been there, she would have disappeared, and no one would have known what happened.” She paused, her face so pale, he thought she might lose consciousness again. “If only I had done something differently, maybe she wouldn’t have been taken.”

“You did what you could, which is more than most would.”

“But it wasn’t enough, was it?” She leveled her gaze at him, surprising him with the depth of anger he saw reflected in her eyes. “That little girl is gone, Agent DeMarco. Her bed will be empty tonight.”

Grayson recognized and understood her frustration. So many children went missing every day, and not all of them would make it home. He knew that better than most. “Not because of you, Laney. Because of the kidnappers.”

“That’s no consolation to her parents.” Laney closed her eyes. “I wish I could have saved her.”

“You still might be able to. If you’re up to it, I’d like you to meet with a sketch arti—”

“I’m up to it. Let’s go.” Before the words were out of her mouth, she was up from bed, the white cotton sheet draped around her shoulders like a cape as she wobbled toward the door, the IV pole trailing along behind her.

“I didn’t mean now,” he said, taking three long strides to beat her to the door and slapping his palm against it so that she couldn’t open it. “And I didn’t mean you should walk out of here with an IV line attached to your arm, either.”

“Then bring the sketch artist here.” She turned to face him, swaying a little in the process. “The sooner you have an image of these guys, the sooner everyone can be on the lookout for them. If you really think Olivia can be saved, there’s no time to lose.”

She was right, of course. About all of it. There was only one problem with her plan, and it was a big one.

“We’re not bringing the sketch artist here,” he said, leading her back toward the bed. “You’d better lie down before you fall down.”

She dropped into the chair instead, her face ashen, her eyes a dark emerald green against the pallor. “Why not bring the sketch artist here?” Her voice had lost some of its strength, but she hadn’t lost any of her determination. “We’re wasting time talking when we could be—”

“As far as the kidnappers know, you’re dead, Laney,” he said, cutting her off.

“What?”

“Dead. Deceased. Gone.”

She rolled her eyes. “I know what you meant, Agent. I want to know why they think I’m dead.”

“You were shot. Murphy might have distracted the shooter, but you went down. You were bleeding enough to make anyone think you’d been mortally wounded. The joggers who found you were a couple of teenage girls. They panicked, called 911 and reported a body. No one knows who you are or that you survived except the first responders and the hospital staff treating you, and they’ve been asked to keep it quiet. As far as the media and the public are concerned, Jane Doe was shot and killed on Ashley Street at approximately seven-thirty this evening. I’d like to keep your identity quiet for as long as possible.”

Laney frowned. “Protecting my identity is the last thing we need to worry about.”

“I disagree.”

“Maybe you should explain why.”

Grayson hesitated. Andrews had assured him that Laney was as good as they came, loyal and trustworthy. Even so, Grayson was reluctant to divulge too much. He was used to working alone. Putting his trust in God and his own abilities above all else. He had this one perfect lead, and he didn’t want anything to keep it from panning out. “For now, I need you to trust that I’m making the best decisions I can for you and Olivia.”

“For now,” Laney agreed, struggling to her feet. “But you need to know that I’m not going to spend much time sitting around this hospital room while you make decisions for me. That’s not the way I work.”

She jabbed the call button on the bed railing, and he had visions of her walking out of the hospital in the mint-green hospital gown, the bandage on her forehead a glaring testimony to her injury. If the kidnappers were hanging around hoping to hear rumors confirming Jane Doe’s death, they might catch a glimpse of Laney and follow her home. That was the last thing Grayson wanted.

He was all too aware that his biggest hope just might lie on the slender shoulders of Laney Kensington. If she could identify the kidnappers, he would be one step closer to saving Olivia—and the other children. He needed her help. And to get it, he had to give her some measure of trust.

“Then tell me how you do work,” he offered. “And, let’s see what kind of a compromise we can reach.”

“I’m not looking for compromise. I need to know what’s going on. Let’s start with what you’ve got on these kidnappings.”

It went against his nature to give her the information. He’d been keeping everything close to the vest. The less media coverage about the kidnappings, the better, as far as he was concerned. He was closing in on the perps. He could feel it, and he didn’t want to risk scaring them off. He needed them to feel comfortable and confident. Their cockiness would be key to bringing them down.

On the other hand, he couldn’t risk having Laney go maverick on him. If what the police chief had said about her was true, she knew enough about search and rescue and about police work to be dangerous. He had no doubt that she understood she could walk out of the hospital and away from him altogether. He had nothing on her and no legal means to keep her where she was. And if the kidnappers caught even a glimpse of her, the damage would be done. She’d gotten a good look at the kidnappers. He could only assume they’d gotten a good look at her, too. Once they knew she was alive, how quickly could they find her if they put their minds to it?

“Okay,” he finally said. “Just have a seat and I’ll tell you as much as I can.”

She hesitated, her face drawn. Finally she complied, dropping back into the chair and fixing all of her attention on him.

“Well?” she prodded.

He pulled a chair over and sat.

They were knee to knee, the fabric of his pants brushing against the sheet she’d wrapped herself in, the IV pole just to the side of her chair. She looked young and vulnerable, her life way too easy to snuff out. That thought brought memories of another time, and for a moment, Grayson was in different hospital room, looking into another pale face. He hadn’t been able to save Andrea, but he was going to do everything in his power to make sure Laney survived.

THREE

“What I am about to tell you is sensitive,” Agent DeMarco said. “I need your word that you’ll keep it confidential.”

“Of course,” Laney agreed.

“Good, because you’re the only witness to a kidnapping that is connected to the abduction of two other children over the past six weeks.”

“That’s not a secret, Agent. It’s been in the news for a few weeks.” In fact, those abductions—one outside of DC and the other in Annapolis—had been nagging at her when she saw the van on Ashley Street.

“There have also been similar clusters of child abductions in two other states.”

She definitely hadn’t heard that before. “How many children are we talking about?”

“Thirteen others, so far. Not including the three from this area.”

“Sixteen kids missing? I’d think that would be all over the news.”

“It has been. Regional news only. The first seven disappeared from the Los Angeles area over a four-month period. The next six disappeared from the Boston vicinity in just under three months. In many cases, there were reports of a dark van in the area around the time of the abductions.”

“Just like the van tonight.”

He nodded. “Your description is the most detailed, but other witnesses mentioned a dark panel van. Unfortunately, no one has seen the driver. You’re the first witness we have who’s seen everything—the van, the missing child, the kidnappers. It’s the break I’ve been waiting for, and I don’t want anything to jeopardize it. We need to keep the fact that you survived quiet for as long as possible. The less the kidnappers realize we know, the easier it will be to close in on them.”

“I understand. I won’t tell anyone.”

“It’s not as simple as that. The kidnappers are aware that you were shot. They could have followed the ambulance to the hospital. They could be waiting around, hoping to hear some information that will confirm your death or refute it.”

“Why would they bother? I saw them, but I don’t know who they are.”

“You’ve worked with law enforcement for years, Laney. You understand how this works. They tried to silence you to keep you from reporting what you witnessed. If they see that they failed, they may try again.”

“But is sticking around to kill me really worth the risk when they could just skip town with the kids and disappear?” That’s what she thought they’d do, but she wasn’t sure how clear her thinking was. Her head ached so badly, she just wanted to close her eyes.

“This trafficking ring is extensive,” Agent DeMarco explained. “We’ve had reports that the children are being transported overseas and sold into slavery. This is a multi-tier operation that isn’t just being run here in the United States. There are kids missing in Europe, in Canada, in Asia, and each time, the kidnappings occur in clusters. Five, six, seven kids from a region go missing, and then nothing.”

“Except families left with broken hearts and no answers,” Laney murmured, the thought of all those kids, all those parents and siblings, all those empty bedrooms and empty hearts making her heart ache and head pound even more.

“Right.” Agent DeMarco leaned forward, and Laney could see the black rim around his blue irises, the dark stubble on his chin. He had a tiny scar at the corner of his left brow and a larger one close to his hairline. He looked tough and determined, and for some reason she found that reassuring.

“Olivia’s abduction makes the third in this area,” Agent DeMarco continued, “but if their pattern holds, they plan to target more from the surrounding area before moving the kids.”

“It seems a safer bet for them to cut their losses and move on,” she said doubtfully.

“We’re talking money, Laney. A lot of it. Money is a great motivator. It can turn ordinary men into extraordinary criminals.”

“And kidnappers into murderers?”

“That, too.” He stood and paced across the room. “This is a business for them, with schedules to keep and deliveries to make. I’m certain the children are being held somewhere while they wait for prearranged transport out of the country. Moving them to another location would also risk exposure. You were shot tonight because they can’t afford any witnesses. They need to buy time to get their quota of children ready for delivery. With you dead or incapacitated, the immediate threat of exposure is gone.”

“So as long as they believe I died, it’s business as usual.”

Agent DeMarco nodded, returning to his chair, and leveling his gaze on her. “The longer it takes for the kidnappers to realize you survived, the better it will be for everyone.”

“Not for Olivia,” she pointed out, that image—the one of the girl, her eyes wide, begging for help—filling her mind again. She’d failed to save her, and that knowledge was worse than the pain in her head, worse than the nausea. “She’s terrified and alone. She doesn’t care who knows what. All she cares about is getting home.”

“You’re wrong. It does matter for Olivia,” Agent DeMarco responded. “There’s a chance that we can reunite Olivia with her family, but only if the kidnappers aren’t scared into moving early. All we have to do is find Olivia’s kidnappers, and we’ll find her. We’ll find them all.”

His words made her heart jump, and she was almost ready to spring up from the chair and start looking in every place they could possibly be. “Then why are we sitting here? Why aren’t we out searching for them?”

“Chief Andrews said you’d ask that,” he responded, a half smile curving his lips. “He told me to assure you that he has a K-9 team working the scene.”

But Laney knew they’d not find much. Olivia had been driven off in a van. Even her retired search dog, Jax, who had been one of the best air scent dogs in the country, wouldn’t be able to pick up her scent under those circumstances.

She recognized that, but still, she wanted to be in on the action in a way she hadn’t wanted to be since the accident that took her teammates’ lives. The accident that had prompted her to leave her search-and-rescue work behind and put Jax into early retirement. The thought stole some of her energy, and she sank back against the chair. “That’s good. If there’s something to find, they’ll uncover it.”

“That’s what I’ve been told. You’ve been working with them for a while?”

She had. For nearly two years now. She volunteered her time to ensure high-drive, problem dogs were given the chance to succeed. She’d helped train several dogs that had been like Murphy—problematic but with obvious promise. Although Kent made repeated offers to make her role with the department more permanent, she was reluctant to fall back into the stressful life of a contract employee. Besides, her own clients kept her busy enough. “Unofficially. I own a private boarding and training facility in Davidsonville. Murphy is the most recent in a line of MPD K-9s I’ve worked with.”

“Murphy.” His smile broadened. “He’s quite a dog.”

“He’s quite a problem child, but we’re working on it.”

“He came through for you tonight,” he pointed out.

“Yes. Though technically, he’s supposed to leave the vehicle only on command.”

“Well, in this case, it’s a good thing he didn’t.”

“I think seeing the gun set him off. We just started working with firearms last week, and he’s making good progress.” Better than she had hoped. She was pleased at how quickly Murphy was improving after being booted out of the MPD K-9 program once. He was a little high-energy and distractible, but he possessed the important shepherd traits—intelligence and loyalty.

Agent DeMarco smiled. “Andrews and the K-9 handlers certainly seemed happy the dog came through for you.”

She forced herself out of the chair, every muscle in her body protesting. “Speaking of which, I need to talk to Kent. I don’t suppose you have my things?”

“Purse? Cell Phone? House keys?”

“Yes.”

“They’ve been collected as evidence. Your Jeep was impounded, too. And your clothes—” his gaze dropped from her face to the cotton hospital gown “—were also taken as evidence.”

“I guess I’ll be flagging a taxi in this hospital gown,” she responded. She wasn’t going to stay in the hospital any longer than necessary. Her business was thriving. That meant plenty of work to do at the kennel. She was hoping that would keep her mind off her failures. She didn’t need to spend months mourning what she hadn’t been able to do for Olivia. She’d been down that path before, and it hadn’t led to anything but misery.

“Leaving in a hospital gown isn’t going to work. It’s a surefire way to get the wrong people’s attention. When you leave, we’re going to do everything possible to make sure no one notices you.”

“That’s going to be really difficult with—”

There was a sudden commotion outside the door, a flurry of movement and voices that had Agent DeMarco pivoting toward the sound.

“Stay there,” he commanded, striding toward the door and yanking it open.

His broad back blocked Laney’s view, and she moved closer, trying to see over his shoulder. A police officer stood in the doorway, back to the room.

“Ma’am, I told you no one can enter without permission,” he said to someone Laney couldn’t see.

“Ridiculous,” a woman responded, the voice as familiar as the morning sun.

Great-Aunt Rose. Someone must have called her.

“Aunt Rose, don’t—” Laney began.

Too late. Rose somehow darted through the blockade of masculinity, slipping past the officer.

Agent DeMarco stepped to the side, letting her by. Obviously he wasn’t worried about a five-foot-nothing octogenarian. The officer, on the other hand, looked quite disgruntled.

“Do you want me to cuff you, ma’am?” he shouted.

“Don’t be silly, boy. I’m too old. You’d break my brittle wrists.” Rose smoothed loose strands of silver hair back into her neat bun, then brushed invisible lint from her beige slacks. Her gaze settled on Agent DeMarco for a moment before her focus shifted to Laney.

“You’re awake! Thank the good Lord for His mercy!” she cried, hefting an oversize bag onto the bed.

“Yeah,” the officer sputtered. “She’s awake, and I’m going to lose my job.”

“Now, why would you go and do something like that?” Aunt Rose asked, completely unfazed by the commotion she’d caused. Typical Rose. Always in the midst of trouble and never quite sure why.

“My aunt is notorious for getting what she wants,” Laney cut in. “I’m sure Chief Andrews will understand the position you were in.”

“He might, but I don’t,” the officer responded irritably. “But I guess as long as she’s your aunt, I’ll go back to my post.”

He returned to the corridor, closing the door with a little more force than necessary.

“You’ve annoyed him, Aunt Rose,” Laney said.

“And you’ve annoyed me. Getting yourself shot up and tossed into the hospital and interrupting a perfectly wonderful book club meeting,” Rose responded. She touched Laney’s cheek and shook her head. “What in the world happened? I mean, Tommy said you’d been shot...but I figured he’s so old, he probably got it wrong.”

“Tom is barely sixty, Aunt Rose, and you know it.” Laney sighed. Her aunt and the deputy chief of police Tom Wallace had never hit it off. She’d have to remember to thank him for calling Rose. The poor guy tried to avoid Rose as often as possible.

“But he acts like he’s a hundred, ’bout as fun as a stick in the mud. Remember that picnic at the kennel last year? He—”

“Aunt Rose, please. I’m not in the mood for trips down memory lane,” Laney said, her head pounding with renewed vigor.

“Are you in the mood to sit down?” Agent DeMarco asked, taking Laney’s arm and urging her to the chair she’d abandoned. “You look like you probably should.”

She settled into the chair, watching with horror as Rose peered up at Agent DeMarco. If Laney’s brain had been functioning at full capacity, she’d have found a way to refocus her aunt’s attention. As it was, all she could do was hope that Rose didn’t say anything she’d regret. Or, more to the point, that Laney would regret.

“You must be that FBI agent Tommy told me about,” Rose said with a smile.

“Yes, ma’am. Special Agent Grayson DeMarco.”

“Well, I’m too old to be remembering all those names and titles—what’s your mama call you?”

Agent DeMarco smiled at that. “She calls me Gray.”

“Well, then, Gray it is, and you can call me Rose. None of those niceties like ‘ma’am’...that just makes me feel old.” Rose plopped down in the chair Agent DeMarco had vacated only moments ago.

“How’d you get here Aunt Rose? I hope you didn’t drive,” Laney said. The thought of Rose speeding down Route 50 was not especially comforting.

“Of course not. You know my license was temporarily revoked after that unfortunate incident at Davis’s Plant Emporium. Really, I don’t understand why everyone was so upset—it was only a couple of bushes and some potted plants, after all...but that’s neither here nor there.” Rose shook her head and patting Laney’s knee. “Tommy drove me. Kent sent him to pick me up. I imagine Tommy will be along soon.” She lowered her voice to a decidedly loud whisper. “I made him drop me off at the door so no one would see us walk in together—that’s how rumors get started. Before you know it, the whole congregation will be saying I was arrested or some such nonsense.”

“Rose,” Agent DeMarco said, “did Deputy Chief Wallace explain that we need to keep the details of this situation quiet?”

“Yes, yes. He explained. No need to worry about me. My mind is a steel trap, and my lips are sealed.” Rose put a hand up as if waving away the agent’s concerns, then turned to Laney. “So, how on earth did you get yourself shot?”

Was Laney allowed to mention the kidnapping? She didn’t know, so she kept it brief. “I witnessed a crime and tried to intervene.”

“I bet you weren’t carrying that mace I gave you last Christmas, were you?” Rose frowned. “That stuff’s supposed to be powerful enough to stop a bear in its tracks. A criminal would probably have a hard time aiming at you with that in his eyes. I’ve got my can of it right in that bag. Anyone tries to come at us, I’ll take him down.”

* * *

Grayson would almost have liked to see that.

Laney’s aunt looked about as old as Methuselah, but she moved like a woman much younger. He could picture her reaching into the bag, yanking out the spray and taking down a kidnapper.

A quick rap at the door and a young female doctor walked in, followed closely by Deputy Chief Tom Wallace. Grayson had met him at the crime scene, and he’d liked the guy immediately. Though old-school and by-the-book, he didn’t have any compunction about sharing information with the FBI.

“Agent DeMarco,” Wallace said, “the chief said to let you know they’ve finished with the crime scene. He’s going to the precinct to make sure the blood and finger prints on the gun are expedited for processing.”

“Thanks, Deputy.” So far he liked the way Chief Andrews handled things, and he wasn’t surprised that Andrews was taking a very personal interest in the case. “I may head that way myself after Laney is discharged.”

“If she’s discharged,” Wallace replied. “The doctor will decide that and then we can come up with a plan for getting her out of here.”

They weren’t going to do anything. Grayson had a plan, and he was sticking to it. He didn’t bother telling Wallace that. The doctor was already leaning over Laney, flashing a light in her eyes, asking about pain level, nausea, dizziness. Laney answered quietly.

“We did an MRI when you were brought in. I’m happy to report that there’s no fracture and no hemorrhage in the brain,” the doctor said, tucking a loose strand of black curly hair behind her ear and pushing her glasses up on her nose. “You do have a concussion, and the effects of that can last for a while. Expect the headache to linger for the next few days. I can give you some prescription-strength Tylenol to take the edge off the headache, or something stronger if you think you’ll need it.”

“Prescription-strength Tylenol’s fine.”

The doctor marked something in her chart. “You were really fortunate, you know. If that bullet had traveled a different trajectory—just a half an inch in any direction—the outcome would have been very different.” She tucked her pen in her lab-coat pocket and her clipboard under her arm. “There’s really no need to keep you here overnight, assuming there’s someone at home to monitor you.”

“I’ll be with her,” Rose piped up.

The doctor looked over at Rose, then back at Laney, an almost indiscernible look of concern crossing her face. “Do you two live alone?”

“Oh, we don’t live together,” Rose responded. “I like my space. But I’m happy to stay with her for a few days.”

“I see.” The doctor frowned. “Maybe it would be best if you stayed here overnight, Laney.” Her gaze jumped to Grayson. “Unless you two—”

“No!” Laney said quickly, cheeks reddening. “He’s a—”

“Law enforcement.” Grayson cut in.

“I see,” the doctor responded. “It’s no problem to let you stay here tonight, Laney. We can monitor your condition—”

“I’ll be fine, doctor. I’m sure I’ll sleep better in my own bed,” Laney insisted.

“Well, if you’re certain, the nurse will be in momentarily to remove the IV. She’ll give you written wound-care instructions and your medication, then wheel you out.”

“I think I can make it out without a wheelchair—” Laney began, but the doctor was already walking out of the room, with Deputy Chief Wallace close behind. Grayson figured they would discuss Laney. Though he was curious to know what they were saying, he was more interested in making sure Laney stayed safe, so he didn’t follow. He just waited as Rose hovered over Laney, chatting incessantly, while a nurse arrived and removed the IV. Grayson spent the time counting the seconds in his head until he could get Laney safely home.

The nurse handed Laney discharge instructions and a bottle of pills and went to look for a wheelchair.

A few seconds later, Wallace returned. “Looks like you’re clear to go, Laney. Once the nurse gets back, I’ll roll you out and—”

“How about you take Rose, and I’ll take Laney?” Grayson suggested.

“Now, wait just a minute,” Rose protested. “I’m staying right here with my niece until she leaves this building.”

“Rose,” Laney interrupted. “Don’t argue. Just do what you’re asked so we can get things moving. I want to get out of here quickly, and I don’t really care how it happens.”

Rose’s face softened. “Of course, love. But don’t you worry. I’ll have Tommy bring me to your house. I’ll be there when you get home.” Rose began to turn away but stopped. “Oh, I almost forgot, I brought you some clothes and your spare house keys. They’re in the bag on the bed. Do you need help dressing?”

“I’ll manage.”

“Then I guess I’ll see you at home. Come on, Tommy.” She grabbed Wallace’s arm and dragged him to the door.

“That’s your cue to leave, too,” Laney told Grayson quietly. She’d regained some of her color, but she still looked too fragile for Grayson’s liking. He wasn’t completely happy that she was being released tonight. He would have preferred she stay in the hospital under guard until they found the kidnappers, but since that wasn’t going to happen, escorting her home was the next best option.

“I thought we agreed that we’re going together.”

“We may be leaving together, but I’m not putting on my street clothes while you’re standing in the room.” She reached into the bag Rose had brought and pulled out what looked like a huge pink sweater. “Great,” she muttered.

“Don’t like the color choice?”

She turned the sweater so he could see the front. A giant white poodle with fuzzy yarn fur stared out at him.

“Nice,” he said, swallowing a laugh.

“If she brought me the matching leggings...” She pulled out bright pink leggings covered in white dog bones. “She did.”

“A Christmas gift?”

“Birthday. Two years ago. Needless to say, I’ve never worn them. Typical Rose, bringing them for me when she knows I have no other option but to put them on.”

Grayson smirked. He wasn’t into fashion, but even he could see why a person would not want to be caught dead in that getup.

Then the smirk died on his lips, the thought sobering him instantly. The truth was that if he wasn’t vigilant, that is exactly what could happen to Laney Kensington.

“You have options,” he said. “It’s that or the hospital gown. Pick your poison.”

“Right.” She pulled the outfit to her chest. “I’ll change in the bathroom.”

It took her longer than it should have. She might have told the doctor she was feeling okay, but Grayson wasn’t buying it. Her eyes had been glassy, her complexion still a little too waxy. If she passed out in the bathroom, he wouldn’t know it.

“Laney?” Grayson rapped on the door. “You okay?”

“Fine.” She opened the door, her body covered from neck to ankle in pink and white.

He shouldn’t have smiled. He knew it, but he couldn’t stop himself.

“Wow,” he murmured as she met his gaze.

“And not in a good way, right?”

“You almost make it work.”

She offered a wan smile and sighed. “I’m not worried about making it work. I’m worried about everyone in the hospital catching a glimpse of me in it. If we’re trying to slip out of here undetected, this outfit isn’t going to help.”

“I can fix that,” Grayson said, shrugging out of his jacket and setting it on her shoulders. She slipped her arms into the sleeves, and he tugged the hood up over her hair, his fingers grazing silky skin.

That he noticed surprised him. Since Andrea’s death, he’d devoted himself to his job. There wasn’t room in his life for anything else.

He stepped back. The jacket hung past Laney’s thighs, the sleeves covering her hands.

“It’s a little big,” he said.

She scowled, pulling at the pink leggings. “Not big enough, I’m afraid.”

He laughed. “Well, at least the poodle is covered.”

“There is that.” She grabbed Aunt Rose’s bag from the bed. “Do you think if I press the button, the nurse will come any faster? I’m ready to get out of here.”

“You can give it a try,” he responded. He was anxious to leave, too. He had an uneasy feeling that said things weren’t going to go down as smoothly as he wanted them to.

Laney jabbed the call button. “Really, I think a wheelchair is silly. I’m perfectly capable of—”

The lights went out, the room plunging into darkness. No light seeping in under the door. No light filtering in from behind the curtain. When he’d driven in, Grayson had noticed construction signs for a new wing—perhaps the power outage was related to that. Unfortunately, he couldn’t afford to assume anything.

“What’s going on?” Laney whispered.

“I don’t know,” he responded, grabbing her hand and pulling her close to his side. “But, I can tell you this. We’re not waiting for the wheelchair.”

FOUR

Laney’s nerves were on edge, her vision adjusting to the darkness as Agent DeMarco guided her toward the door. It flew open as they reached it, and Detective Jensen barged in. The door slammed shut behind him. “What do you make of this, DeMarco?” His voice was low and tense. His hand rested on his holstered revolver.

“Could be a power outage from the construction that’s going on or—” the agent glanced at Laney “—something less innocuous. It’s hard to say, but I don’t like it. We need to get Laney out of here.”

“You have a plan for doing that without attracting too much attention?”

“Laney and I will leave now, through the hospital service entrance on the ground floor. I’ll take care of getting her home. You call Chief Andrews and fill him in. We’re going to need a couple of guys down here to investigate—we need to know for sure what caused this outage.”

“Do you really think this power failure could be connected to the kidnapping?” Laney interjected. “It seems like that would be a lot of trouble to go through.”

“How much trouble is too much trouble if it’s going to keep a multimillion-dollar operation running?” Agent DeMarco asked.

It was a good question. One that Laney couldn’t answer. Agent DeMarco struck her as levelheaded and calculated, completely focused on the investigation. If he thought the hospital’s power failure could be staged by the kidnappers, she wouldn’t write off the idea.

“Are you sure you don’t need me for backup?” Detective Jensen asked, brows furrowed in concern.

“I’d rather you stand your post. Act like you’re still guarding the room. Make note of everyone that comes by—hospital employee, electrician, patient—everyone,” Agent DeMarco replied.

“Will do.” Detective Jensen pulled the door open, stepping out of the way, and Agent DeMarco pressed a warm hand to the small of Laney’s back.

“Stay close,” he said as he led her into the hall.

She didn’t need the reminder. She planned on staying glued to his side until they exited the building. The emergency generator must have turned on. The hallway wasn’t quite as dark as the room had been. A row of red lights illuminated the area, providing just enough light to see down the corridor to the dimly glowing exit sign.

A nurse made her way down the corridor, peeking into rooms as she went, calling reassurances to patients, inquiring about the occupants’ welfare. Other than that, the hallway was empty, the stillness of the hospital unsettling. Agent DeMarco took Laney’s elbow, urging her toward the stairwell.

“We’re going to have to take the stairs,” he said, wrapping his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to his side, the protective gesture somehow reassuring. “We’re on the eighth floor, do you think you’ll be able to make it?”

“Yes, I’ll be fine.” She didn’t have a choice.

“If you need to take a break, let me know. If you get dizzy or—”

“How about we just go?” she cut him off, because the longer they stood around talking, the more her head ached and the less energy her legs seemed to have. They were on the eighth floor, which meant navigating seven flights of stairs down to the ground floor. She was fit and healthy. She had to be to train dogs the way she did. On most days, she could sprint up ten flights of stairs and barely break a sweat. This wasn’t most days.

“Just remember,” he responded, opening the stairwell door and ushering her onto the landing, “you pass out and I’ll be carrying you out of here like a sack of potatoes, not worrying about maintaining your dignity.”

“If I pass out, dignity won’t be first on my priority list.”

But neither of them would have to worry about it, because there was no way she was passing out in the stairwell like some damsel in distress. That wasn’t her style. It was bad enough she was forced to make a covert escape from the hospital in tight, itchy leggings and a fuzzy poodle sweater. She wasn’t going to do it lying over Agent DeMarco’s shoulder.

Not if she could help it.

By the time they reached the fifth-floor landing, she wasn’t sure she could.

Her head throbbed with almost every jarring step. She was dizzy and nauseated. The only thing that kept her on her feet was the horrifying vision of herself slung over Agent DeMarco’s shoulder, her puffy sweater–clad torso slapping into his back as he jogged down the stairs.

Just five more flights of stairs. Four more. She counted them off in her head, forcing herself to take one step after another. She’d do everything she needed to do to buy the FBI and the MPD some time if that meant there was a chance of finding Olivia and the other children.

Her feet seemed leaden, every step more difficult than the one before, but she kept going, because she didn’t want the image of Olivia’s fear-filled eyes to be the last one she had of the girl. She wanted to see photos of her being reunited with her family, wanted to see her smiling and happy and playing the violin she’d been carrying when she was abducted. She wanted this time to be different. She needed a happy ending for Olivia. An ending she’d not been able to offer her teammates’ families...

She stumbled, her legs nearly giving out.

Agent DeMarco’s grip tightened on her waist. “Do you need to sit for a minute?” His voice rumbled close to her ear, his breath ruffling the fine hairs near her temple.

“No. I’m fine,” she lied, and kept walking.

* * *

Laney was lying, and Grayson knew it.

He wouldn’t insist she sit down, though. He wanted her out of the hospital, and this stairwell, as quickly as possible. If that meant carrying her out, so be it.

Voices drifted into the stairwell as they neared the third-floor landing. Grayson tensed, wary of who might be approaching. He didn’t believe in coincidences, and a power outage at the hospital while the key witness to a kidnapping was in it would be a big one. It was possible the construction crew had knocked out the power, but he wasn’t counting on it. If the kidnappers were responsible for the power outage, they might be on a fact-finding mission, hoping to discover who Laney was and whether or not she was actually deceased.

If they already knew she was alive, Grayson had a new problem. Namely that someone who knew Laney had survived had leaked the information to the kidnappers. Though he hoped it wasn’t the case, a leak could explain why the kidnappers always seemed one step ahead.

Laney stumbled again. He pulled her closer, steadying her.

“We’re almost there,” he murmured, leading her down the stairs as quietly as possible. By the time they reached the second floor, she was visibly weak, her hand clutching the railing as she took the final step onto the landing.

Even in the dim red light, he could see the paleness of her skin, the hollows beneath her cheeks. Her eyes were glassy, her skin dewy from perspiration. She might have the will to make it out of the stairwell, but he wasn’t sure she had the strength.

He pulled the hood from her head and pressed a palm to her forehead. Her skin was cool and clammy, her breathing shallow and quick. “Maybe you’d better sit for a minute.”

She backed away from his touch, squaring her shoulders and yanking the hood back up over her hair. “I appreciate your concern, but if we stop every time I feel light-headed or dizzy, we might not make it out until morning.”

Her matter-of-fact tone left no room to argue, so he stayed silent. Now was not the time for a struggle of wills.

“Three more flights to go,” he pointed out, and he thought he heard her sigh quietly in response.

It was taking forever to reach ground level, but then, Grayson wasn’t the kind of guy who liked to do things slowly. He liked to have a plan in place and execute it with efficiency and as much speed as was prudent.

In this case, that meant going at a snail’s pace.

It would have been quicker and easier to carry Laney the rest of the way down, but she wouldn’t have appreciated it, and he needed her cooperation.

Somewhere above them, a door opened and shut with a bang.

How many floors above? he wondered. Four? Three?

Grayson stilled, listening. A quick shuffling of feet, then nothing.

Ten seconds passed.

Twenty.

The stairwell remained eerily silent. He didn’t like it. Someone was up there, still and listening, and he had a hunch it wasn’t a hospital employee. If he was right, his witness’s identity had been compromised. Peering over the railing, he scanned the stairwell below, its dark corners untouched by the dim emergency lights. There were now only two flights between them and escape. Multiple doors that the enemy could enter. He and Laney were vulnerable here, sandwiched between whoever had entered above and anyone who might be waiting below.

If there had been any other way out of the hospital, he would have selected it over the stairwell. Experience had taught him stairwells were prime locations for an ambush. A gunman above, a gunman below, and a person could be taken out in an instant.

Caught between floors, they had no choice but to continue down. He doubted Laney would make it up even one flight of stairs. Meeting her eyes, he held a finger to his lips, then guided her quickly down.

On the ground floor below, another door opened. He could hear heavy footsteps coming their way.

Not good.

Grayson had no intention of being caught in the middle of an ambush. Better to go on the offensive—meet trouble one-on-one. Grayson urged Laney down to the first floor landing, gently pushing her into the shadows. Drawing his gun, he peered over the rail.

A shadowy figure ascended the steps quickly, the barrel of a gun glinting in the dim emergency lights. From above, footsteps echoed loudly as the second person rushed down the stairs.

Grayson needed to act now. And it wouldn’t be by the book.

If he announced himself, he’d lose the element of surprise. If he took a bullet, Laney would be easy pickings.

There’s no way that was happening.

He had to time it perfectly. The gunman slowed as he neared the landing, cautiously stepping around the corner, gun first. In one quick motion, Grayson cracked the butt of his service weapon on the guy’s wrist, eliciting a startled howl of pain and sending the gun clattering down the stairs.

The guy turned back—whether to flee or retrieve his gun, Grayson couldn’t be sure. Reaching out, Grayson grasped a handful of the guy’s sweatshirt and brought his gun forcefully down on the man’s temple. The blow sent the man crumpling to the ground in a motionless heap.

Grabbing Laney’s arm, Grayson pulled her forward, ushering her around the fallen assailant. The unmistakable pop of a silenced pistol echoed in the stairwell, a bullet slamming into the concrete wall a foot from Grayson’s head. He shoved Laney forward, placing himself between her and the gunman as they raced down the last few steps to ground level.

He shoved the door open, scanning the hallway and the open door of the room beyond. Backup lights illuminated the hospital’s laundry room, the huge cavernous area the perfect cover for anyone who might be lying in wait. Footsteps pounded on the stairs above, the second gunman moving in quickly.

Grayson dragged Laney into the hallway, shielding her from any threat that might be waiting.

“This way.” He motioned toward a glowing neon exit sign pointing them to their escape route. They ran toward the far wall, turning the corner as the stairwell door slammed open once more.

Grabbing Laney’s hand, he sprinted toward the exit. He knew she was struggling to match his pace, but slowing down wasn’t an option.

Right now he couldn’t worry about anything but getting her to safety—as safe as any place could be for the only witness against a very large, very lucrative crime ring.

They barreled through the exit door into the employee parking lot.

“Come on,” he encouraged her. “I parked my car out here.”

* * *

Agent DeMarco didn’t let go of Laney’s hand as they ran through a near-empty parking lot. Silver streaks of moonlight managed to break through the intermittent cloud cover, providing some visibility beyond the shadows of the building. Too much visibility if their pursuer ran out of the building behind them. Laney shuddered at the thought.

She didn’t want to be within sight of that door if it opened and the gunman appeared.

Her body was wearing down, though. No matter how much she wanted to keep sprinting along beside Agent DeMarco, she wasn’t sure how much farther she could go. Her legs shook, every pounding step across the pavement making her head throb.

She stumbled, and his grip on her hand tightened.

“You can do this,” he urged her.

Maybe she could.

If wherever they were heading was closer than a few steps.

They rounded the corner of the building, putting brick and mortar between themselves and the door. She wanted to feel safer because of it, but fear pulsed through her veins, churned in her stomach. They had no idea how many men were after them—or where their attackers might be lying in wait.

A sudden clatter from around the building, like a can kicked across pavement, had Agent DeMarco snagging the arm of the jacket she wore, yanking her behind a large metal Dumpster.

“Stay hidden. I’ll be right back,” he ordered before easing around the Dumpster and moving soundlessly into the night. She stood still, keeping as quiet as possible. Listening. She could hear nothing but the deafening rush of her own blood in her ears. Without Agent DeMarco, she felt exposed and vulnerable. Releasing the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, she tried to shake off that feeling.

She’d worked under stressful, even dangerous, circumstances in the past, and she’d never had to rely on anyone to get her through them. She couldn’t allow herself to rely on Agent DeMarco, either. Playing the part of the victim just wasn’t her style. After all, if something happened to him, she would have to take care of herself.

And she would. She’d been doing it her whole life.

She’d realized at age eight that her mom was powerless to protect either of them from her father’s violent outbursts. Laney had been forced to take on that role. She’d learned to protect them both. This was no different. She needed to be ready. She needed to assess the situation herself. Plan her escape route should anything go wrong.

She eased out from behind the Dumpster, peering into the darkness. Nothing. The night seemed too still, the parking lot too dark. Dozens of cars were there, the streetlights off, the moon temporarily hidden by clouds.

A shadow moved at the edge of the lot, a deeper darkness in the gloom.

She jerked back, heart pounding wildly.

“Good choice,” someone whispered, and she jumped, spinning toward the voice.

Big mistake. Blood rushed from her head, and she swayed.

Firm hands cupped her waist, held her steady as she caught her balance.

She looked into Agent DeMarco’s face. “Where did you come from?” she whispered.

“I was circling around to get a location on him. I also told you to stay out of sight.”

“I did.”

“You didn’t.” His hands dropped away. “I had you in a position of cover. You walked out where anyone could see you.”

“It’s dark.”

“Ever heard of night-vision goggles?” he asked. “Because someone who has money enough to run a kidnapping ring the size of the one we’re dealing with has money for all kinds of things the average Joe might not have at his disposal.”

She hadn’t thought about that, but she wasn’t going to admit it.

“Did you see him?” she asked.

“He’s headed in the other direction—toward the visitor’s parking lot, but it won’t take him long to figure out we’re not there and double back.” He grabbed her arm, leading her toward the parking lot. “Come on. Let’s not lose our head start.”

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