Race Against Time
Sharon Sala
Sometimes fate brings you together…only to tear you apart Growing up in the foster system, Quinn O'Meara made a point of never getting involved. But when she discovers a crying baby amid a fiery crime scene, she knows she has no choice. Suddenly in way over her head, Quinn turns to the police, unintentionally positioning herself in the crosshairs of a deadly human-trafficking ring.The last time homicide detective Nick Saldano saw Quinn, she was still the young girl he'd shared a foster home with. The girl who'd loved and cared for him when no one else had. Now here she was, gorgeously all grown-up—and in terrible danger.Unwilling to lose her again, Nick insists on keeping Quinn close, especially when the bond they once shared heatedly slides into desire. Quinn finally has someone worth holding on to, but what kind of future can they have when she might not live to see tomorrow?
Sometimes fate brings you together...only to tear you apart
Growing up in the foster system, Quinn O’Meara made a point of never getting involved. But when she discovers a crying baby amid a fiery crime scene, she knows she has no choice. Suddenly in way over her head, Quinn turns to the police, unintentionally positioning herself in the crosshairs of a deadly human-trafficking ring.
The last time homicide detective Nick Saldano saw Quinn, she was still the young girl he’d shared a foster home with. The girl who’d loved and cared for him when no one else had. Now here she was, gorgeously all grown-up—and in terrible danger.
Unwilling to lose her again, Nick insists on keeping Quinn close, especially when the bond they once shared heatedly slides into desire. Quinn finally has someone worth holding on to, but what kind of future can they have when she might not live to see tomorrow?
Praise for the novels of New York Times bestselling author Sharon Sala
“[T]he Youngblood family is a force to be reckoned with.... [W]atching this family gather around and protect its own is an uplifting tribute to familial love.”
—RT Book Reviews on Family Sins
“[A] soul-wrenching story of love, heartache, and murder that is practically impossible to put down.... If you love emotional tales of love, family, and justice, then look no further... Sharon Sala has yet another winner on her hands.”
—FreshFiction.com on Family Sins
“So many twists and turns, and the ending will shock readers. Another stellar book to add to Sala’s collection!”
—RT Book Reviews on Dark Hearts
“Sala is a master at telling a story that is both romantic and suspenseful.... With this amazing story, Sala proves why she is one of the best writers in the genre.”
—RT Book Reviews on Wild Hearts
“Skillfully balancing suspense and romance, Sala gives readers a nonstop breath-holding adventure.”
—Publishers Weekly on Going Once
“Vivid, gripping... This thriller keeps the pages turning.”
—Library Journal on Torn Apart
“Sala’s characters are vivid and engaging.”
—Publishers Weekly on Cut Throat
Race Against Time
Sharon Sala
Some people never have to face an unexpected life-or-death situation, so they go their whole lives wondering when tested, how they might have fared.
But there are others who found out the hard way, through no fault of their own, how ugly the dark side of life can be. Some don’t make it. But the ones who do are the ultimate survivors. Warriors from another time who, when faced with death, refuse to accept it. They fight with everything in them, raging against the helplessness, to go down fighting rather than roll over and die.
I dedicate this book to my daughter, Kathy, and all the others like her, who fought back and persevered.
Contents
Cover (#u45beda7d-ce80-5fef-9572-a0f85e92e178)
Back Cover Text (#u716bde85-df93-5d08-b131-d212e769ff6e)
Praise (#ud5b87c7d-02d2-5c43-907a-b2722261a013)
Title Page (#u0428095a-ae82-5a12-bc5c-9da4b987599b)
Dedication (#u4e7a85b7-e1f8-5dd6-9bb9-1d4b5235e3e8)
One (#u90edc2e1-cf18-5f65-ba42-82c9b4a69fac)
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One (#uff7fe1cd-e1d2-5e62-86e8-dd1b93512c2b)
It was a hot Saturday evening in Nashville, Tennessee, when seventeen-year-old Starla Davis came running up the hall carrying an overnight bag in one hand and her car keys in the other.
She stopped by the recliner her dad, John, was sitting in to kiss his forehead.
“’Bye, Daddy, I’m off to Lara’s house. We’re going to the movies. I’ll be home sometime in the morning.”
“’Bye, sugar. Drive safely and have a good time.”
“I will. Mama! I’m leaving now!” she yelled.
Her mother, Connie, came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands.
“Supper is almost ready. Sure you don’t want to eat before you leave? It’s meat loaf and mashed potatoes. Your favorite.”
“Sounds wonderful, but we’ll eat popcorn and junk at the movie,” she said and kissed her mother goodbye. “See you in the morning.”
“Good. Leaves more for me,” her brother, Justin, said as he walked through the living room.
Starla made a face at him.
He was laughing when she opened the door.
“Have fun!” her mother said.
“I will. Love you!”
And then she was gone.
She had a slight twinge of conscience as she drove away because she’d lied to her parents about where she was going, and she’d never lied to them before. But that wasn’t the extent of the lie. She’d also lied to get a fake ID last week so she could get in at a club on the outskirts of Nashville to meet the boy she’d met online. They’d been talking for weeks, FaceTiming on a regular basis.
Then he told her he was falling in love with her, and that was his lie, but she didn’t know it. She believed him, just as her parents had believed her.
He was already twenty-one, and she didn’t want to come across as the high school kid she was when she finally met him in person, so she was going for her idea of sexy when she chose the red leather miniskirt, black knit top and black leather knee-high boots.
She passed the time before their meeting at her friend Lara’s house, but they didn’t go to a movie, even though Lara knew what was happening and was worried how this might turn out. But they had been friends their whole lives, and Lara wasn’t going to snitch.
They were in her bedroom, talking and laughing while Lara was doing Starla’s hair. When it was almost time to leave, she got dressed.
“How do I look?” Starla asked, twirling around and around in front of her friend.
Lara smiled.
“You look beautiful, no matter what you’re wearing.”
“Thanks for everything, Lara. You’re the best friend ever.”
Lara’s parents owned a supermarket and were always late coming home, so there were no other witnesses to Starla’s new look as she left the house and drove away.
The closer she got to the club, the more excited she became. The parking lot was filling up fast when she arrived, but she finally found a space toward the back of the lot. She locked the car, put the keys in a little shoulder bag and started walking across the gravel toward the club.
The night air was sultry and still. A bead of sweat rolled out of her hairline and down the back of her neck. The mosquitoes were already out. One landed on her bare arm, but she swatted it before it could bite. The buzz of the neon sign was loud in her ears as she passed beneath it on the way toward the club.
Putting her hair up in the messy-on-purpose look was a good move on Lara’s part. It was a sexy style for her long blond hair and made her feel pretty and grown up. Her eyes were alight with the night’s possibilities as she neared the club.
And then she saw him leaning against the corner of the building, watching her come toward him. He smiled and waved.
She shivered.
Oh, my God, he is so handsome.
His name was Darren, and when she waved back, he came running.
That first hug was a rush. The first kiss made her ache for so much more. He laughed when she suddenly turned shy, and then they walked into the club arm in arm.
One hour and one spiked drink later, Starla Davis was passed out in his arms. He made a joke about having too much fun, and carried her out of the club, and away from the city of her birth.
When she didn’t come home the next morning, John and Connie called Lara. Lara was already worried because Starla hadn’t come back after her date and quickly confessed to their ruse.
John and Connie went from concern to panic and called the police. The first thing the police did was confiscate Starla’s computer. They found the emails, then the location of a meeting place and found her car in the club parking lot, but no trace of Starla.
The bartender vaguely remembered the guy, and a waitress remembered Starla because of the red leather miniskirt. It wasn’t the kind of club that was high on security cameras, because most of the people who went there didn’t necessarily want to be found.
After the police found pictures of Darren on her computer, they ran them through facial recognition. Darren Edward Vail popped up in criminal records. He’d been in and out of juvenile detentions since he was twelve, but the files were sealed. He popped up again on police reports after he turned eighteen, but nothing that had put him in prison. Then a year ago last Christmas, he was implicated in the disappearance of four girls from neighboring states, two of whom turned up dead, which connected him to a human-trafficking ring. He had bonded out on the charges and disappeared. After that, he stayed two steps ahead of the law. That’s when John and Connie Davis began to realize the possibility they may never see Starla again.
Lara heard the news and collapsed in hysterics. Her worst fear had come true, and she helped make it happen.
* * *
Starla woke up in the back of a moving vehicle, hands and feet bound, blindfolded, gagged and certain she was going to die. She tried sending a mental message to her daddy, as if he could read her mind in the miles between them.
Daddy, save me. Help me. Find me.
Then she began praying to God.
God, I’m sorry. Please save me. Please don’t let me die.
But neither miracle happened, and the miles rolled on.
She listened to her captors talking, laughing, as if completely oblivious to her presence, which made her reality that much scarier. If they didn’t care what she heard, she was probably going to die. And then she heard the words “sell” and “auction,” and her heart sank. She hadn’t just been kidnapped for ransom. They weren’t going to try to get money out of her parents. She was the product they were going to sell.
Her naïveté and rash behavior had put her in the hands of human traffickers. They weren’t going to kill her after all, but she might soon wish they had.
The ride went on forever, and after a time she began moaning and screaming behind the gag, trying to tell them she needed to pee. But they didn’t pay any attention, and they didn’t stop, and she wet herself, and they kept driving.
The ride ended after dark. Only then did the men in the front seat become real. She heard a door slide back and felt a breeze on her face. One of them stepped up into the van, then began cursing her when he smelled the urine. He grabbed at her breasts and squeezed them hard until she moaned, then dragged her out of the van, still bitching about the smell of urine on her and her clothes.
“Stand up,” one of them growled, as he removed the ties around her ankles, then the blindfold and gag.
“I can’t feel my feet,” she cried, as she went to her knees.
One of them yanked her to her feet and slapped her.
She cried out.
“Did you feel that, bitch?”
She nodded. Fear had a whole new meaning.
“Then shut up and do what we say,” he growled.
There was nothing on her mind now but survival. She couldn’t think about family. There would be no rescue. No one knew where she’d gone. She didn’t even know where she was. They were in the middle of nowhere, and all she could see were the stars overhead and what looked like a long metal building in front of them.
Then a light came on inside, and she watched in growing horror at the opening door. The man who came out was tall and skinny.
“Get her inside!” he yelled.
The two men grabbed her by the arms.
“Walk, or we’ll drag you,” one said, but her legs were shaking so hard she couldn’t make them move.
One of the men punched her in the stomach. With no breath left to scream, she leaned over and threw up until there was nothing left but the faint taste of bile in the back of her throat.
This time when they grabbed her by the arms, she followed.
* * *
People in Nashville were holding vigils for Starla. Her last school picture was on flyers posted all over town.
Her brother, Justin, had nightly dreams about her screaming for help. He could hear her voice, but he never found her.
Their family was in mourning. Connie took to her bed. John went to work every day because it’s all he knew what to do, then came home and drank himself to sleep. Justin became the boy whose sister was gone. Starla wasn’t the only one who had disappeared. Their family unit was gone as well, and verging on implosion.
* * *
Starla was thrown into a room with five other girls who appeared to be around her age, and from the looks of their clothes and blank stares, they’d been there awhile. Each of them had a manacle and chain on one wrist and the other end of the chain fastened to a wall. At first they wouldn’t talk to her, and then when they began, she regretted it. They all knew Darren, and they had no idea how they’d gotten here, but they knew where they were going.
The auction block.
Dread shot through Starla like a bullet ripping through flesh. Less than twelve hours later, they moved the girls in the dark, and when they stopped they were taken out blindfolded and led into another building.
An hour later they were forced to strip and, under the watchful eye of three armed men, were sent to a communal shower not unlike the ones in the gym at Starla’s school.
The humiliation of undressing in front of strange men was only the first in a long line of horrors to come. The girls scrubbed their bodies and then their hair, then went straight from the shower to another room full of young girls and women in the same state. They didn’t look at each other. They didn’t speak. They sat on the floor, hunched up to cover their nudity from each other, waiting to be called. Starla’s hair slowly dried, as did her skin, then soon beaded with sweat again. When Starla’s name was called she stood up. The shame she felt was less about her nudity than the lies that had gotten her here. She had to face a hard truth. Her last hopes were gone.
The room they took her to was air-conditioned, an accommodation to the nearly fifty men there, but it was thick with smoke from their cigarettes and cigars.
The open bar was manned by two young naked men, who moved among the crowd with shots of whiskey and tequila, and longneck bottles of beer.
Starla walked in with her head held high, past the humiliation of being nude, locked into the fear of what would happen next.
Her hair was dry now and hanging halfway to her waist, and beneath the bright overhead lights, her pale blond hair almost looked white.
A guard marched her up the steps to a small round stage in the middle of the room before he untied her. Then he grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked.
“Look up,” he growled.
So she did, and when it was announced that she was a virgin, the crowd, as a whole, moved closer. She began to pray again, but this time not to be rescued. She was asking for something easier—asking God to strike her dead.
The first bid started at a thousand and flew up to ten, and then fifteen thousand, and the bidders were thinning out. She wouldn’t look at them and was trying not to cry. Her survival instinct was already guiding her, telling her not to let them see her fear, and so she stared at a spot above their heads.
But then the bidding suddenly came to a stop and the room went quiet. When she realized the crowd was beginning to part, her heart started to pound. Something was happening, and she had to look, because it was going to happen to her.
A fortysomething man was coming toward the stage as if he owned it. Their gazes locked. His eyes narrowed as hers widened.
He was someone important. That much she guessed. He was dressed fit to kill, but she didn’t know that he was also willing to do it to get what he wanted.
“The bidding stops now. She is no longer for sale. She is mine,” the man said.
The silence in the room was sudden—almost as if men were afraid to breathe, and then the auctioneer slammed the gavel down on the dais.
“The girl known as Star is no longer for sale.”
Starla blinked at the name change. She was lost—so lost—and now she no longer existed.
“Take the girl down now,” the man said.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Baba. Right away.”
Baba snapped his fingers. A man came running behind him carrying a long white robe. When Star was led down the steps, Mr. Baba held it out for her to put on and then turned her around to face him and tied the ties himself. The gesture was not lost on her. For all intents and purposes, she was now tied to him.
* * *
The first plane ride of her life was in a private jet in the middle of the night. It landed in a city emblazoned with lights. It would be a week before she would know it was Las Vegas.
Her first night in his bed was a learning experience in how much pain she could bear before he would climax. Every time she cried out, he rammed her harder. It was as effective a reminder to shut up as the gag in her mouth had been to keep her silent.
In the daylight he was a consummate gentleman, calling her his shining princess and shining star, saying she was going to bring him good luck. So she set about learning everything she could about how to please him, how to make his climax happen sooner and with more intensity. She made herself indispensable to him in the sex department, but always with an eye on one day making her escape, until the night Anton sat her down and showed her a video. He called it insurance against her urge to run. She called it carnage. Just thinking about her family innocently opening a door to that fate gave her nightmares. In that moment, she gave up plotting for a better future in the hopes that she would be keeping the people she loved safe and alive.
And so one year followed another and then another, when one day, to her horror, after one of their vacation trips to his Mexican villa, she found herself pregnant.
* * *
Star missed her period. The shock and the implications were staggering. Women in Anton’s houses were not allowed to keep babies. Abortions were SOP—standard operating procedure. While the thought of being tied to him for life by the birth of his child was abhorrent, the idea of aborting her own baby was worse, and she kept silent, still waiting for a way to make a break. And then a week later, the nausea began. She hid it for a while by waiting to get up until after he had left their bed. Then one morning he came back to get his watch and heard her throwing up.
When he rushed into the bathroom, she was on her knees in front of the commode, trembling in every muscle, praying that was the last wave of nausea when he walked in.
“Star! What’s happening?”
Startled by the sound of his voice, she rocked back on her heels and started to cry.
He pulled her to her feet, then got a wet cloth and began wiping her face.
“You are sick. I will call a doctor.”
If he did, he would know the truth, and someone else would be telling him. If she stood a chance at all, it had to come from her.
“I’m not sick. I’m pregnant. I don’t know how it happened. I take my birth control pills as you request. I never miss. I never forget. But...remember the night I got food poisoning when we were in Mexico? I threw up all night and most of the next day. I took my pill as always, but it must have come up before it had time to get into my system.”
She dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around his legs.
“Please forgive me, Anton. I would never mean to displease you. I live to make you happy.”
Anton was in shock. The idea of becoming a father had never entered his mind. But this girl he’d taken from an auction block had turned into a woman over the past five years, and in doing so had become entrenched in his life.
He put a hand on the top of her head and then lifted her to her feet.
Star was in desperation mode, and the only thing she could think to do was feed his ego. Make him believe she adored him as much as she pretended to do.
“Please don’t make me kill our baby. Please, Anton, don’t make me kill a part of you.”
Anton believed what she’d said. She worshipped him. She was a beautiful woman who was carrying his child. What if it was a boy? In two years he would be fifty. What would happen to his fortune of flesh when he died? Maybe it was time to think about an heir.
“Don’t cry, my shining Star. We will keep this baby. You will give me a son. I will have an heir.”
She shuddered.
“What if it’s a girl?”
He frowned.
“I do not sire girls. It will be a boy.”
He helped her up, had his secretary make an appointment for her at an obstetrician’s office and then had the chef bring her something to calm her stomach.
Every day afterward, he did not leave their bedroom until she’d had weak tea and toast in bed, until she was able to get up without nausea.
Eight months later, Samuel Anton Baba was laid in his mother’s arms, with Anton standing beside her. But it wasn’t love he felt for the child, only pride.
* * *
Star went home to a nursery someone else decorated and a nanny who took the baby out of her arms. Anton gave Star a week, and then she was back on the job, satisfying his sexual appetite with her wits and her hands until her body had time to heal.
The months passed, and while Anton found that he enjoyed watching Sammy grow and witnessing the milestones that came to each baby’s life...first words, first steps, he also realized he had become jaded with Star. She had gone from sexy siren to a mother figure, and he no longer desired her in that way. Just after Sammy’s second birthday, Anton fired their personal chef and hired a new one—a woman named Lacey, who’d come highly recommended by a friend. Lacey was in her early thirties, short and stocky with black hair she wore combed into a Mohawk, and was as good in the kitchen as Star was in the bedroom. The only thing Anton didn’t know about her was that she was an undercover Fed.
Anton Baba had long been suspected of being behind a large ring of human trafficking, but the Feds had never been able to prove it. Sending their agent in undercover was risky, but her skills in cooking gave her the edge she needed to get into his personal space.
It didn’t take long for Lacey to learn Anton did not conduct business from his home. The only armed men on the premises were the guards who worked for him. During the two months she’d been there, she had learned nothing that would aid in building a case. Her superiors were considering pulling her out when Lacey picked up on some gossip among the staff. If what they were saying was true, she might have found a weak link in Baba’s business—Star Davis, who was the mother of his child.
* * *
Star was in the nursery rocking Sammy to sleep for his afternoon nap. She loved this time with him, watching his long dark lashes as they fluttered against his cheeks while he fought to stay awake, and then the peaceful perfection of his little face after he finally fell asleep. She was about to put him to bed when she heard Anton’s voice. She thought he was upstairs looking for her but didn’t want to call out and wake up Sammy. But when she realized he was on the phone, she relaxed.
It wasn’t until she heard her name and how he was describing her that she realized he only considered her a product to sell.
Her life as she’d known it was about to explode. Learning that he wanted his son but he no longer wanted her was a death sentence. She would rather die than live a life somewhere else knowing her baby was growing up without her.
Anton’s voice faded as he walked away, but what she’d overheard had been the warning she needed. As soon as she put Sammy to bed she grabbed his diaper bag and began packing it for a getaway, then left it inside his closet.
The hardest thing she’d ever done was pretend nothing was wrong as she went downstairs to the kitchen. Lacey, the chef, had been preparing vegetables for Sammy and then pureeing them for her, but she wouldn’t be able to take food like this, and began gathering up jars of baby food from the pantry.
Lacey saw the tears on Star’s face as she entered the kitchen, and when Star went to the pantry without speaking, she followed.
“Good afternoon, Miss Star. Can I help you in any way?”
Star shook her head and kept sorting through the jars.
“I’ll be happy to make something fresh for Sammy,” Lacey offered.
Star couldn’t talk for fear she’d burst into tears, and just shook her head as she set aside little jars of fruit and vegetables, and a box of teething crackers.
“Looks like we’re packing for another trip. Want me to get a small box?” she asked.
Star panicked.
“No, please. I just need...” Star took a deep breath, trying to control the spreading panic, and started over. “I just need to—”
A jar of applesauce slipped from her fingers and shattered on the pantry floor.
Horrified, Star burst into tears.
“I’m so sorry.”
“No problem, Miss Star. It’ll clean right up!” Lacey said. She grabbed a handful of paper towels and quickly mopped it up.
But Star was beyond help. Once she’d started crying, she couldn’t stop, and that’s when Lacey knew something more was going on.
“Come sit with me,” she urged.
“I can’t,” Star whispered. “I don’t want them to see me cry.”
“Who? You don’t want who to see you cry?” Lacey asked.
“The guards. They’ll tell Anton.”
“But Mr. Baba adores you,” Lacey said. “I see the way he treats you.”
Star shook her head.
“Not anymore. He’s going to sell me, just like he sells the others,” she whispered and then gasped at what she’d done. “No, I didn’t mean that. I just—”
Lacey’s heart leaped, but she kept playing along.
“Sell you? But what about Sammy?”
And that’s when Star’s last defenses fell, and she took a chance.
“He’ll keep Sammy. Sammy is his son, but he’ll sell me to someone else, and I’ll never see Sammy again. Please don’t tell. Pretend you never saw me getting food. Just let me walk out of here. I have to get away before this happens. He’ll be at his club tonight. It’s the only chance I’ll have to make a run for it. I can’t lose my baby. I’d rather be dead.”
“I’ll help you,” Lacey said.
Star’s heart skipped a beat.
“How?”
“I have a friend here in the city. He’ll help.”
Star frowned.
“I don’t believe you. You’ll just tell Anton and then I’m done. If you do I’ll swear you lied, and believe me, I’m good at lying. I’ve been doing it for seven years without getting caught.”
Star made a grab for the food and was about to bolt when Lacey grabbed her hand.
“Stop,” she whispered and pulled her back into the pantry, then leaned forward and whispered in her ear. “I’m with the FBI. Will you testify against him if I help you and Sammy escape?”
Star gasped, then stared at the woman, looking for the lie on her face, but she didn’t flinch.
“You’re serious?”
Lacey nodded.
“What do I do?” Star asked.
“Be ready to run. It’ll be after dark.”
“After Anton leaves,” Star said.
Lacey nodded. “Go pack what you need for the baby and just be ready.”
“Thank you,” Star murmured. “Thank you.”
“Go,” Lacey said, and the moment the woman was out of the kitchen, she sent Ryker, her outside contact, a text.
We have ourselves a witness who’ll testify. She’s running tonight with a toddler. Pick us up at the back gate of the property.
She hit Send and then waited.
Drug the kid to keep it quiet. I’ll have to disarm the alarm at the gate. I’ll text you when it’s done.
She sent back a thumbs-up emoji and stowed the cell back in her pocket beneath the chef’s jacket and went back to prepping vegetables, but her thoughts were already locked into what she needed to do to get them off premises. She’d need to put the silencer on her weapon. There were at least three guards at all times between the house and the back of the property. She would have to take them out just to reach the gate.
* * *
Anton left to go to his casino just before 7:00 p.m., which was his habit. Since it was the Fourth of July, Las Vegas was packed with people on holidays. He got all the way to his office before it dawned on him that he hadn’t told Star or Sammy goodbye, and then dismissed it as of no concern. It wouldn’t be long before she would be gone, Sammy would be with a live-in nanny, and he would be giving full attention to the business of making money, again.
An hour passed and then another before the fireworks began. He got up and walked to the windows overlooking Vegas just as a shower of fireworks spread across the sky.
Entertainment.
That’s what Vegas was all about.
He was still watching when his cell phone rang. He went back to the desk to get it.
“Hello.”
“Boss, this is Ian. The security alarm just went off at the house. We found three guards dead in the back garden, and Star and the baby are gone.”
Anton staggered.
“Gone? How? Who was supposed to be watching them?”
“I don’t know, but it wasn’t me.”
“You and Dev know how to track runaways. Star has a chip as well and doesn’t know it. Send out as many men as you need. I’m on my way home.”
“Yes, sir,” Ian said and disconnected.
Anton rang for his driver and then took the back way out of Lucky Joe’s. He rode home in silence, mentally going over everything Star had said and done over the past week. He couldn’t find one instance where he’d doubted he had lost control. He had enemies. It occurred to him that this might be the case, but whatever the reason, he wasn’t too worried about getting her back. All of the procurers who worked for him, including Darren Vail, had one last duty before they turned the girls over to the men who took them out of state. They shot a tiny tracking chip just under the skin on the back of every girl’s neck. It was done while they were unconscious, and they didn’t even know it was there. It’s also why no one ever got away.
Two (#uff7fe1cd-e1d2-5e62-86e8-dd1b93512c2b)
Boom!
Fire exploded in the night sky over the alley behind Pizza Rock, momentarily revealing the trio running through it. If someone had aimed a spotlight at them they couldn’t have been more vulnerable. The car he’d picked them up in—the one he’d planned to make their getaway in—was stuck in traffic on a side street waiting for a parade to pass. Forced to abandon it so they wouldn’t get caught, they were now afoot and running toward the backup plan—a second vehicle parked a few blocks away.
“Damn it all to hell,” Ryker muttered and tightened his grip on the gun in his hand. “Fourth of July. This had to go down in Las Vegas on the Fourth of July? Keep moving. Whatever you do, keep moving.”
Twenty-four-year-old Star Davis was behind him with her two-year-old toddler clutched tight against her chest.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she kept saying.
“Hush, Star! Just run,” Lacey said and looked over her shoulder to make sure they weren’t being followed.
Star stumbled and then screamed, thinking she and her baby were falling.
Lacey grabbed her.
“Stay with us, honey. It’s not much farther.”
The baby whimpered and then drifted back off to sleep. The medicine they’d given him earlier to keep him quiet was working, but it made Star anxious. What if they’d given him too much? What if he didn’t wake up?
Ryker kept a continuous one-eighty sweep of the area in front of them, ready to take anyone down who got in their way while Lacey kept an eye out for who might be coming up behind them. He and his partner had been undercover too damn long to have this screw up now.
Boom!
The baby flinched in Star’s arms but didn’t cry.
A stray cat hissed from behind a Dumpster, then darted off into the shadows as they ran past.
Lacey was bringing up the rear without comment until she suddenly let out a low cry.
“Ryker! Runners coming up on our six.”
Ryker paused and pivoted, his heart pounding. He heard them, too.
“Take Star and the kid and get to the Farmers Market parking lot. I’m right behind you.”
Lacey grabbed Star’s arm.
“We have to run now. Stay with me and don’t look back.”
“Oh, my God,” Star moaned. “I’m—”
“Just don’t fucking say that you’re sorry again,” Lacey said and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her closer into the shadows and lengthening their strides as Ryker darted behind a Dumpster into a crouch. He didn’t have long to wait.
Three men were coming up the alley at a fast clip, but it was the silence they brought with them that was the tipping point for Ryker. If they had been tourists enjoying the fireworks they would have likely been drunk and noisy. Chances were more likely it was some of Baba’s hired guns. He saw them from the side as they ran past the Dumpster and knew one man on sight.
He stood up and called out.
“Hey! Bergman!”
The trio turned in an orchestrated move that would have made the Cirque du Soleil proud, but Ryker was already firing.
Pop.
Bergman went down.
Pop.
Blood fanned out behind the middle man’s head before he dropped.
Pop.
Blood flooded the front of the shortest man’s shirt as Ryker’s last shot tore through the carotid artery in his neck.
Three shots in three seconds without one fired in return. Efficient. Ryker prided himself on efficiency, and now he had to catch up. He ran past the bodies without looking down and caught up with the women just as they reached the car.
Lacey clicked the remote to unlock the doors, then tossed the keys to Ryker, who caught them in midair. He got into the driver’s seat as Lacey put Star and the baby into the back. “Buckle up,” she said and slammed the door, then jumped into the front passenger seat and grabbed her seat belt. “What happened back there?”
“Bergman and two others.”
Lacey groaned.
“Our cover is blown. How did that happen?”
“Who knows, and it’s too late to worry about it,” Ryker said.
“You’re right. Get us out of here,” Lacey said.
Star was out of breath and trembling as Ryker started the car and drove away.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“They’re sending a chopper for us,” Lacey said. “This might have worked better if the need for haste had not been an issue. Now we just have to get to the pickup site.”
The toddler whimpered in Star’s arms. Now that they were settled, she dug into the bag over her shoulder and pulled out a bottle, then smiled when the baby started drinking.
“My poor little Sammy,” she crooned. “Mama’s hungry little boy.”
Lacey glanced over her shoulder at the young woman. At first glance, and in the darkened interior, she looked like a teenager. Lacey gave Star and the baby one last look, then turned around and buckled her seat belt. They were headed out of Vegas with fireworks exploding in the sky behind them. They had a date with an FBI chopper at a GPS location just off Highway 93, and time was wasting.
Lacey kept an eye on the headlights of the cars behind them while Ryker wove through the traffic with professional precision. The farther he drove, the less traffic they met, and the fewer cars trailing behind.
“How far now?” Ryker asked, knowing Lacey was keeping track of the GPS location for him.
“Looks like about six miles,” she said.
He hit the accelerator, moving them faster, anxious to tie this up without anyone getting hurt. But he had a knot in his gut and a niggling concern that this wasn’t over.
The night sky was beautiful, peppered with stars from a heavenly explosion a thousand light-years in the past, while the mountains to the north appeared as a ragged bulwark between the city behind them and the desert landscape around them.
Star glanced out her window and then looked up through the glass sunroof. Her pulse was as erratic as the trip they were on, and then she saw a shooting star.
“Look at that! A star on the run, like me.”
“They burn out,” Ryker reminded her.
The shock of his careless comment scared her, and she buried her face against her sleeping baby’s neck.
Lacey frowned.
“Damn it, Ryker, that was harsh,” she said.
“This whole situation is harsh,” he muttered, then glanced up in his rearview mirror and frowned. “We have a tail.”
Lacey turned to look.
“Are you sure? That seems impossible.”
“See that right headlight on the car behind us? See how it’s shaking?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know how they found us that fast, but it’s been behind us ever since we left Vegas.”
“Oh no,” Star moaned.
She started to turn and look when Lacey stopped her with a shout.
“Get down!”
Star lay down on the floorboard with the baby clutched against her chest as Ryker pushed the accelerator all the way to the floor. The engine vibrated like a roar in her chest. The high-pitched whine of tires against the highway was close to her ears as they raced off into the night.
“They’re gaining,” Lacey said and grabbed her cell.
Ryker’s fingers curled even tighter around the steering wheel as the car began to vibrate, too.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Calling the chopper,” Lacey said.
Ryker’s jaw was clenched. The highway was a blur as he listened to her make the call.
“What did they say?” he asked, as she disconnected.
“They’re still en route. Not even at the pickup site yet. What the hell’s up with that?” Lacey cried.
“How far to the pickup site?” Ryker asked.
Lacey glanced at her GPS.
“Almost four miles.”
“We aren’t going to make it,” he said.
Star started to cry. Softly, hopelessly.
“I’m so sorry,” she cried, but she was talking to Sammy, not them. She’d tried so hard to get him away. God only knew how this would end.
Lacey was on her knees, her gun drawn.
“Open the sunroof,” she said.
Ryker frowned, but the headlights were closer and he didn’t argue. The glass ceiling above them slid back, opening most of the roof to the night. The loud roar of the engine and the shrill whistle of the wind inside the car was shocking.
Suddenly glad they’d doped her baby to sleep, Star held him tighter and started to pray.
Someone in the car behind them got off the first shot, exploding the back window of the car, covering Star and the baby in shattered glass.
She screamed.
Ryker cursed.
Lacey popped up through the sunroof and fired two shots back in rapid succession before the force of the wind nearly blew her out of the car. She stayed up long enough to see their windshield shatter. The car behind them was now the one in trouble as the driver fought to stay on the highway.
She ducked back down but stayed on her knees, her gaze focused on the car behind them. For a few moments they had the edge and were putting some serious distance between them and their tail—until another car came up fast behind it, passing the damaged vehicle like it was sitting still. The new threat was suddenly at Ryker’s side and swerved into them with such force that it threw their car into a spin.
“Hold on!” Ryker shouted, as the car spun backward, sliding off the highway into the desert.
He righted the spin and stomped the accelerator again, sending up a rooster tail of sand in a desperate attempt to get back onto the highway. But now both cars were coming at them fast.
“Where the hell is that chopper?” Ryker yelled.
Lacey was bleeding from her forehead and trying to focus as she reached blindly for her phone, but it wasn’t in the console.
“I can’t find my phone,” she cried.
Star was on her knees on the back floorboard with the baby in her arms, praying the same silent prayer over and over. Please, God, please, don’t let Sammy die.
Another round of bullets hit their car.
One tire blew, launching the car into a spectacular skid that threw them sideways into a roll.
Star closed her eyes and held Sammy tight, certain they were going to die. The first roll tumbled them from the bottom of the car to the roof and back down again. Just as they went into the second roll, Star and the baby shot through the open sunroof and up into the air. She felt the heel of her shoe hit the side of Lacey’s head on the way out, and she hit the ground with such impact it slid her across the desert on her back. The blow knocked the air from her lungs and set her back afire. But none of that mattered, because she still had Sammy in her arms.
She was struggling to catch her breath when there was a deafening explosion. She gasped again and again until her lungs finally expanded, and was trying to get up when fire shot straight up into the sky behind her. She felt the heat as the car was engulfed in flames.
Sammy whimpered.
She panicked. Was he hurt or waking up? The fact that he still wasn’t crying scared her, but if they found her now, they’d kill her and take Sammy. She couldn’t bear to think of Anton Baba raising him as the heir to his criminal world.
There was always some traffic on this highway. Someone was bound to see this fire at any moment. If she could just hide Sammy and run, she’d let them take her. She was going to raise hell with Anton until he, too, believed their son died because of his orders. She’d lost her chance to get away, but she wasn’t going to give up on someone saving Sammy.
His pacifier was still in her pants pocket, and she took it out and popped it into his mouth. Every muscle in her body was aching as she struggled to her feet and ran toward a small stand of scrub brush.
Both of the cars were driving toward the fire now. Her voice was shaking, her heart was breaking, but there was no time to waste.
“Sammy, my little Sammy. Mama loves you so much, but God is going to watch over you now.”
She kissed him quickly, trying to imprint the feel of his soft cheek against her lips, then tucked him beneath the brush and ran. She was sprinting toward the highway when they saw her and gave chase.
“Help me, God,” she muttered and kept running.
The night air was cooler now, the sand was in her shoes and her blouse was sticking to her bloody back. Her footsteps were jarring as she ran, adding to the thunder of her heartbeat.
All of a sudden one car sped past her and then swerved, blocking her path. The other car came up behind her, skidded to a stop, and the driver, Ian Bojalian, took her down within seconds.
Star screamed.
“Where’s the kid? Where’s your son?” he yelled.
She was already crying now, as she pointed back to the fire.
“He’s dead! You killed him! You killed him!” she cried.
She never saw the fist coming, but when he hit her, she dropped like a rock.
Dev Bosky, the driver who was now missing a windshield, frowned.
“Baba is not going to be happy about this.”
“He told us to stop them. It’s her fault for taking him away,” Ian said, then gagged her and tied her up before tossing her into the trunk. “I’m going back to Vegas. You make sure nothing that would tie you to this scene blew out of your car. Without a windshield, there’s no telling what shit you strung about out here.”
“Someone is going to see this fire any second. I don’t want to still be out here,” Dev growled.
“Then make it snappy,” Ian said from the front seat as he slammed his door and steered the car toward the highway. The moment his tires hit the pavement, he gassed it and disappeared.
Dev Bosky jumped in his car and put the headlights on bright, intent on making a quick sweep through the area for any evidence he might have left. He was on the back side of the fire and a good distance away when he saw a single light come into view out on the highway, heading toward Las Vegas.
“Damn it all to hell. A biker. If you wanna keep living, man, you better keep riding.”
* * *
Quinn O’Meara was southbound on her Harley, heading toward Las Vegas on Highway 93, when she saw fire in the sky. At first she thought it was fireworks, but the flames weren’t burning out; they were growing bigger. She sped up, topping the slight rise shortly afterward, and realized the flames came from something burning out in the desert.
The sight made her skin crawl, and the closer she came to it, the larger the fire appeared. It was on the northbound side, which was opposite to the way she was going, but her conscience wouldn’t let her ride on without investigation.
She crossed the median and then the northbound lanes and rode out into the desert, only to realize it was a car that was burning. Horrified, she braked quickly and left her bike idling as she hung her helmet on the handlebars and jumped off.
She was walking toward the fire when the silhouette of a toddler moved between her and the flames.
“Oh, my God,” she said and started running.
The baby was stumbling and falling and far too close to the fire. She ran up behind him, scooping him up in her arms. He was dirty and crying, but he didn’t look injured in any way. When she picked him up, he surprised her by putting his arms around her neck and hiding his face against the front of her jacket.
“Oh, sweetheart! If only you could talk,” Quinn said, as she looked again toward the burning fire.
The car had rolled. That much was evident because the roof was crunched inward and flames were shooting straight up through the top. It took her a few moments to figure out they were streaming through what must have been the sunroof. Then she saw what looked like two bodies inside the car and groaned. The baby must have been thrown out as the car rolled. He could have internal injuries.
She started to take out her cell phone to call 911 and then saw headlights farther out in the desert coming toward the fire. She moved away from the fire for a better view, unaware that she’d just given a killer a clear view of her and the baby in her arms. One of the headlights was flickering in the distance while the other stayed steady. Help was coming. But her relief was short-lived when she heard a series of pops and saw the dirt flying up near her feet.
Shots? Were those gunshots?
Oh God, oh God, what had she walked up on?
She unzipped her jacket and stuffed the baby into it, his belly against her breasts as she zipped him back in. Within seconds she had her helmet on and was heading toward the highway as fast as she could ride. She was almost to the pavement when something hit her in the shoulder so hard she almost lost her grip. The ensuing pain was sharp and burning.
She’d been shot! The nightmare kept getting worse! There was only one way to save both of their lives. She had to outrun the gunman. He was about a hundred yards behind her when she accelerated, crossing the median again and back onto the southbound lanes toward Vegas, riding without caution, desperate to stay far enough ahead to make shooting futile.
The baby was still now. She could smell the dust in his hair and feel the sweat of his little body. Her chin beneath the helmet was only inches away from his head when it occurred to her that the bullet might have gone through her into him. Now she had even more reason to get to Las Vegas fast.
When the highway flattened out into a straightaway, she could see the same shaky headlights behind her, but he had not gained any ground. The farther she rode, the heavier the traffic had become. She was closer to safety, but her shoulder was on fire and she was getting weak.
The car was closer now as she rode into Las Vegas. She saw the shaky headlight in her rearview mirror more often, but he hadn’t gotten close enough to hurt her again. At the first stoplight she came to, she yanked out her phone and searched the address of the closest police station, then synced the directions to the mic in her helmet and followed them straight to the address.
There was a No Parking sign in front of the station, but she couldn’t go any farther, and she needed to make it inside before the gunman caught up to them. Her legs were shaking as she got off the bike, hung her helmet and checked on the baby. He’d slipped farther down inside her jacket, but she could feel him breathing. He was asleep, though it seemed crazy to her that he could rest after such an accident. He was probably in shock. After one quick glance over her shoulder she ran inside, requesting to speak to someone in Homicide.
The officer up front led her to a separate area where three detectives were working. One was on the phone and two were doing paperwork. They all looked up at the same time, but Nick Saldano was the first to move as he hung up the phone. He was already taking her measure as he started toward the tall, dusty redhead. She was dressed in leather biker gear, and she looked strung out and—from a quick glance at her round stomach—pregnant. But she blew his first read all to hell when she put one hand under her belly and began unzipping her jacket with the other.
“Help me,” she said.
All three saw the baby and the blood at the same time and bolted, running toward her as she began to fall.
Nick caught her and the baby before they hit the floor.
“Daniels, get the kid. Murphy, call 911.”
He had her jacket off and was checking for an entrance wound when she moaned and opened her eyes.
“Tried to kill me,” she whispered.
“Who tried to kill you!” Nick asked.
She grabbed his wrist so hard her nails dug into the skin.
“Help me.”
“We’ve got you, ma’am. You’re at the police station. What’s your name?”
“The baby?”
“Your baby’s okay,” Nick said.
“Not my baby,” she mumbled and passed out again.
“Daniels! Check for any kind of identification on the baby. She said he wasn’t hers,” Nick said, as he went through the pockets of the jacket they’d taken off of her. They were empty.
“I wanted this to be an easy end to this shift, but no. It’s nearly midnight and the Fourth of July. Who was I kidding?” Daniels muttered.
“Paramedics on the way,” Murphy shouted.
A few minutes later two medical teams came running into the room. One team headed for the sleeping baby while the other one began to assess the woman.
Nick stood off to the side watching them work, but every few seconds his gaze would go back to her face. He couldn’t shake the feeling he should know her, but he couldn’t think of her name.
He was still trying to place her when the medical teams loaded up both victims and headed for the ambulances.
“Hey! Where are you taking her?” Nick called.
“Centennial Hill Hospital,” one of them said, and then they were gone.
Nick ran back to his desk, got his handgun out of the drawer and slipped it in the shoulder holster beneath his jacket.
“Someone tell Lieutenant Summers what’s going down. I’ll follow to the hospital,” Nick said. “Maybe I can get some more of the story before they take her to surgery. Daniels, notify Social Services about the baby. They need to send someone to the hospital.”
“Will do,” Daniels said and headed for the phone.
Nick followed the paramedics down the hall and then out of the building. When he saw a big Harley parked in front of the precinct, he guessed it was hers. He called back to the office.
“Homicide.”
“Murphy, it’s me. There’s a big black Harley parked in front of the precinct. Have it checked for ID and then have it towed. Their crime-scene analysts need to run it for prints.”
“Will do,” Murphy said.
Nick jumped in his car and, despite the noise of the ongoing holiday celebrations, ran lights and siren all the way to Centennial Hill.
* * *
Because of his missing windshield, there was no way Dev could drive into the city without getting stopped by local police. He cruised past a couple of bars on the outskirts of Las Vegas until he found one with a classier clientele. He pulled into the parking lot, ditched his car and within a few minutes found one unlocked and a man passed out in the front seat. He dragged the man out of the car, propped him up against the back of the Lucky Joe’s Casino between two Dumpsters and took off.
By the time he got back on the streets, he’d obviously lost his target. There was nothing he could do but keep moving down the main drag and hope for the best. One minute passed into another, and just when he was beginning to think he was done, he saw the motorcycle weaving through traffic at a fast clip.
The knot in his belly eased. Pissing Anton Baba off was never a good risk and not coming back with his son could be a deadly error.
He followed the biker through every twist and turn, hoping for a chance to get rid of her and grab the kid, but with the traffic he couldn’t get nearly close enough to them. He didn’t realize she was heading to the police station until it was too late to stop her, and she was inside by the time he parked. He picked a place where he could watch the front entrance, then made a quick call to Anton to let him know his son was still alive.
* * *
Ian pulled up to the gates at the Baba estate and keyed the number pad to let himself in. He could hear Anton’s woman kicking and screaming in the trunk and was somewhat worried that he didn’t have the kid, as well.
As the gates swung inward, he sped up the drive and around the mansion to the delivery entrance in back. He’d already called to let Baba know he was on the way and was not surprised to see the man himself standing in the doorway, silhouetted by the lights behind him.
* * *
“Well, where are they?” Baba asked, as Ian got out of the car and headed to the back of the car and opened the trunk.
Star had cried all the way into the city, so by the time the trunk was opened, her eyes were nearly swollen shut, her bloody back was visible, and she was screaming.
Anton was shocked at the condition she was in, and the fact that the baby was missing was even more troubling.
“Where is my son?” Anton shouted, but she wouldn’t stop screaming.
“Get her inside!” he said and strode back into the house.
Ian picked her up and followed his boss through the house to the library.
“Put her down,” Anton said.
Ian dropped her on the floor at Anton’s feet, ignoring her low moan of pain.
Anton looked at her in disgust.
“So she is here, but where is my son?” he asked.
Star was sobbing uncontrollably as she rolled over on her hands and knees and dragged herself upright.
“You killed our son!” she screamed and launched herself at Anton, hammering at his chest with her fists. “They shot at us over and over. We wrecked. Why? Why? If you didn’t want us anymore, why didn’t you just let us go?”
Anton reeled. Sammy was dead?
“No, no, that can’t be,” he moaned, then turned on Ian. “What did I tell you to do?”
“Find them and bring them back,” Ian muttered.
Star was playing the grieving mother to the hilt and nailed Anton again.
“Why do you care? You were going to sell me. I heard you! I couldn’t lose my baby, and then you let them shoot at us! Just because you didn’t want him doesn’t mean I didn’t either. He was my life! He was a part of you! I thought we mattered. I thought we were a family! If you hadn’t been such a miserable greedy bastard, none of this would have happened. I hate you, I hate you,” she sobbed and then collapsed at his feet.
For one of the few times in his life, Anton Baba felt regret. He knelt beside her.
“What made you think that?” he asked.
“I heard you! I heard you making the deal! I curse you, Anton Baba. Your evil, ugly world is going to fall down around your ears.”
She moaned, a sound so bereft and hopeless it cut to what conscience he had left. He put a hand on her back and then flinched when she screamed out in pain. He pulled his hand away covered in blood.
He looked up at Ian with a cold, emotionless stare.
“What did you do?” he asked.
Ian shrugged. “Only what you told us to do.”
Star shrieked and began scooting backward away from Anton.
“You told him to shoot at us? He shot out the tires. I was thrown out of the car when it began to roll,” she said. “I want to die. My baby died. I want to die, too.”
Rage washed through Anton in waves, but he was calm as he stood up and turned around.
“Why did you shoot at them?” he asked.
Ian should have been warned by the quiet tone of his boss’s voice.
“They were getting away.”
“Where’s Dev? Where’s Bergman and his men?”
“Bergman and his crew are dead. Dev and I found them in an alley.” He pointed to the floor at Star. “We followed her and your cook out of Vegas. I don’t know who the man was with them. Dev was behind them. He shot at their car. They shot out his windshield. And then their car skidded off the highway and into the desert. We tried to stop them. The car rolled and caught fire. I left him behind to clean up.”
All the color faded from Anton’s face.
“You left my son.”
“The car was burning. There was nothing we could—”
The roar that came out of Anton Baba was nothing short of terrifying as he pivoted and grabbed the daggerlike letter opener from the desk behind him.
At that moment, Ian knew he was done. He turned to run but was a couple of seconds too late. Anton leaped forward and stabbed the letter opener into the back of Ian’s neck, cutting the spinal cord and the blood supply to his brain. He dropped without making a sound.
Anton pulled the little dagger out and wiped it on the back of Ian’s shirt before dropping it back on his desk, then looked down again at the woman on the floor, at the blood and dirt on her body and the grief on her face.
“This should not have happened,” he muttered, then reached for his cell phone and punched in the number to the wing where his hired guns stayed.
His call was answered on the first ring.
“Yes, sir?”
“Luis, I need the cleanup crew in the library.”
“Yes, sir. Right away, sir,” Luis said.
Anton disconnected, looked at Star one more time and then made another call. The phone rang several times before it was answered.
“Dr. Fuentes, it’s Anton Baba. I need you.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Anton disconnected and dropped his cell back in his pocket and then went back to Star. The moment he picked her up in his arms, she cried out from the pain.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly and then carried her out of the library and all the way up to their bedroom. He could not put into words what he was feeling, but there was a pain in his heart and a roaring in his ears. His son was dead.
Anton laid her on the bed. He’d never seen her like this. Before, she’d been so passive, doing everything he demanded. He’d never looked beyond what she could do for him. But this woman...shattered, bloody, filthy, and so very broken in her grief. He saw her power and her rage and had never been attracted to her more.
His phone rang.
He took it out of his pocket, glanced at caller ID and then answered.
“Hello.”
“Boss, this is Dev. Is Ian there?”
Anton thought of the dead man in his library and the blood spreading over the Persian rug beneath his body.
“Yes, he is here,” Anton said.
“Okay, then you know what went down. I was still on site when a biker saw the fire and rode off the highway to where the car was burning. The moment the helmet came off I could see it was a woman. And then I saw her run toward the fire, and when she ran back toward her bike she was carrying the kid. I followed her to—”
Anton gasped.
“What did you say?”
“I said I followed her to—”
“No, no! You said someone took my son! He is alive?”
“Yes. I saw the biker pick him up and zip him up into her jacket. I tried to stop her but she got away. I followed her into Vegas but lost her in the traffic. When I caught up with her again she was already inside the police station.”
“Where are you now?” Anton asked.
“Outside the police station waiting for her to—Oh, hell.”
“What?” Anton shouted.
“Two ambulances just rolled up to the police station.”
“What does that mean?” Anton cried.
“I shot at the woman as she was riding away. I might have hit her.”
“She was holding my son in her arms and you shot at her?”
Dev realized what he’d just said.
“What do you want me to do?” Dev asked.
“Did she see you?”
“I don’t know. It was dark. I doubt it.”
“You doubt it? You fucking doubt it? Here’s what I want you to do. I don’t want a witness left who can identify you. Get rid of her and bring me my son.”
Anton knew he’d just assigned an impossible task. One that would probably get Dev killed. He didn’t care.
“Yes, sir,” Dev said and disconnected.
Anton slipped his phone back in his pocket, sat down beside Star and took her hand.
“Star, Star, can you hear me?”
Star moaned.
He reached out, then drew back, uncertain of a safe place to touch.
“Sammy is not dead. Someone found him and took him to the police department. I will get him back for you. Do you hear me? I will get him back.”
She opened her eyes.
“You lie.”
He frowned. People did not accuse him in such a manner.
“I do not lie.”
“You lied to me. You told me Sammy and I would always be safe with you, and then you made a deal to sell me. I will hate you forever.”
He had no response to that.“I will find Sammy and bring him back. You will see,” he said.
“Stop talking, Anton. Your words mean nothing to me anymore. I just want to die so that all of this will be over. I can’t bear any more pain. I can’t bear any more heartache. I’m sorry I didn’t die. I’m sorry Sammy didn’t die. Then we would both be free of you,” she said and closed her eyes.
* * *
Nick followed the ambulances to the hospital. By the time he located the redhead in ER she was on an examining table, naked, bloody and unconscious. He could hear the baby crying a couple of doors down, but a toddler couldn’t tell him anything he needed to know. He just had to wait, hoping the woman would wake up enough to tell him what the hell happened to her. And if that baby wasn’t hers, who did he belong to?
* * *
Quinn woke up to bright lights and chaos, bathed in a pain she could feel all the way to her bones. Someone was trying to turn her over and someone else was talking in loud, staccato syllables. A part of her sensed the urgency in the voice, which was not a reassuring sound.
Where was she?
What had happened to her?
Was she going to die?
Someone was yelling in her ear. A woman.
She frowned. Why were they yelling? She wasn’t deaf.
“Honey, can you hear me?”
Quinn moaned, struggling to pull herself out of the pain-induced fog.
“Yes.”
“What’s your name? Can you tell me your name?” the woman asked.
Quinn was struggling to stay conscious.
“Quinn.”
“Thank you, Quinn. Do you know where you are?”
“Hospital.”
“Yes,” the woman said. “You’ve been shot.”
Quinn felt someone running a hand across her midriff, pressing into the taut flesh. She reached out, trying to grab it.
“Police. Need police,” she mumbled.
Nick’s heart skipped.
“Here! I’m here,” he said, as he moved to the foot of the bed. “Detective Nick Saldano, Las Vegas Homicide.”
“The car...on fire. Two dead inside. Found baby there.”
“Where?” Nick asked. “Where did you see this?”
“93...”
Nick frowned.
“Highway 93?”
Quinn shuddered as a ripple of pain rolled through her and reached toward her shoulder.
“Ma’am? Quinn? Highway 93?” Nick asked again.
Her eyelids fluttered. The word came out on a sigh.
“Yes.”
“Who shot you?”
“Don’t know. Someone...in the desert.”
“Did you see what they were driving?”
But Quinn didn’t answer. She was unconscious again.
“That’s all for now, Detective. She’s still bleeding. Must have nicked a vein. She’s going to surgery.”
Nick backed up and watched as they wheeled her out of ER. Something terrible had happened out in the desert, and he had a hunch Quinn was a witness someone had tried to kill. The fact that she was still breathing put her in danger all over again.
“Go with God,” he said and left the examining room. He needed to call his lieutenant about the reported murder, and get a guard on this woman ASAP. And then check and see if someone from Child Welfare was here for the kid.
* * *
Quinn woke up again as they were moving her to the operating table. The simple act of moving her from the bed to the table was excruciating. Tears welled.
“Hurts. Please don’t,” she mumbled.
Someone patted her arm.
“I’m sorry, dear. We’ll get you comfortable soon. Take a deep breath.”
She didn’t see the anesthesia going into her IV but she felt it. A fleeting thought went through her mind that if she died today, there would be no one to grieve her passing, and then she felt nothing.
* * *
The county authorities who were dispatched to find the crime scene drove several miles north on Highway 93 watching for signs of a fire off in the desert.
What they saw instead were floodlights and smoke. They drove up on a chopper parked near what was left of a smoldering car and a large number of vehicles parked a safe distance away.
Sheriff Baldwin frowned as they pulled up and parked. What in hell had they come up on?
Two men separated themselves from the crowd around the burned-out car and came to meet them.
“I’m Sheriff Baldwin,” he said. “We’re here to investigate a report of a car fire. Who are you and what are you doing with my crime scene?”
The man nodded at Baldwin, then flashed his badge as he introduced himself.
“Sheriff, Federal Agent Carl Gleason and this is my partner, Federal Agent Lou Powers.”
Baldwin was noticeably surprised by Feds on the scene as Gleason continued.
“The victims in the burned-out car are two of our own, so we’ve taken control of the crime scene.”
Baldwin frowned.
“Then you might like to know that the biker who reported this also found a survivor. The witness was shot leaving the scene but made it to the Las Vegas police precinct before she collapsed.”
Gleason’s pulse shifted gears.
“So the baby survived?”
“How did you know the survivor was a baby?” Sheriff Baldwin asked.
Gleason didn’t answer. He just asked another question.
“Was there any sign of the mother?” Gleason asked.
“No one else was mentioned to me when they called this in,” Baldwin said.
“Where is the baby now?” Agent Gleason asked.
“I have no idea, but why all the secrecy?”
“The kid is Anton Baba’s,” Gleason said. “The rest is on a need-to-know basis.”
Baldwin frowned.
“This is my county, and I need to know why someone shot at a woman and a baby as they were leaving this wreck, understand?”
Gleason thought about it a moment and then decided he could let Baldwin in on this...to a degree.
“My agents had taken the woman and her baby into protective custody and were on their way to a pickup site. When they didn’t arrive as scheduled, we started looking for them and found this. We assumed Baba took them back, but if you’ve got a witness on the scene who has the baby, then maybe there’s still a chance to save him. We have to get to the kid before Baba does or he’ll take that woman out for sure. For all we know, she may already be dead.”
“Bad deal all around,” Baldwin said. “You need to call the Homicide Division at the Vegas police department. They’ll be able to fill you in with the details on the witness.”
Gleason was already on the phone to the Las Vegas police as the sheriff and his deputies drove away, but Baldwin wasn’t upset about losing this one to the Feds. He and his men had dodged a bullet by not being in charge of that crime scene. The last thing he wanted to do was start digging into the business dealings of Anton Baba.
* * *
Detective Saldano was in the hospital lobby getting an update from Summers.
“We’ve been contacted by the FBI regarding the woman and kid. This whole incident has taken on a darker, more dangerous aspect.”
“How so?” Nick asked.
“Anton Baba is the father of the baby. They don’t know where the mother is for sure, but they assume she’s back in Baba’s possession. The two victims in the car fire were Feds, and the FBI has taken over the crime scene and the case.”
“Holy shit,” Nick muttered.
“Exactly. The Feds already took possession of the child from Social Services and are actively looking for the mother.”
“What about the biker who found the kid? The one who was shot?” Nick asked. “Are they going to protect her, too?”
“They say they will interview her when she is able to be interviewed. If she has nothing new to add to their case, they’re cutting her loose.”
Nick frowned.
“Baba won’t be that generous,” Nick said. “Her life is in danger, sir.”
Summers sighed.
“You’re probably right.”
“Are we going to put a guard on her? If they want her dead, they’ll come to the hospital and try and finish the job,” Nick said.
“I don’t have the manpower to put round-the-clock guards on her.”
Nick’s frown deepened.
“Sir, if the man who shot her comes to finish the job, maybe we could link him to Baba and take him out of circulation that way.”
“The criminal justice system has been trying to find a way to connect to that man and his crimes for years and hasn’t done it yet,” Summers said.
“There’s always a first time,” Nick said.
When his boss didn’t answer, he feared the PD was going to leave Quinn hanging, too, and then Summers spoke.
“I’ll get the guards set up. But once she leaves the hospital, she’s on her own. We do not have the budget to put someone in a safe house who has no real bearing on a homicide case that we’re not even working.”
“Thanks,” Nick said. “If it’s okay, I’ll stay here for the rest of the night. She went through a lot to get that little kid safe. I think we owe her, sir.”
“Agreed. And there will be an officer there to replace you by eight tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” Nick said and disconnected.
His stride was long and hurried as he moved through the hospital lobby. By the time he got to the surgery wing, more than an hour had passed since he’d last seen the injured woman. He notified the nurses at the surgery desk that he was there on behalf of Quinn O’Meara and headed for the waiting room.
There was only one other person there when he walked in, a thirtysomething guy with curly black hair hanging well below his shoulders. He obviously spent more time in the gym than in the barbershop. The man looked up at Nick as he walked in, nodded and then looked back down at his phone.
Nick got a coffee from the coffee machine, a honey bun from the food dispenser, and sat back down to wait. He sent a text to his lieutenant to let him know he was on site and then opened the honey bun and took a bite.
The sugar was a much-needed jolt, as was the caffeine in the coffee. A quick glance at the clock on the opposite wall was a reminder that he’d been up for eighteen hours. It was a good thing tomorrow was his day off. He finished off the food, drained his coffee and went to the bathroom. When he came out, the dark-haired man was still there, still texting.
Nick sat, leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, thinking again of the redhead. There was something about her that niggled at his memory. He couldn’t imagine forgetting someone who looked like that. Bloody as hell, her beauty had still been obvious—and all that red hair. Maybe she just reminded him of someone else.
* * *
Dev Bosky knew the other man in the waiting room was a cop. His gut knotted when he saw him walk in, and the urge to leave was huge. But sitting in a room with a cop was still safer than going back to Anton Baba without his son. He’d already learned the kid was no longer in the hospital but didn’t know where he’d been taken. He had contacts who could track the location of the kid later. First thing he had to do was get rid of his witness.
He’d been texting Ian for over an hour and still hadn’t heard back. That alone was worrisome. It occurred to him that Ian’s decision to go back without the kid might have been a deadly one. That fear alone was enough to keep him on task.
Three (#uff7fe1cd-e1d2-5e62-86e8-dd1b93512c2b)
Nick glanced at his watch. The woman had been in surgery a little over three hours, and he was beginning to worry when a doctor in green scrubs entered the waiting room.
“Who’s here for Quinn O’Meara?”
Nick stood and flashed his badge.
“I am. Detective Nick Saldano, Las Vegas Homicide.”
The doctor acknowledged Nick and then gave him the update he’d been waiting for.
“I’m Dr. Munoz. Miss O’Meara’s surgery was successful. Barring complications, she should be fine.”
“Where will you be taking her next?” Nick asked.
“She’ll be in Recovery for a while and then up to her room. Fourth floor. You can check at the nurses’ station for her room number.”
“There will be a police guard on her room until she’s released,” Nick said.
“As you see fit,” the doctor said. “But I don’t want our other patients bothered or frightened. If need be, I can have her moved to a smaller facility that might be easier to secure.”
“Understood, sir,” Nick said.
They walked out together and parted company at the door with Nick heading to the elevator.
Back in the waiting room, Dev was too keyed up to sit still. The woman was so close, but there was no way he could get to her from here without getting caught. So, they were going to put a guard on her room. That meant his only chance to get to her would be when they were moving her to the fourth floor.
He wanted to go up now and get the lay of the area, but he didn’t want it to appear as if he was following the cop, so he waited another ten minutes while he thought things out. He had a silencer. He could pop her and whoever was wheeling her to the room just as they exited the elevator, then make a run for it before anyone even noticed he was there.
After giving the cop enough of a lead, he made his way up to the fourth floor using the stairs. He noted which elevator they used to bring up surgery patients, but when he saw how close it was to the waiting room, and then realized the cop was already sitting within sight of the elevator, he knew he had to rethink his plan. He was going to have to go through the cop to get to her. Baba would be pissed if he killed a cop, but he also wanted the woman dead, so the way Dev looked at it, his job was to do what Baba sent him to do, regardless.
With a half-assed plan in place, he entered the waiting room and saw the cop on the phone. He headed for the coffee machine.
* * *
Dr. Fuentes wasted no time getting to the Baba estate, but had no idea it was Baba’s woman he would be seeing. He’d been there enough over the past few years to realize she was something of a fixture and was horrified when he saw the shape she was in.
She was lying on her bed with her back to the door and made no attempt to communicate when he came into the room. Upon closer examination, he was shocked by the condition of her bloody back and the unkempt state of her hair and clothing. He’d need to be cautious of how he worded his questions. To his relief, Anton initiated the conversation.
“Star was in a car wreck. There are other factors concerning her condition that do not affect how you need to treat her, and we will not speak of these, do you understand?”
“Yes, of course,” Fuentes said. “Where are her injuries? If she needs X-rays I will have to have her transported to an ER, and she might require hospitalization based on the results.”
Anton frowned. It wasn’t something he’d considered, but if she had broken bones, he couldn’t ignore them. Regardless of what happened between them, having her healthy would either facilitate a cease-fire between them, or render her a whole and healthy product ready to move.
“She hasn’t spoken of any specifics except that her back hurts, which is obvious.”
Fuentes nodded, took off his jacket, gloved up and began his examination by cutting away what was left of her blouse. He hid his horror at the gouges dug into her slender back, tried to ignore the quiet sound of her weeping and kept going, checking for broken bones and anything that might indicate internal bleeding.
Anton knew the doctor was paying close attention to the change in Star’s breathing, as well as the flicker of her eyelids when he touched on something painful, but when they began to turn her over and she screamed, Anton’s heart sank. She was worse than he’d thought.
Dr. Fuentes shook his head.
“She needs X-rays for sure. There may be some cracked ribs and I fear internal bleeding. As for her back, just at a glance I see small rocks and sand in the wounds, which will require a very sterile setting to clean up. Will you please allow me to call an ambulance for her?”
Anton frowned, but he obviously had no other choice.
“Of course,” he muttered.
Dr. Fuentes cleaned his hands and then stepped out into the hall to make the call.
Anton knelt beside the bed and ran a hand down the side of her cheek.
“Star?”
Her eyes opened, piercing him with a watery blue stare.
“Let me die.”
“Then who will take care of Sammy?” he asked.
Rage flickered on her face and then disappeared.
“I am no longer his mother. You decided that. You have destroyed me. Let me die.”
He stood abruptly. She’d nailed him on that. When someone had no fear of death, he had no way to coerce them to his will. Then Fuentes stepped back into the room.
“There is an ambulance on the way. I will wait for them in the foyer.”
Anton sat down in a chair beside the bed they shared and thought about the changes yet to come.
Star was shaking. Shock and pain were moving through her in waves. The fact that Sammy had been found was such a huge relief to her that the tears she shed were tears of gratitude. And she knew something Anton had yet to learn. The two people who died in that fire were federal agents. It was only a matter of time before the Feds made their move and took him down. However, if she was still under his control when he found out, he would kill her.
A short time later the ambulance came, and the paramedics loaded Star up and took her away. Anton called for his car and a couple of his men to go with him and followed, unwilling to let her out of his sight for long.
* * *
Quinn was struggling to wake up. She didn’t remember going to bed and didn’t know where she was. All she could hear was a woman trying to wake her up. She sounded like Mrs. Treadway. Quinn didn’t like Mrs. Treadway. She wouldn’t let them have butter or jelly on their toast.
“Quinn, can you hear me?”
Quinn moaned. She was so cold she couldn’t stop shivering.
“Please, Mrs. Treadway, I don’t feel like school,” she mumbled.
The Recovery nurse smiled.
“No school, Quinn. You had surgery and you need to wake up now.”
“Cold. Hurt,” she mumbled and then tried to lick her lips. They felt swollen.
“I’ll put another blanket on you,” the nurse said.
As soon as Quinn felt the weight and the warmth of the added covers, she began to relax.
The nurse tucked the heated blanket around her and then laid a hand on Quinn’s forehead.
“Quinn, open your eyes now!”
Quinn was trying, but her lids felt too heavy. After several moments more of struggle, she finally saw light and then the face of the woman beside her.
She wasn’t Mrs. Treadway, and Quinn was no longer nine years old.
“Good girl!” the nurse said.
“Where...?”
“You’re in Centennial Hill Hospital. You had surgery on your shoulder.”
Quinn exhaled slowly as memories flooded.
“Someone shot me. There was a baby...”
“I don’t know anything about a baby. We’ll be taking you to your room in a few minutes. You can ask someone there, okay?”
Quinn let herself drift, wondering if any aspect of her life would ever get easy. This time of year, people would be chattering about holiday plans, going home to a block-party barbecue and having family over on the weekend. It all sounded so good—so ordinary. She had never lived an ordinary life.
And then the same nurse was back, patting Quinn’s arm.
“We’re going to move you to your room now. You just lie still and we’ll do the driving,” she said and giggled.
Quinn braced herself for motion, guessing it might hurt, and she was right. When they began wheeling her through the hall leading toward the elevators, she closed her eyes against the bright fluorescent light fixtures in the ceiling above and was drifting back to sleep when they suddenly stopped.
“Quinn, you’re doing great. It was my honor to take care of you, and now Thomas will take you the rest of the way to your room.”
All of a sudden Quinn was in the elevator with a stranger named Thomas. After what she’d been through, the thought unnerved her. Then she heard the orderly humming and relaxed as the car went up. When it stopped, Thomas put a hand on her shoulder.
“Are you okay, ma’am?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“We’ll get you comfortable soon,” he said.
The doors opened as he began to push her out into the hall.
* * *
Nick had chosen a seat near the door so he could watch the elevator, and when he saw the elevator doors sliding open and the end of a bed emerging, he jumped up and went to see if it was his patient. He saw her red hair first and was about to speak to the orderly when he heard footsteps running up behind him.
The panicked expression on the orderly’s face was all the warning he was going to get. He pulled his weapon even as he was turning around. It was the man from the waiting room. He was running toward them with his gun already aimed.
Nick jumped in front of the bed. “Get her back in the elevator!” he yelled and pulled the trigger.
Thomas reacted quickly, catching the door before it closed and pulling the bed back inside just as gunfire erupted.
Dev pulled the trigger as the cop was shouting. In his haste to get off the first shot, his aim was off.
Nick leaned just the least bit to the left as he fired and saved his own life. The bullet from Dev’s gun grazed the side of his head instead of hitting him between the eyes, but for a moment Nick thought his head would explode from the pain. But it hadn’t affected his own aim. Shot in the heart, the gunman hit the floor. Nick was still standing and the man was dead.
* * *
When the two gunshots sounded only feet away from her bed, Quinn screamed in terror, certain she would die. When the orderly slammed the side of her bed against the elevator wall, she cried out again, this time from the pain.
“I’m so sorry,” Thomas exclaimed, trying to get around her bed to the button to close the door.
And then Quinn saw the cop from Homicide move into her line of vision. There was blood running down his face, and he was holding his gun in one hand and the elevator door open with the other.
“You’re bleeding!”
Thomas turned, saw the blood running down the cop’s face and leaped forward.
“You’ve been shot!” he said.
Nick’s head was pounding. He ran a finger through the groove the bullet had left in the side of his head and shuddered. That was close. Too close.
“It’s just a graze. Are you two all right?” Nick asked.
“Yes,” Thomas said.
“Then get her to her room, stat,” Nick said and began helping the orderly get the bed back out of the elevator.
Nurses were running toward them. They already knew he was a cop and that he was there to guard a witness in one of his cases, so there was no mistaking what must have happened.
Nick flashed his badge.
“Get her to her room and stay with her. Don’t let anybody in but the police,” Nick said.
One nurse grabbed Nick by the arm.
“Are you hit anywhere else?” she asked.
“No.”
“You need to get to ER. I’ll go get a wheelchair,” she said, then hesitated when she glanced at the shooter and the blood spilling out onto the floor beneath him.
“What about him?” she asked.
“He’s dead. Forget me right now and get her out of the hall. He may not be the only one after her.”
Quinn was scared. The man standing at the foot of her bed was bleeding, and everyone was running madly around her.
“What’s happening?” Quinn cried.
Nick heard the fear in her voice and turned around. Their gazes locked, and for a heartbeat everything faded. It was just him watching her eyes fill with tears.
“It’s okay, Miss O’Meara. You’re safe.” He grabbed the orderly by the arm. “Move her now!”
After that, panic ensued as the RN on duty began issuing orders to put the floor on lockdown.
“Step aside!” Thomas yelled. “Coming through.” He rushed her down the hall and into her assigned room.
Nick was watching them go when the thundering sound of running feet echoed up a stairwell. He turned with his gun already aimed, only to see a team from Hospital Security coming through the exit door and out onto the fourth floor with weapons drawn.
“Las Vegas Police!” he shouted and held his hands up with the gun in one hand and his badge in the other.
The first guard to reach him immediately took him by the arm.
“Detective, what happened?”
“You have a woman in room 424 who was shot earlier this evening out on Highway 93. Unknowingly, she rode up on a murder in progress and got shot for her troubles. That man followed her and just tried to finish the job.”
The guard nodded. “We need to get you to ER, Detective. Wilson, escort him down, and the rest of you start a room-by-room check to make sure there aren’t any gunmen on site. I’ll wait here with this one’s body until the police arrive.”
“I need a guard on room 424 or I’m not going anywhere,” Nick stated.
“Go. We’re on it.”
Nick was reluctant to leave, but he also knew he needed some first aid. He called in to his lieutenant again as they were going down in the elevator to tell him what happened.
“Lieutenant Summers.”
“Lieutenant, this is Detective Saldano. Someone tried to take out the O’Meara woman as they were bringing her up from surgery. I shot him.”
“Is she all right?” Summers asked.
“Yes, sir. The shooter is dead, and I’m on my way to ER to get some first aid.”
“You’re wounded?”
“Head wound, sir, but nothing serious. It’s going to be a big headache and nothing more.”
“Write up your report and consider yourself off duty.”
“Sir, seriously, I’ll be—”
“That’s an order,” Summers said, leaving no room for argument.
Nick sighed.
“Yes, sir.”
The security guard glanced at Nick.
“Pulled you, didn’t he?”
“Yeah,” Nick said and leaned back against the wall as the elevator took them down to ER.
* * *
Anton was standing in the doorway of the bedroom, watching as the EMTs were preparing Star for transport. He didn’t like what was happening, but he’d made the decision to keep her alive, and this was the consequence.
His phone rang, and he frowned when he saw the name on his caller ID.
It was his snitch in the Las Vegas PD. This was a call he never ignored. He backed out into the hall and lowered his voice.
“This is Baba.”
“Mr. Baba, this is Alicia Alvarez. We just got word that a man named Dev Bosky was killed in a shoot-out with a homicide cop in the Centennial Hill Hospital.”
Anton stifled a curse. So much for getting his son back the easy way.
“Thank you.”
“Yes, sir,” she said and disconnected.
Anton shoved a hand through his hair in abject frustration. What the hell was going on? All the people he normally depended on were failing him miserably. He was just superstitious enough to wonder if he’d brought it upon himself by betraying the mother of his son.
At any rate, he couldn’t go after the witness from the desert at the moment. Dev was already dead, and if he did anything more it would surely tie him to that crime. He was going to have to step back for the time being and see how this played out. The Feds would come, that he was certain of, and he would be questioned. His best bet now was to remain patient and, as always, deny, deny, deny. After all, Dev hadn’t worked for him in months...
* * *
Star cried out as the EMTs loaded her faceup onto a stretcher, bouncing her repeatedly on her injured back as they took her downstairs to the ambulance. She could hear Dr. Fuentes talking to Anton as they followed her down, but she wouldn’t open her eyes.
Her back was miserable, but she didn’t think she had any broken ribs or internal bleeding. Still, she was going to stay quiet and allow the paramedics to take her to the hospital. The only way she was going to survive any of this was to get away again, and right now the best chance she had to get away was on this stretcher. Her mind was focused on one thought: Sammy. The only hope she had of getting him back was to testify against Anton Baba—and to do that, she had to escape and stay alive.
When they transferred her to a gurney and loaded her into the ambulance, she moaned. She heard the back doors closing and then waited until it was moving before she dared a quick look.
There were two EMTs with her and then the driver up front. These two were strangers to her, but she knew enough about Anton’s world to understand that didn’t mean they weren’t in his pocket.
One of them was swabbing the inside of her arm.
“Just a small stick,” he said, as he slipped a needle into a vein to establish an IV.
Star felt nothing but the constant throb and burn of the wounds on her back. The ride was rough, and by the time they reached the hospital, tears were running down her face.
The EMTs were running when they wheeled her into ER. She knew because she could hear the rapid slap of their shoes against the tile. She heard one of the men giving out her stats and heard a woman ask her name.
“Her name is Star Davis,” the EMT said. “She’s Dr. Fuentes’s patient. He’s on the way to the hospital, too.”
“Star, my name is Dr. King. Can you tell me where you hurt?”
Star moaned softly.
“My back, my back. Please turn me over,” she begged.
The doctor frowned as she pointed to two of the nurses.
“Help me roll her... Not much. I just need to get a quick look at—”
The doctor froze. It was only for a second, and then she began issuing orders quickly and loudly.
Star sighed. The relief of lying on her side, if briefly, was huge. Her tears turned into soft, choking sobs.
“What happened to you?” Dr. King asked.
“I was in a wreck,” Star said.
X-ray techs wheeled the portable X-ray into the room.
“I’m sorry, Miss Davis. I’m going to need you to lie flat for these X-rays,” the doctor said.
“No, no. Not again,” Star moaned.
She felt hands on her shoulders, at her waist and at the backs of her legs trying to ease her back down, but when they rolled her down onto her back, the pain was so intense she passed out.
Dr. Fuentes came into the exam bay, recognized Dr. King and nodded.
“Dr. King.”
“Dr. Fuentes,” she replied, giving him a hard look. “What can you tell me about your patient?”
“That she lives with Anton Baba and she was in a wreck.”
Dr. King guessed the rest of what he wasn’t telling, which meant not asking too many detailed questions.
Seconds later, Anton and his two bodyguards entered the room.
“Wait outside,” Anton told the men and then aimed his questions at the doctor he didn’t know. “What is her condition?”
“Mr. Baba, I’m Dr. King. We’re just about to x-ray her, but she’s unconscious at the moment—the pain is quite intense. As soon as we’re finished, we’ll focus on the wounds on her back,” Dr. King said.
“Did she say anything?” Anton asked.
The doctor frowned.
“That she was in pain. If you will step outside long enough for us to get the X-rays we need, you will be allowed to return until we take her to surgery.”
Anton glanced at her, startled by this news.
“She needs surgery?”
The doctor folded her arms across her chest.
“I assume you saw her back?”
Anton nodded.
“Then you understand the severity of her injuries. She’ll need to be under anesthetic and in a perfectly sterile environment when we begin removing the debris embedded in her back and closing the wounds.”
“Yes, of course,” Anton said. With one last look at Star’s unconscious body, he stepped out of the room.
He was pissed all over again. Now she was damaged goods, which would definitely bring down her worth in a sale. She was still the best woman he’d ever had in bed. Maybe this accident was the nudge he needed to keep her with him. All he had to do was get their son back, and he knew she would stay.
Still, what a fuckup.
He would kill Ian all over again if he wasn’t already dead. It was just as well that the cops took Dev out, too. Saved him the trouble of doing it.
* * *
Nick was sitting on an exam table in the next bay waiting for a doctor to come back with the results of his X-rays. They had already cleaned and dressed his head wound, and his head was throbbing to the point of making him nauseous when he noticed the chaotic sounds of an emergency in the room next to his.
He heard the soft cries of a woman in pain and couldn’t help but hear what the EMTs were saying as they discussed her injuries. He heard the word “wreck” and then “in the desert” and frowned. But when he heard she was one of Dr. Fuentes’s patients and the name Anton Baba, Nick’s heart skipped a beat.
Could this possibly be the mother of the little boy Quinn O’Meara had found?
There was more shuffling in the room next door, and then he overheard Anton Baba introduce himself. He held his breath as he leaned close to the wall separating him from one of the most wanted criminals he’d ever known, not wanting to miss a word of what was being said. He didn’t dare make a phone call and take the chance of being overheard. He inhaled slowly but grabbed his phone and sent Lieutenant Summers a quick text.
Get word to the Feds. Anton Baba is in ER. I’m not certain, but I think the woman getting treated in the room next to mine might be the Feds’ missing witness. She said her name was Star.
Then he hit Send.
An answer came quickly.
Do nothing. They’ve been informed. Go home.
Nick sent back a final text, Will do, then slid off the table, slipped his handgun back into the shoulder holster and put on his jacket.
The moment he stood up, the room began to spin. Damn it. Most likely he had a concussion to go with that bullet wound, but after knowing Baba was so close, he didn’t care about orders or his injury. He wasn’t leaving the O’Meara woman alone when the man who wanted her dead was in the same hospital.
He tentatively fingered the bandage on his head and then slipped out of the exam room, stopping at the nurses’ desk long enough to tell them he would be on the fourth floor if anyone needed him, then walked out despite their protests that he had not been released.
The ER staff didn’t want him to leave, but his boss told him to go home. Since he couldn’t do two things at once, he decided to do his own thing. He’d stay with Quinn O’Meara until real backup arrived. Just in case.
* * *
Nick got back to the fourth floor, but was stopped at the elevator by a Las Vegas cop. After showing his badge, they let him pass. He made his way down the hall in his bloody clothes, fielding comments about his welfare until he got to Quinn’s room. Another cop was outside her door. He recognized Nick, eyed the bandage on his head and the blood all over his shirt and jacket, but stepped aside to let him in.
The room was quiet but for the machines hooked up to the woman’s body. The nurse stood up as Nick walked in.
“How’s she doing?” Nick asked.
“She’s doing well. Resting comfortably. Are you all right, sir?” the nurse asked.
“I will be,” Nick said. “I’ll be staying here with her.”
The nurse frowned, then scooted an overstuffed chair close to the bed for him to use.
“It reclines. If either of you need anything, press this red button,” she said, pointing to the call button fastened to the side of Quinn’s bed.
“I hate to ask, but if there is a clean scrub shirt in an extra-large anywhere around, I sure could use it. And...could someone bring me a cup of coffee? My head is killing me. Oh, and if any ER doctor comes looking for me, tell him where I am.”
“I’ll see what I can find,” she said and left.
Nick moved to Quinn’s bedside, still trying to figure out why she looked so familiar. She was pretty in a wild, unharnessed kind of way. Long red hair, with slightly darker eyebrows that framed her deep-set eyes, which he remembered as being a vivid shade of green. He turned her hand palm up, felt some calluses and wondered if it was from riding the Harley or something else that she did.
He brushed a flyaway strand of her hair from her forehead and then eased himself down into the recliner. From where he was sitting he had a clear view of her and the door. He patted the shoulder holster, making sure his phone and gun were in place, and then leaned back.
A few minutes later the nurse returned with a clean blue scrub shirt, his doctor-ordered meds, a cup of coffee and a sweet roll.
“From the break room,” she said and handed them over with a sympathetic smile.
“Thank you so much,” he said softly.
She nodded, then checked Quinn’s IV and heart monitor again before she left.
Nick changed into the clean shirt, and by the time he had finished the food and coffee, the sick feeling was gone from his stomach. His head wasn’t throbbing as much as it had been. He got up to throw his garbage into the trash can, and as he was washing up, he heard Quinn’s voice.
He hurried back to the bed, but she wasn’t awake, just talking in her sleep—and crying.
“Where is he? Where’s my Nicks?” she mumbled, then turned her head and slipped into a deeper sleep.
His heart skipped a beat. He hadn’t heard that name in nearly twenty years.
He backed up and sat down in the recliner again, and sent a text to one of the other detectives in Homicide.
Run a background check on Quinn O’Meara. Get license tag info off her Harley. It’s in police impound. Send it to my phone.
Then he put the shoulder holster back on over the scrub shirt and leaned back in the chair to wait. Thirty minutes turned into an hour as he drifted in and out of sleep, awakened occasionally by the sound of Quinn’s mumbling and crying.
When his phone finally signaled a text, he scrolled through the information quickly. He couldn’t believe what he was reading. He leaped to his feet, looking down at Quinn in disbelief.
“Oh, my God! Queenie!”
She was crying in her sleep again.
He stroked her cheek, then wiped the tears.
“Queenie?”
She sobbed, still caught in whatever nightmare she was having.
“Nicks is gone,” she murmured.
“Oh, my God, my little Queenie. What happened to you after they took me away?”
Four (#uff7fe1cd-e1d2-5e62-86e8-dd1b93512c2b)
Induced by pain and drugs, Quinn was caught up in a very vivid dream of her past. He was cursing her with every breath, beating her on the back with one fist while he pushed her head under water with the other.
Quinn was kicking and thrashing, needing to breathe, trying desperately to get away, but the hand on the back of her head kept pushing her down, farther and farther into the water.
Help me, God. If you’re real, make this stop.
She woke abruptly, trembling and gasping for air. She heard the heart monitor before she saw it, and when she opened her eyes, she was shocked that it was hooked to her.
My things! Where are my things?
Everything she owned was on her Harley. Then she noticed the man sleeping in the recliner beside her bed, recognizing him as the cop from Homicide. Why was there a bandage on his head and why was he—
Her pulse jumped.
The elevator. The shooting! Blood all over the side of his face as they rushed her past him. Shouldn’t he be in a bed somewhere, too? Why was he still here?
She found the buzzer and rang for a nurse.
Nick sat up with a jerk and then grabbed his head as the room began to spin.
“Oh, crap,” he mumbled, then eased himself upright and moved to the side of her bed. “Are you okay?”
She pointed at the bandage on his head.
“Are you okay?”
Before he could answer, a nurse’s voice came over the intercom.
“Good morning, Quinn. What do you need?”
“To go to the bathroom,” she said.
“We’ll be right there,” the nurse said.
“I’ll step out of the room,” Nick said.
“No need,” Quinn said. “Sit back down before you fall down. Do you know what happened to my bike? Everything I own is on it.”
“Your Harley is in police impound. It’s safe and so are your things,” he said and eased back down in the recliner just as a nurse walked in, saw Nick and pointed toward the door.
“Detective, would you mind stepping out for—”
“No!” Quinn interrupted. “Please! I’ve been shot at twice in the last twelve hours. He and his gun stay.”
“Okay by me,” the nurse said with a smile, then lowered Quinn’s bed and let down the guardrail.
Quinn glanced over her shoulder, giving Nick an awkward smile.
“But, um...maybe you want to turn around so you don’t get flashed?”
Nick nodded, then winced as his head rang with pain.
“I’m closing my eyes,” he said.
Quinn groaned as she eased up from the bed, then grabbed the nurse’s arm to steady herself and headed for the bathroom.
“Call if you need help,” the nurse said, closing the bathroom door behind Quinn as she went inside.
Quinn eased herself down on the commode and then had to talk herself out of crying. Twenty-four hours ago she had been in Alamo, Nevada, doing a favor for a friend by filling in at her restaurant after her regular hostess took time off to get married.
If she had not just lived it, she wouldn’t believe all that had happened to her since leaving Alamo. Her shoulder was throbbing right along with her head. She was scared of what might happen next and still unsure of why any of this had happened to begin with. How had a simple trip to Vegas gone so wrong?
By the time she was through in the bathroom, she was shaking from the exertion and pain. She called for the nurse, then grabbed her arm to steady her steps, stopped at the sink long enough to wash up and didn’t relax until she was stretched back out in bed.
“They’ll be bringing breakfast soon,” the nurse said, with a wink at Nick. “We had them send a tray up for you, too.”
“Many thanks,” Nick said, following her to the door, then looking outside to make sure the guard was still there.
He recognized the officer, gave him a nod of recognition, then shut the door and walked back to her bedside. There was no use beating around the bush anymore.
“So, I guess we have a lot to talk about, don’t we, Queenie?”
Quinn’s heart skipped a beat.
“What did you just call me?”
Nick smiled and repeated, “Queenie.”
All of a sudden she was a child again, sitting up in bed and waiting for the boy who slept in the room across the hall to come read her a story—the only person who’d ever called her by that name. She stared at the man in front of her, trying to picture the boy’s face, but it had been too long.
“What’s your name?” she said.
“Detective Nick Saldano, Las Vegas Homicide, but you used to call me Nicks.”
Quinn’s eyes widened at that. Oblivious to the pain, she threw back her covers in excitement.
Nick got a flash of her long bare legs, and then her good arm was around his neck.
“I can’t believe this. I never thought I’d see you again,” she said and buried her face against his shoulder.
Nick was surprised by her reaction and then touched by it as he eased her down to the side of the bed and took her in his arms.
“Don’t cry, Queenie. You’re breaking my heart,” Nick said, his voice shaking from emotion.
Quinn leaned back, still searching his face for recognition.
“I never would have known it was you. How did you—”
“You talked in your sleep,” Nick said.
“I did?”
“You asked for Nicks. That was a name from the time I was in foster care, so I ran a background check.”
Quinn was trembling as she touched his face, then the bandage covering his forehead.
“That man you shot. He was shooting at me, wasn’t he?”
Nick nodded.
“He came close to killing you,” she said, taking his hand. “I would never have realized who you were. This is all so—Why is this happening? Who was that baby I found? What hell did I stumble into?”
“You’re shaking,” Nick said. “This has been a lot for one day. You need to lie down.”
Quinn let him tuck her back in, but refused to turn loose his hand.
“You were my guardian angel...my touchstone in that house. Where did you go when you left our foster family?” Quinn asked.
“I didn’t know I had any other family until my mother’s sister and her husband found me. They adopted me and brought me to Nevada. Didn’t they explain why I left?”
Quinn sighed.
“All our foster mother said was that your family took you home. I was little. I didn’t understand. I just felt...abandoned.” She shook her head. “It was my fault for getting attached. After you, I didn’t let anyone get close to me again.”
Nick felt a pang of regret for the little girl she’d been.
“So no adoptive parents?” he asked.
He saw her expression go blank and her eyes narrow.
“It didn’t work out,” she finally said.
He sensed something dark behind those words but decided this wasn’t the time or place to press it.
“Where do you live now?” he asked.
“Nowhere.”
He frowned. “What do you mean, nowhere? Are you wanted somewhere? Are you on the run from someone?”
She didn’t much like what he’d asked, but she understood the reason why he’d asked. He was, after all, a cop.
“I’m legal. I work for a while and then I move on. No ties or traces of me left behind.”
Nick felt sick. Something bad had happened to her.
“Then I guess it was fate that our paths crossed once more,” he said.
She wanted to know everything about him but was afraid to find out he already belonged to someone else, so she shifted the conversation from their briefly shared history to the present hell she’d brought down upon herself.
“Whose path did I cross before I stumbled into Las Vegas Homicide?” she asked.
“The Feds were helping a woman and her baby escape in return for her testimony against the man she was being held by.”
“And? Where are they now? It didn’t look like anyone other than the baby survived that crash.”
Nick shrugged.
“The way we figure it, you rode up on the aftermath of the murder of two federal agents. They didn’t survive the accident. The baby’s mother was in the car, but she and the baby survived. We don’t know how. We have nothing but guesses as to why she was with the Feds except that he’s someone they’ve been after for years. Maybe she was going to testify against him...maybe not. I can’t say. The main thing is that the baby is safe, thanks to you. What you did—that was amazing.”
Quinn’s stomach knotted.
“Who is this man? What’s his name?”
“Maybe it’s best you—”
Quinn jammed her finger into his chest.
“I have the right to know who wants me dead,” she snapped.
Nick took her hand. She was right.
“Anton Baba.”
All the color went out of Quinn’s face, her anger turning to shock and then fear.
“Oh, my God. He’s notorious.”
“And yet has never been convicted of anything,” Nick added.
“I’m dead,” Quinn said and closed her eyes.
* * *
Star woke up in a hospital room and never remembered coming out of surgery. The first face she saw was Anton standing at the foot of her bed talking to a doctor. She felt instant despair. Her life was a joke. Her future was doubtful.
Then Anton saw she was awake and rushed to her. Even though he was smiling, there was a flash of anger in his eyes.
“My darling, the worst of that terrible wreck is over. Now all you have to do is heal. I will leave a guard on the door outside...for your protection, of course.” He brushed a thumb across the softness of her lower lip, then pressed it inward against her teeth just enough to remind her she’d displeased him greatly. “Dream of me as you sleep,” he whispered, then leaned over and kissed her forehead before he left.
There was nothing she could do as she watched him leave. She was helpless to defend herself, and her life—and the life of her baby boy, wherever he was—was in the hands of fate.
The pillows wedged against her back kept her from rolling over onto the bandages, but it still felt like someone was holding a torch to her back. When a nurse came in to inject meds into her IV, she was shaking from the pain.
“Bless your heart, honey,” the nurse said. “This medicine will give you some relief. Don’t fight it. Just close your eyes and sleep.”
“Thank you,” Star said and closed her eyes.
The nurse was right. She could immediately feel a heaviness sliding through her body, limb by limb, pulling her conscious self back into the darkness. The last thing she remembered as she was going under was the look in Anton’s eyes and the tone in his voice. It was a warning: don’t run from me again.
* * *
Star was dreaming about home—something she hadn’t done in years. Maybe it was because she was separated from her baby and now understood the loss her mother surely must have felt when she disappeared. She woke up in tears and rang for the nurse, then waited for her arrival. She needed to go to the bathroom and was dreading making a move.
The nurse came in, turning on lights as she moved toward the bed.
“Good morning, Star. How’re you feeling this morning? What would you rate your pain level on a scale of one to ten?”
“Probably a seven or eight,” Star said, as she swung her legs over the side of the bed, then moaned. “Oh, my God, my back! Is it time for my pain meds?”
“I’ll find out,” the nurse said, helping Star to the bathroom and then back to bed. As soon as the nurse got her settled down, she left to check on Star’s request for pain meds.
Star looked for a phone and noticed it was gone and then rolled her eyes. Who would she call? There was no way to know who Anton had in his pocket, but she knew he had snitches everywhere...in every facet of the government. She looked at the closed door, imagining what it would be like to have the freedom to just walk out and never look back. She was crying quiet tears when the nurse came back, injected pain meds into the IV and adjusted her covers.
The dreams faded.
The meds dragged her under.
* * *
Federal Agents Gleason and Powers were elated to know where their lost witness was, but by the time they reached the ER of Centennial Hill Hospital, Baba and his men were already there. Forced to change their plans, Gleason left Powers in ER to keep an eye on them while he headed for the hospital administrator’s office. It would be signing Star Davis’s death warrant if they confronted her in Baba’s presence, so they needed to find a more subtle way to question her.
He learned from the office that Star would be taken into surgery shortly, but that Baba had already appointed an armed guard at the door of her room. He’d be there waiting when she got back from Recovery, so there would be no way to get to Star alone. With the help of the hospital administration, they organized a small undercover approach—they’d return the next morning posing as a doctor and his nurse making rounds, which would allow them to check on Star’s “recovery” without drawing any alarms from Baba’s guard.
When they got to Star’s room early the next day, Gleason was dressed in scrubs, clipboard in hand as he approached Baba’s man. He frowned at the gun he could see in the shoulder holster under his jacket.
“Who are you and what are you doing here?” Gleason asked.
Luis stuttered a moment, trying to think how to answer without antagonizing the medical staff.
“I am Luis Alvarez. I work for Mr. Baba, and at his request, I am guarding this woman while she’s healing.”
Gleason glared at him. “He thinks she’s in danger from the people who are healing her?” he snapped.
“You’ll have to speak to Mr. Baba as to why I am here. I’m only doing what I was ordered to do,” Luis said.
Gleason gave the guard a disgusted look, then stormed past him with Powers, his “nurse,” right behind him, into Star’s room, making sure the door was firmly closed behind them.
Star was awake but clearly uncomfortable. Powers positioned himself at the door to keep watch, while Gleason approached Star’s bedside.
“Good morning, Star. How are you feeling today?” Gleason asked.
“Like all the skin has been flayed from my back. How are you?”
Gleason blinked. The rage in her voice was so subdued he almost missed it.
He flashed his badge, hoping that would reassure her they were there to help, but she slapped it away.
“Doctors don’t use nurses as guards at the door. I knew who you were. Where is my son?”
“He’s safe,” Gleason said.
“I’m sure you will understand when I say I don’t believe you. If Anton finds out the two people who died in that fire were Feds, I’m dead. You know that, right?”
Gleason nodded.
“That’s why we’re here. We’re ready to put you under protective custody and—”
“I don’t trust you. I can’t. You people already promised to help me once, and that cost me my son. You nearly got us both killed! You were supposed to protect us. Where the fuck was that damn chopper when we were getting shot at?”
Gleason understood her pain, her anger. This was his job, but it was her life they were talking about. Still, he tried to remain objective. “We got a late start to the pickup site. We deeply regret what happened. We weren’t aware you were in that kind of danger.”
“You lie. I heard Lacey calling you.”
Gleason bowed his head. Damn. That wouldn’t help her ability to trust them.
“Not in time. She didn’t call in time,” he said, lowering his voice. “Star, I’m sorry. We’re all sorry. But please keep your voice down—Anton’s man is still out there.”
Star took a breath, then looked Gleason in the eye angrily. “Where is my son? I want to see him. I have to know he’s okay or this conversation is over.”
Gleason pulled out his phone and sent a quick text.
“Okay. They’re getting him to the phone. We can FaceTime. You can see him...talk to him for yourself.”
Star’s heart almost burst with relief, tears rolling down her face as they waited. But she wouldn’t let herself believe until she saw him.
The phone rang, Gleason answered, and then he moved to the side of her bed and leaned over, holding his phone in front of her face so she wouldn’t have to move.
“There’s your boy. Talk to him, but keep it quiet. That guard outside can blow this whole thing wide open.”
When Star saw her baby, her breath caught in the back of her throat. He didn’t have a scratch on him, and he was chewing on a teething biscuit. It was one of his favorite snacks. The sight of him and the crumbs on his cheeks made her heart ache. Instead of weeping, she waved.
“Sammy? Hi, baby, it’s Mommy.”
The toddler’s eyes widened, and then he was slapping at the phone and saying “Mama” over and over.
“I love you, Sammy. We’ll be together soon,” she said and blew him a kiss.
He put a fat little hand on the phone, blocking her sight, but she knew he was trying to touch her.
Gleason ended the call and dropped the phone back in his pocket.
“Where is he?” Star demanded.
“Like I told you, he’s safe.”
“That’s not good enough. I want out of here. You have to get me out now,” she said.
“We’re working on it,” Gleason said. “Just trust us. We’ll get you out of here before Anton checks you out.”
“Why are you waiting? You don’t know him. If he wants me dead, it could happen anywhere...even here.”
“Just stay calm and trust us,” he said. “We’ll be back in a couple of hours. We need to get people in place so that if Baba tries to run after he knows we have you, he won’t get away. Do you want to have to go into witness protection for God knows how long while we try to find him? If he leaves the country, you could be hiding all your life. Do you want to chance that?”
Star groaned. “Oh, my God, this hell is never going to end.”
“Try not to be afraid. We’ll have someone undercover on the floor at all times, and we’ll be back before nightfall.”
“And I’ll get Sammy back when we leave?”
“As soon as we get you settled in a safe place, yes. You don’t want him in any danger, right?”
“He was born into danger,” Star said. “I need him with me.”
“Okay, yes...just rest and heal. We’ll be back, and soon,” Gleason promised.
He gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile and nodded at Powers to follow him as he exited the room, glaring at the guard again for good measure as they left.
Star was relieved to know Sammy was safe. She’d been given a reprieve, of sorts, but she was impatient and deathly afraid of the timing. And her pain was getting worse, not better. When the nurse came in a few minutes later with her pain meds, Star closed her eyes and thought of her son as she drifted back to sleep.
* * *
Anton sent a text to Luis, asking if all was well with Star. Luis sent a quick text back saying she was in her room and had no visitors other than medical personnel. Anton nodded in satisfaction and sent back one more text.
Make sure she stays there.
The threat was implied, but Luis understood. His life was at stake if anything went wrong.
Now that Anton had Star back in his grasp, he began to send out feelers to all his snitches, trying to find where the police had taken his son. They likely had him in some kind of foster home at the moment while they tried to work out who his family was, and if that was the case, he’d get word soon. If he didn’t get Sammy back, there was no way to know what Star would do. Her mothering instinct was strong. As long as she was still alive but without her baby, she would try to destroy Anton. But if he got rid of her before he got his son back, Anton was sure he would never see Sammy again. Now that he’d publicly tied himself to Star, he would be the prime suspect if she died under suspicious circumstances.
He went to the bar, bypassing his usual shot of whiskey and picking up a bottle of Grey Goose instead, a nod to his Slavic roots. He poured himself a stiff drink and took it to his office, sat down to check the stock market, then moved to email, cruising through the messages as the vodka in the glass slowly disappeared.
He was getting up for a refill when his cell signaled a text. He frowned as he read the message—this was not the news he wanted to hear. His son was in federal custody, and the woman who’d found him in the desert was in the hospital on the same floor as Star, and under police protection.
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