Two
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.