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  A telephone call to Victoria garnered no additional information. She hadn’t been able to reach Sloan.

  Neither A.J. nor Victoria was prepared to believe that Gabrielle had done this heinous thing, but both had to admit that the situation looked less and less favorable.

  The sun rising over the mountains beyond Sloan’s home cast a harsh, revealing light on the stone courtyard and the gruesome scene. A.J. shook his head. Whatever had happened here, if it involved Gabrielle, he had to ensure it didn’t happen again.

  The sound of a vehicle arriving at the front of the house registered briefly, but it wasn’t until he heard the wail rent the air that A.J. realized company had arrived.

  A woman, sixtyish, Hispanic, rushed to the gurney where Pablo Vencino’s body lay. Two officers restrained her before she flung herself upon what was obviously her loved one.

  “Señor Pablo’s sister. Her name is Rosa.”

  A.J. turned to the man who stood at his side. The officer in charge, Detective Cervantes.

  The woman’s anguished cries resonated like a desperate musical score composed for just such an unholy scene.

  She suddenly froze, a look of sheer horror claiming her face, evicting the agony. “¿Donde estan los niños?” She looked from one of the officers restraining her to the other. “¡Los niños! ¿Donde estan los niños?”

  “Is she referring to the children who live at this residence?” A.J.’s pulse started to pound. He and Victoria had assumed the children were with Sloan and his wife Rachel. But this woman, Rosa, was asking about the children. The image of the chains he’d seen in the back seat of Estes’ truck abruptly thrust into his awareness. “Mark and Josh. Sloan’s sons.”

  Cervantes gestured for the woman to be brought to him, then launched into a Spanish exchange that A.J. couldn’t quite keep up with, mostly because of the woman’s extreme emotional state and the detective’s frantic pace of questioning. He did understand that Cervantes was attempting to verify the identities of the children the woman referred to, as well as the location of the parents, Trevor and Rachel Sloan.

  Ten minutes later Cervantes had ascertained that Sloan and his wife were out of the country, at some hospital or medical clinic. The children had been left in Pablo’s care. His sister had not seen him since Sunday, three days ago, but she had spoken with him early yesterday. All had been well at that time.

  The questioning moved fairly smoothly until Cervantes asked about the woman who had been found with Pablo. Since her body had already been secured in a transport bag and placed in the waiting ambulance, Rosa hadn’t known there was a second body.

  When Cervantes described the young woman, Rosa’s knees buckled and the officer on either side of her was all that kept her vertical.

  The young woman turned out to be Rosa’s niece, Valerie. Occasionally, Pablo permitted her to work at the Sloan residence, mainly when he needed additional help. Pablo had been a proud man and refused to admit he required assistance of any sort when it came to taking care of Mr. Sloan’s home, the woman insisted through her tears.

  The missing children put a whole new spin on the situation.

  A.J. excused himself and moved back into the house to call Victoria again. As much as he wanted to go with the scenario that Gabrielle wasn’t involved in these murders since her background indicated no such tendencies, he couldn’t be certain. She might be far more desperate than he thought. That just didn’t feel right. Wanting her revenge on Sloan was one thing, but killing innocent people, well, that was another. He just couldn’t see it. But he fully understood that he might not be looking at the situation with optimal objectivity.

  His call was put through to Victoria right away. It was scarcely daylight in Chicago and the agency was already up and running. Alert status, A.J. considered. He knew all about those situations.

  “We have a new development,” he said, not looking forward to passing along this new information.

  The silence on the other end of the line telegraphed loudly how very much she did not want this to be worse news. Pablo’s murder was bad enough.

  “Has Sloan returned?”

  Those three words carried enormous tension. Victoria comprehended better than anyone how this could end.

  “No. It’s the children. Apparently, Sloan and his wife are out of the country at a hospital or medical clinic for reasons we haven’t learned as of yet. The children were left in Pablo’s care.”

  More of that haunting silence.

  “No other bodies have been found, so we have to assume the children have been taken by whoever killed Pablo,” A.J. continued.

  The ongoing silence pumped up the tension he already felt another notch or two.

  “The priority of your assignment has just changed,” Victoria said, her tone oddly flat. “Find those children, A.J., whatever you have to do I want them found ASAP.”

  “And Gabrielle?” His anticipation ratcheted up another notch as he waited for final clarification. He didn’t want to have to mention Gabrielle to the local authorities. He knew all too well how it would go from there.

  “She is still your assignment, but finding her is secondary to finding the children. As much as I don’t want her and Sloan to run into each other, the children have priority now. No exceptions. Find them, A.J. I’ll send Amy Calhoun down to wait at the residence for Sloan to call or return. I want you focused entirely on the children.”

  “Done.”

  A.J. severed the connection and would have returned to the clean-up detail outside, but Cervantes entered the enormous kitchen just then.

  “We need to discuss your participation in this case, Mr. Braddock,” he said.

  A.J. had already explained that he worked for the Colby Agency and that he was here to discuss a case with Sloan.

  A.J. shrugged. “I don’t know what else I can tell you, Detective. Sloan isn’t here, so I won’t be hanging around. However, since my boss is a close personal friend of Sloan’s, she will be sending another investigator down to await his return.”

  Cervantes’ gaze narrowed. “Why do you not wait, Mr. Braddock?”

  A.J. dropped the phone back into his jacket pocket and retrieved a business card. “I have another assignment. I hope you’ll keep the agency informed of the progress on the case.”

  “I may have questions,” Cervantes countered.

  A.J. tapped the card he held. “They will know where I am at all times if you need to reach me.”

  Still looking suspicious, the detective tucked the card into his pocket. “I will call.”

  The last sounded exactly like a threat, but A.J. let it pass. It had been a stressful morning for all involved.

  Outside, one of the officers approached Cervantes and launched into a rapid-fire conversation with his boss. A.J. listened as best he could without being too obvious. Something new had been learned about Manuel Estes, the dead guy next to the truck.

  When the lower-ranking officer had rushed off to pursue the lead, Cervantes turned to A.J. “Mr. Estes is apparently involved with a group of smugglers operating out of Mexico City.”

  “Drugs?” That was A.J.’s first thought.

  Cervantes shook his head slowly from side to side. “White slavery.” He shrugged. “Possibly this event was an effort to kidnap the children that failed on some level.”

  But not on the level that counted. The children were, indeed, missing.

  “You’ll keep my agency informed about this, as well?” A.J. asked, anxious to get out there on the trail of the children.

  Cervantes agreed to do so, but still didn’t appear happy to see A.J. leaving. That he didn’t insist A.J. stay for further interrogation or observation said enough. Cervantes fully understood A.J. would be pursuing the investigation. He apparently didn’t want to stop him. If A.J. could solve the case, that would save Cervantes a great deal of manpower and stress.

  Worked for A.J.

  A.J. climbed into the SUV that Victoria had arranged for him and drove back out to th
e truck. A.J. parked and got out. Whatever had happened with the children happened here. Estes had chained them together in the back seat and hauled them away from their home.

  Had the group from Mexico City decided to take over the operation from here, cutting out the middleman? Or was this Gabrielle’s work?

  A.J. had no idea how long forensics would take down here. Until ballistics was complete on the shell casings found at the two scenes, there would be no way to know how many weapons were involved and which one killed Estes.

  He walked the area around the truck, then surveyed the landscape beyond on all four sides. Where had the person or persons who’d ambushed Estes stopped initially?

  That the desert wind had laid low last night and this morning worked to A.J.’s advantage. The sand was fairly undisturbed in places. As he moved cautiously around the truck he noted several sets of tracks. Some appeared smaller, less likely to belong to Estes or any other adult male. Two smaller sets drew him into a squat for a closer look. One set looked distinctly narrower than the other. Female, most likely.

  Gabrielle.

  A.J.’s jaw tightened. Near the driver’s side door there appeared to be more than three sets of tracks, but it was difficult to distinguish one from the other between the numerous steps taken and the slight alterations made by occasional gusts of wind, however mild.

  He hadn’t been able to do this when he’d first arrived in the middle of the night. But now, with the sun beating down on the sand, he could make out a number of details.

  Following the confusing cluster of tracks, he walked about twenty yards west of the parked truck. After long minutes of careful exploration he determined that this was where the entourage had taken an alternate form of transportation. The vehicle tracks, what he could make out, appeared to travel westward. Seemingly back toward the Sloan property.

  A.J. drove around the massive compound and parked fifty or so yards from the rear gate.

  Nearly an hour later A.J. had found where the vehicle continued its journey. His gaze tracked the general direction and concluded that the group had headed into the mountains. It didn’t make sense, but the tracks didn’t lie. Why would Gabrielle take that route?

  He followed the most logical course and parked his SUV in a cluster of scraggly evergreens where the landscape started upward. Then he walked some more. Carefully considering every square foot of the ground he covered. Looking for anything not caused by nature. A broken limb, scattered rocks, anything.

  Another hour passed before he found what he was looking for. A vehicle hidden much as he’d hidden his own.

  Jeep. Engine was cold. He scanned the interior for any evidence of who had inhabited the space last.

  Nothing. Except a T-shirt smeared with blood. Tension arced through him.

  If this was Gabrielle’s work, she was damned good at covering her tracks.

  A smear on the back of the driver’s seat captured his attention. He leaned in closer. Touched the stain. Deep, rusty red. Gritty texture.

  Blood mixed with sand. The smear pattern suggested the sole of a sneaker. Same pattern he’d noted amid the confusion of tracks where individuals had exited the truck and then again where they had climbed aboard this Jeep.

  Doing a mental comparison of the sole pattern in the blood smear and that of the similar one in the sand, he would say the shoe belonged to a child. Maybe the younger of the two boys. He had likely stepped in the bloody sand near Estes’ body. There hadn’t been any blood smears or stains inside the truck, assuming the children had left the residence in the truck. And that was the way this scenario was forming in his mind.

  Estes had killed Pablo and his niece. He’d fled with the children and then was intercepted by someone.

  Maybe Gabrielle. Maybe the bad guys from the smuggling operation for which he reportedly worked.

  A.J. stared up at the rugged mountains. There was only one way to go from here.

  GABRIELLE SAT stone-still as sunlight crept through the trees and underbrush, shielding her position. The morning was deadly quiet. But she didn’t have to hear any sound to know she and the children were not alone in the woods.

  She glanced at the two boys still huddled together and sleeping. The temperature had dropped considerably last night and huddling together had been the only way to stay warm. The older boy, Mark, she’d learned from the younger brother, had refused to lay near Gabrielle. Nature had taken over though after he’d fallen asleep. His body had instinctively sought warmth.

  Her gaze strayed to the younger boy. Josh. His dark hair was the same as hers. Too much so, in fact. But it was his eyes that twisted her insides. Dark, dark, black eyes. Eyes she had never seen in person but would recognize anywhere.

  Gabrielle hadn’t noticed at first. She’d been too busy trying to rescue the two boys from their would-be kidnapper. Then she’d been occupied with putting some distance between them and the evidence of their escape. Staying alive had been top priority. Besides, it had been pretty much dark when the whole damned thing had gone down.

  It wasn’t until this morning that she’d gotten a look at the kid’s eyes. He’d sat straight up and looked directly at her. His stare had lasted maybe ten seconds then he’d snuggled back up to his brother and gone back to sleep.

  Gabrielle had sat there, stunned. She had only seen one picture of her father. Her mother had bragged that she’d stolen it from one of his numerous passports. Gabriel DiCassi had been an extraordinarily handsome man. Coal-black hair and eyes of the same dark, gleaming color.

  Her mother had destroyed the picture when Gabrielle was sixteen to get back at her for going to the prom with a senior. But Gabrielle had never forgotten the lines and angles of her father’s face. Above all else, his eyes had stood out in her mind.

  Josh had those eyes.

  The shape of his face. His nose. Every damned thing about him was like her father.

  How was that possible?

  Her mother had never mentioned a sibling. This couldn’t be right. Besides, what would one of her father’s children be doing with Trevor Sloan? Her gaze settled on Josh once more. Was this boy the reason her father was dead?

  Emotion tightened in her throat.

  The file from the Colby Agency had mentioned Rachel Larson and her son Josh, but there had been no information regarding the boy’s father.

  The painful emotion morphed into anger.

  She would never know her father. Who he had really been. What he was like. Nothing.

  All she really knew about him was the way he’d looked.

  Like Josh.

  Gabrielle had inherited her father’s dark hair, but not his eyes. She’d gotten her mother’s gray eyes. That hadn’t bothered her until now.

  She gritted her teeth and forced back the emotions. She would not let this distract her.

  But then, if Josh were Gabriel DiCassi’s son, surely Rachel Larson could tell Gabrielle about her father. But would any of it be the truth, or merely Rachel’s version of the truth?

  Just like Gabrielle’s mother, everyone had their own idea about the truth.

  Focus, she ordered.

  There was no time to worry about anything else. She would take these kids to safety and then she would return to Sloan’s house and wait for him. Josh had told her last night that his mommy and daddy had gone to a special hospital. Mark had told him to shut up, which was the end of any information on the whereabouts of Sloan.

  After gaining some ground last night, she’d selected a scouting location and watched for the enemy to arrive. If the dying woman’s warning was to be heeded, Gabrielle needed to know what she was up against. If she and the boys had gone directly to the village where Mark insisted they would be safe, the enemy might have picked up their trail and followed.

  Gabrielle had watched the SUV arrive, four men with flashlights had unloaded. They had inspected Manuel’s truck and then moved on to the private residence of Sloan. Once they’d confirmed that the children were gone, they had left.
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br />   She’d been surprised. She’d expected them to attempt to find the children. That was what this was all about, right?

  Maybe, maybe not. Whatever the bastards had in mind, she couldn’t hang around to see. If they intended to follow, they would likely do so at dawn. Knowing that was likely the case, Gabrielle had spent three hours last night moving upward and away from the tiny mountain village.

  Mark had argued. He’d wanted to go straight to safety. Gabrielle had decided that he wasn’t really afraid for himself but he needed to keep his brother safe. Since she had the weapon they’d done things her way, settling in for the night at the location of her choosing.

  She stood, surveyed the area. The gray mist that had accompanied dawn had dissipated entirely now. She listened for the slightest sound.

  At this point they should start moving across, in a zigzagging course, and toward the location of the village. Mark claimed to know these mountains well, but she’d gotten the impression last night that he was pretty much lost. But he may have wanted her to believe that. Or he could have simply been tired.

  She’d hardly slept at all for fear that he would take his brother and run. As exhausted as Josh had been, his brother would have had to carry him in any event. Thankfully Mark had gone to sleep and stayed that way.

  She checked her weapon again, tucked it into her waistband at the small of her back. The hooded sweatshirt she’d brought along in her Jeep was all that had kept her warm last night. It helped to conceal her weapon, as well. She might just wear it until the rising temperature forced her to peel it off. Her shoulder bag contained her binoculars, her cell phone with its dead battery, her doctored passport and money. That was pretty much all she’d brought with her. She’d flown from Chicago to El Paso under an alias. A former Texan, she’d known where to go for weapons. She’d bought the Jeep and driven to Mexico. She’d covered all the bases. But she hadn’t been prepared for this.