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  “If this guy doesn’t show soon,” she threatened, as if she’d read Trinity’s mind, “we’re going with the plan I suggested.”

  Trinity hunched his shoulders to draw the collar of his coat around his neck against the cold, then studied the dark street. “He’ll show.”

  That was something Von would learn about the Colby Agency. If Simon Ruhl, Ian Michaels or Victoria Colby-Camp said it would be, then it would be. This was a contact Simon had gotten from a former Bureau colleague—one Simon trusted. The contact would show.

  This particular contact, a Dennis Lane, was not only connected to the Midwest human trafficking network, his number had also shown up on the downloaded list of calls to and from the number Charlie Jones claimed was his only means of contact with the buyer who’d purchased Lily Larkin. So far neither the agency nor the Bureau had been able to trace the number to a source, but Lane’s number had popped out at Simon’s Bureau colleague.

  Now, Trinity and Von waited for Lane…hoping like hell he could make the connection to the dirtbag who had Lily.

  Von folded her arms over her chest and leaned against the building. “Thirty minutes,” she announced, her words a little muffled by the scarf wrapped around her shoulders and throat. “If he doesn’t show in the next half hour, I’m out of here. I’ve got that junkie Charlie’s contact number. I’m moving on it in thirty-one minutes.”

  Trinity didn’t doubt her one little bit. Patience was not one of her virtues. Though she had a number of others. Not big as a minute. She stood a mere five-two and wouldn’t weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet. But she wasn’t afraid of anyone. His lips curled with amusement at the idea that an enemy might look at her and see a mere poodle facing off against a pit bull, but she rarely lost a battle, particularly one of wills.

  She still kept her coal-black hair cut short. It hugged her face and neck in soft, silky wisps. And those eyes. Pure blue laser beams that could melt your heart or cut you in two. Her body was lean from plenty of cardio and well toned from pumping iron, but not so much so as to lessen the feminine qualities.

  Those curves were firm and toned but, at the same time, soft and smooth. Not even five years had allowed him to forget.

  “Are you finished?”

  Trinity blinked, then quickly looked away. “I was just thinking.” She’d caught him. Not good. And unfortunately it wasn’t the first time.

  “When are you going to stop doing that?” She pushed away from the wall and walked to the edge of the sidewalk to peer down the street, first one direction, then the other. She could never be still. “It’s a waste of time,” she added.

  Anger instantly tangled in his gut. She did this every time. And he got ticked every single time. “Doing what?”

  “Remembering.” She sent that laser gaze in his direction. “The past is called the past for a reason. It’s over. There’s no going back.”

  “Oh, yeah.” He shoved his hands into his pockets to prevent reaching out and shaking her. “That.”

  She wanted to pretend they never happened. Under the ruse of moving on, she had tucked their three years of marriage into a tight little compartment and shoved it to the very back of her mind—never to be opened again. He hadn’t been able to accomplish the feat. The memories were always with him…far too handy and completely unforgettable.

  He couldn’t move on. He was one hundred percent stuck in that past she proclaimed as over.

  “Maybe that’s our guy.” She hitched her head to the right where a set of headlights bobbed as a dark sedan rolled over the potholed street.

  Trinity resisted the urge to lean down and check the weapon in his ankle holster. No matter how dependable the contact, if he suspected trouble he wouldn’t hesitate to protect himself from a perceived threat. Trinity tapped the communications device in his ear to ensure those listening understood that the target appeared to be approaching and the meet was going down.

  Simon Ruhl and Jim Colby were parked in a nearby alley, monitoring the situation and providing intel as it became available. They would also provide any necessary backup.

  The sedan eased to a stop in front of where they waited. The lack of working streetlamps prevented much in the way of visuals. The door opened, the momentary light from the interior allowed Trinity to visually confirm it was the expected contact.

  “Barton?” the man asked.

  Trinity nodded as he stepped forward. Myles Barton was his cover. “This is my wife, Louise.”

  Von, her arms still crossed over her chest, eyed the guy suspiciously. “I hope you aren’t wasting our time, Mr. Lane. I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

  “If memory serves,” Lane said, his words directed at Von, “you called me, Mrs. Barton. Are you in the habit of calling on those you suspect incapable of accomplishing the goal?”

  Von lifted her chin in that sassy manner that said she wasn’t bested by the likes of this guy. “We’ll see, won’t we?”

  Seemingly, unruffled, Lane shifted his attention to Trinity. “You’re looking for a child in the three- to six-year range?”

  “A girl,” Von put in, taking a step in the direction of the men. “Blond hair,” she looked to Trinity, “like her father.”

  Lane didn’t like Von’s pushiness; that much was obvious. But he also wasn’t going to pass on the opportunity to make some extra cash. “These extra options can be expensive,” he warned.

  Fury tightened Trinity’s gut. The bastard had just referred to a child as if it were an automobile. “I’m prepared to pay twenty for the child,” Trinity pressed, careful to keep his disgust out of his face, “five extra for your trouble if you can make this happen in the next twenty-four hours.”

  Lane laughed. “Impossible. I’ll need seventy-two at the very least.” He glanced at Von. “Especially if you’re being picky.”

  “We’re leaving for Texas on Friday morning,” Trinity explained. “We haven’t visited what’s left of our families in seven years. We need the child with us. We want a minimum of twenty-four hours to orient the child…if you know what I mean.”

  Lane considered Trinity, then Von before shaking his head. “Your family believes you have a daughter?” He shook his head. “I don’t even want to know.”

  “Good,” Trinity cautioned, “because that’s none of your business. Are we doing business or what? Time is wasting.”

  Lane shrugged. “Whatever. I’ve heard it all.” His gaze narrowed then. “Seems strange that you waited till the last minute to do your shopping.”

  “You’re our third contact,” Von said with all the drama of a highly trained actress. “The others couldn’t produce what we were looking for. I hope you’re better than your competition.”

  Trinity’s instincts went on alert. The guy’s suspicion had mounted exponentially in the past minute. Pushing him any harder would have him backing out as surely as he’d just taken the step down from the curb putting him closer to his car.

  “I might not be the right man for the job,” he offered. “These transactions can be problematic. Frankly, overzealous buyers make me nervous.”

  Von’s breath caught and her worried gaze landed on Trinity’s. “You have to do something.” She played extremely disappointed perfectly. “We’re running out of time.”

  Trinity leveled his full attention on the man who had, for all intents and purposes, closed down his shop. “Fifty. I’m willing to go as high as fifty thousand for a girl and ten extra to you for making it happen now. Tonight with no further questions.”

  Lane hesitated only a second. “Sounds like you and your wife have a desperate situation.”

  “It’s an inheritance thing,” Trinity lied, “nothing you’d find interesting. But that’s as high as I go,” he warned when anticipation lit in Lane’s eyes. “The time limit is nonnegotiable.”

  “Please, Myles.” Von grabbed Trinity by the arm and played the part of the persistent and petulant wife. “She has to be blond.”

  Trinity could almost see the dol
lar signs flashing in Lane’s expression. “Seventy-five. Total,” he said flatly. “You bring me a little blond-haired girl meeting the right age criteria—tonight—and the money is yours. How you split it with your supplier is up to you.”

  “Brown eyes,” Von piped up. She stared in feigned adoration at Trinity a moment before turning to the other man. “I want her to have blond hair and brown eyes. No substitutions.”

  The scumbag held up his hands. “I’ll do what I can.”

  “If you can’t do it,” Trinity countered, “say so now. We’ll move on to the next name on our list.”

  Lane’s jaw hardened with something like anger. “I’ll make it happen.”

  “When will we know?” Trinity pressed. “We have arrangements to make.”

  “I’ll call you within the hour.” Lane reached for the door of his vehicle, then hesitated. “Bring cash,” he said with a blunt look at Trinity. “All of it.”

  “Cash,” Trinity echoed. “Is there any other way to shop?” He gestured to his jacket. “May I?”

  Another hesitation, then a nod.

  Trinity pulled an envelope from an interior coat pocket and passed it to the man. “A little incentive to make up for the pressure we’re no doubt causing.”

  Lane opened the envelope and fingered the cash. Five thousand in hundred dollar bills. He looked to Trinity with raised eyebrows. “You won’t be disappointed.” He got into the sedan and pulled away from the curb.

  “He’s suspicious,” Von commented.

  “He is,” Trinity agreed. “But, I think his greed will override any lingering concerns he might have.”

  “It’s cold.”

  She didn’t look at him but he looked at her. He resisted the impulse to put his arm around her and pull her close, to warm her body with his.

  But that would only make her angry.

  “Let’s go.” He gestured for her to go ahead of him. “We can wait in the car or go to the coffee shop.” The sedan they were using belonged to the Colby Agency but was registered to a dummy corporation in the event the plates were run.

  “I hate the waiting,” she muttered as she reached for the door on the passenger side of the car.

  “Yeah. Me, too.”

  That was the worst part of an investigation…the waiting. And the wondering. Was the little girl safe? Would they get to her in time? Would this elaborate ruse even accomplish their goal?

  “Lane is making the call.”

  Trinity and Von’s gazes locked as the words echoed through their communication links. Simon had just verified that Lane had made the call to the number Charlie Jones had insisted was the contact for the Lily Larkin buyer.

  Trinity prayed they would get this lucky…that it would be this simple.

  “Continue to the coffee house and wait for the call from Lane,” Jim instructed via the com link. “We’ll keep you advised.”

  Von acknowledged the instructions as she fastened her seatbelt.

  Maggie’s Coffee House was their destination. It was located directly across the street from the building that housed the Colby Agency. Simon and Jim would take up positions nearby as well.

  The next few hours were far too crucial to leave anything to chance.

  Von relaxed into her seat and remained uncharacteristically quiet during the drive across town. She usually had plenty to say, whatever the situation. Trinity started to make casual conversation but then the reality of the last few minutes hit him.

  Von had made that remark about the past….

  Trinity banged his head against the headrest. Simon would wonder about that, maybe even ask. When Trinity had come onboard at the agency that he’d been married before was in the background search. He hadn’t attempted to hide it. There hadn’t been any reason. Von hadn’t hidden her past from Jim Colby—as if anyone could.

  Their former marriage hadn’t been relevant.

  When the Equalizers had merged with the agency, new background checks hadn’t been necessary for either staff. Jim’s people had gone through rigorous security measures already as had the investigators at the agency.

  Since Von had reclaimed her maiden name, evidently nothing had clicked. She and Trinity had opted to keep it that way. For better or worse.

  This was something they would need to clear up when this investigation was over. Until now it hadn’t felt relevant.

  Trinity parked in the small lot on the Colby Agency side of the street.

  “A meeting has been initiated with the Jones’s contact,” Jim advised via the com link.

  Hope fired in Trinity’s veins. “We’ll be standing by.” He wasn’t sure where Simon and Jim would park. Possibly in the alley behind the coffee house. Their sedan was nowhere in sight when he and Von emerged from theirs. Every precaution had to be taken to ensure this deal went down without a hitch.

  “Careful,” Trinity said as they crossed the street. Traffic was still fairly heavy with last-minute Christmas shoppers and the sidewalks remained treacherous with three days’ worth of snow compacted and iced over in the less traveled areas.

  Von marched across the street as if there wasn’t a speck of snow or ice to be seen, much less traffic. Trinity took a bit more care. If he hadn’t made the suggestion she would likely have moved more cautiously. She wasn’t taking any orders or advice from him. He didn’t know why he’d expected she would.

  He supposed he deserved exactly the response he’d gotten. The break-up of their marriage was, to a large degree, his fault. He’d owned his mistakes. But nothing he’d said or done for a full year after the initial separation had changed her mind about the divorce.

  Even after five years she hadn’t forgiven him.

  Maybe he hadn’t forgiven her.

  He moved ahead of her now to open the door to the coffee house. She indulged his need to play the gentleman, but she neither thanked him nor met his gaze.

  It was too late to consider that working together on this case might be a mistake.

  There was no going back.

  “Coffee?” he asked.

  “Definitely.”

  She didn’t wait with him at the counter. Instead, she claimed a table away from the windows overlooking Chicago’s famous Mag Mile.

  He placed the order for two coffees. While he waited Jim and Simon entered and got in line behind him.

  In the event anyone was watching, they didn’t acknowledge Trinity or Von.

  When Trinity had paid for the coffee, he walked past his colleagues without eye contact and joined Von at the table. He sat a steaming cup in front of her and took the seat across from her.

  Trinity removed his coat and draped it over an empty chair. Before sipping his coffee he deactivated his com link.

  As if she’d read his mind, Von did the same.

  “There will be questions,” he said.

  “My mistake,” she said.

  Another first. Von rarely fessed up to mistakes.

  Then again, she rarely made them. She was very, very good at any endeavor she chose to undertake.

  Good at a lot of things.

  “I shouldn’t have been staring,” he admitted. It was true. If he hadn’t been taking a trip down memory avenue she wouldn’t have gotten annoyed…and the remark wouldn’t have happened.

  She leaned forward, braced her elbows on the table. “This is too important for either of us to let the past be a distraction.”

  He nodded.

  “I can hardly bear to think what that little girl might be going through.” She closed her eyes and drew in a deep, steadying breath, then slowly released it.

  Trinity couldn’t help himself. He reached across the table and touched her hand. Her eyes opened instantly. “We’ll get her back.”

  A small nod of agreement was her only response.

  He knew what she was thinking, but he didn’t dare say it. That would cross a line he wasn’t prepared to risk crossing.

  She blinked and the moment was over. As if he’d burned her with his hand
she snatched hers away and straightened her back, putting as much distance between them as possible.

  It was always the same.

  There were things he wanted to say. But there was never a right time.

  His cell phone vibrated.

  He reached into his pocket and retrieved the phone, his gaze instantly settling on the screen. “It’s Lane.”

  “I guess I misjudged him,” Von said as she reactivated her com link.

  Trinity slid the phone open. “Barton.” He reactivated his own com link.

  Lane provided an address in one of the city’s suburbs. “Meet me there in one hour. Blond hair, brown eyes, six years old. She’s ready to meet her new parents.”

  “We’ll be there,” Trinity assured him.

  There was a moment’s hesitation, then, “I checked you out, Barton.”

  Tension slid through Trinity. “I expected you would.”

  “Everything appears to be on the up-and-up,” Lane allowed. “But, if you or your wife makes one wrong move. If I even get a whiff of a set-up, the deal is off. You got it?”

  “Got it.”

  “One hour,” Lane echoed.

  “We’ll be there,” Trinity confirmed. He closed the phone and slid it into his pocket.

  “We set?” Von’s face reflected the worry she’d picked up on in his.

  “All set.” He glanced toward the table where Simon and Jim waited. Trinity repeated the address as much for Von’s sake as for Jim and Simon’s. “Anything feels wrong to him and the deal is off.”

  Von pushed her chair from the table and stood. “We’ll just have to make sure nothing feels wrong.”

  Which meant backup would have to stay way, way back.

  Just in case.

  Chapter Eight

  St. Patrick’s Church, 9:33 p.m. (8 hours missing)

  Just beyond Chicago’s business district St. Patrick’s Church stood tall and proud in the darkness. The two spires, as different as day and night, towered forbiddingly over the street.