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  “So where are these people? Here?”

  “One, the woman, Carmen Ferdin, came through Florida. I don’t know if she’s still here. We’re looking. But we’re more interested in the man, Pablo Massiatte. We tracked him to Texas.”

  “Why are you more interested in him?”

  O’Malley hooked a thumb back at the media room. “That was the guy who cut out Cortez’s eyes.”

  Alex swore. “Isabella swore she saw Santiago at The O last night.”

  “So you said. We got the surveillance tapes. We weren’t able to see him.”

  “It was crowded as hell.”

  “We saw the two of you.”

  “Nothing around us? What about in those little corners? The private tables?”

  “The O has cameras at all the entrances. We didn’t see him. She must have been imagining it.”

  “Maybe.” She’d been scared and thinking about running into him. She could have imagined it. “What about me? What can I do to help find Saldana and the kid?”

  “Nothing yet,” Winters said, slapping him on the back. “Keep a close rein on her. We’re still not sure she’s trustworthy.”

  After what Alex had just seen, he was certain she was. If the army wouldn’t help him help her, he’d find someone else who would.

  Retired Sergeant Major Lionel Danes was a big man, broad, tall and heavy. He rose from the tiny table at the coffee house. His added weight didn’t decrease his threatening presence, though, because all the tables surrounding him were empty. Lionel embraced Alex enthusiastically, swallowing him in those beefy arms. Hell, for all the weight the guy had put on since the last Ranger reunion Alex had attended with his father, Danes wasn’t soft. He hammered Alex on the back a couple of times with the flat of his palm before releasing him to sit down again and offer Alex a seat.

  “How’s your old man? Haven’t heard from him in a while.”

  “Yeah, he didn’t make the reunion this year. Doctors are worried about his heart. The diabetes doesn’t help.”

  Lionel’s high forehead creased in concern. “We’re getting old.”

  Alex smiled. “No, sir, Sergeant Major.”

  “Why don’t you go get yourself a cup of coffee and come back here and tell me what you need from me.”

  “Yes, sir, Sergeant Major.”

  Alex returned to the table with his coffee in the tall paper cup and worked through how to broach the subject. He figured the old man was like himself and would appreciate the direct approach.

  “Coin check,” Danes said abruptly. Alex set down his coffee on the tiny table and dug his Ranger coin out of his hip pocket, slapped it down on the table in time with the old man.

  The old guy grinned and tucked his back in his breast pocket. “Good man, Shepard.”

  Alex sat across from him. “I need to find a bad guy.”

  The sergeant major snorted. “Why would you want to do that?”

  “He’s a really bad guy.”

  “What makes you think I can help you?”

  “You know this city. You have connections.”

  “You think I have those kinds of connections?”

  “Sir, with all due respect, I know you do. You were a detective in this city for twenty years.”

  “Yeah, but son, it’s not like the Old West. There aren’t just a handful of bad guys. More come in and more leave every day.”

  “How would I find out who’s coming and who’s leaving?”

  The old man tilted his head, as if seeing for the first time that Alex was serious. “Who are you looking for?”

  “Santiago Saldana.”

  Danes blew a breath out through his nose. “When you say bad, you mean bad.”

  “He’s pretty much scum of the earth.”

  “Why are you looking for him?”

  “He killed a DEA agent.”

  “Son, when did you become DEA?” Danes asked, sitting back in the frail chair, making it creak.

  “I’m not. I was on the mission in Honduras, he slipped through our fingers. We think he might have a kid with him.”

  Danes raised his eyebrows. “Why the hell would Saldana have a kid? He’s no Santa Claus.”

  “It’s his kid.”

  Danes’s eyes sharpened. “What do you care about his kid?”

  “The kid’s mom wants him back. I’m thinking we find the kid, we find Saldana. But I don’t know where to look.”

  “That’s where you need my help.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Danes leaned forward again. “Well, let me see what I can do. How can I get hold of you?”

  Frustrated that Danes didn’t tell him what he could do right now, Alex scrawled his cell number on a napkin and passed it to the old man. “Whatever you can do, I’d appreciate,” he made himself say before he shoved back his chair and strode out.

  He hadn’t even touched his coffee.

  Alex returned to the hotel frustrated and empty handed. He knew it wouldn’t be easy to find Saldana in the city when they hadn’t been able to corner him in his own place in the jungle. Still he wasn’t accustomed to trying and failing.

  He got up to the room before he remembered he didn’t have a key card. He knocked, but no answer. What was she doing in there? Sleeping? Showering? Damn, he was going to have to go get a key card. He headed back down to the lobby, slowed when he saw her stagger in through the glass doors, her face white, her body bent nearly double.

  He raced toward her, grabbed her arms and crouched to look into her face. The pained expression, the parted lips, the glazed eyes, the shallow breaths. The video he’d just seen played through his head—what had she been through now? She gripped his arms and dug her nails into his arms, and he inspected the rest of her.

  “Bella, are you hurt? Is it Saldana?”

  She sucked in a breath and shook her head. “No. No.”

  “Bella.” He gripped her wrists and guided her toward a chair in the lobby before he knelt before her.

  “They’re empty.”

  “What?” He’d barely heard her voice—it was all breath, indrawn breath.

  “The rolls of film—they were empty. No pictures.”

  Only then did he realize she clutched a bag from a one-hour photo lab.

  Pictures. This was about pictures. Irritation chased away a relief so sharp it was painful. He sat back on his heels. “You took the film in? That’s what this is about?”

  “There was nothing on any of the rolls,” she said, tears streaming, her nose dripping. “No pictures.”

  “Christ, Bella, I thought you were hurt. It’s just pictures.”

  Her head snapped up. “Just pictures? It’s all I have.” Her breath wheezed. “I have nothing. No first smile, no first step, no first tooth, nothing. If he’s gone, if I never see him again, it will be like he never existed. I will have nothing of him.”

  Alex realized people were staring, but her pain reached out and wrapped around him.

  “Come on, let’s go upstairs,” he said softly, taking the bag from her. She’d paid for them. Paid for blank photos. “Bella.”

  “He’s gone, Alex. I’m not getting my baby back.” Her voice had lost its shrillness, descended into hollow hopelessness that hurt to hear.

  “You will. We will. I promise.” He stroked a hand down her back to soothe her, heard the promise come out of his mouth, tried not to wince at the hope in her eyes. How the hell could he make that happen? Why did he want to ensure it did?

  Chapter Eight

  Isabella had calmed a bit by the time she got to the room, but when Alex went to throw the bag of worthless pictures away, she snatched them back and held them to her. He knew the x-ray machine they’d gone through at airport security in Tegucigalpa had probably wiped out the pictures, but she hadn’t said anything about film, and who would have thought she’d have dozens of rolls of baby pictures? Hell, hadn’t Santiago had the money to buy her a digital camera? He didn’t know anyone who had a film camera anymore.

 
; “Bella, they aren’t going to become visible just because you want them to,” he murmured.

  “They were his pictures.”

  “No, they weren’t. Not since they were ruined.”

  Her head came up at that and he cursed himself. Of course she’d be looking to place blame. He had to think of something to settle her down, fast.

  “DEA was able to track two of the people you named from the compound into the country.”

  She looked at him sharply. “Who?”

  “Pablo and Carmen.” He watched her face carefully as he said Pablo’s name. Nothing. No reaction. How had she just been able to shut that out? “Pablo’s in Texas, they think, and Carmen is in Florida.”

  “Do they know where?”

  “Not yet. How close was Saldana to these people?”

  “Pablo would do anything he said. I’m not sure about Carmen. I didn’t really know anyone other than the housekeeper that well, and her only because she helped me with Hector.”

  “Where is she? Did she leave the compound?”

  She shook her head, slumping again. “I left her behind.”

  He nodded, considering, but deciding not to tell her about the fire at the compound. “I wondered if she could have Hector. Would Carmen have him? Or Pablo?”

  She did pale this time at the mention of Pablo’s name. “No, I don’t think so. I mean, they left after Santiago had sent Hector away.”

  “But they could have met with someone somewhere and gotten him.”

  For a second, just a second, hope flared in her eyes, then frustration took over. “But we don’t know where they are either. Texas, Florida, we still don’t know where.”

  “No, but we have people looking.”

  “While they’re looking, I’m supposed to just sit here?” As if that was wrong, she pushed to her feet. Her legs wobbled a little.

  “We don’t have any other leads.”

  “We know Santiago was at The O last night.”

  He took a step back. Damn, he didn’t want to take her where it was so difficult to protect her. But his assignment was to find Saldana through her, and he wouldn’t accomplish that by sitting in the hotel.

  Besides, he didn’t think he could sit in this room all night, with just her, after seeing that video. Getting out would give him something else to think about.

  As much as he hated it, The O was their only lead.

  “What, you’re going to just go up to him and demand to know where Hector is? Hell, as far as he knows, you died in the jungle.”

  She pressed her lips in a straight line. “Then he won’t expect me to show up at The O.”

  “He won’t be there. DEA went over the surveillance tapes from last night. They didn’t see him.”

  She shook off his doubts. “He might have been in disguise. I saw his eyes.”

  “You wanted to see his eyes. I mean, you wanted to see him. Not to see him, but you’re anxious for this to be over, to find your son.”

  “I saw him, Alex.” She strode to the closet, flung it open. “I’m going back. It’s the only thing I can do.”

  “They won’t let me use my team for this.” He sank to the bed and watched her flip through the outfits. “They don’t believe he was there. I can’t protect you in that place on my own.”

  She turned to him. “You can,” she said, pressing her palm to his cheek. “I promise, I’ll be good.”

  If this was being good, Alex was going straight to hell. He’d never seen a woman move like that, that head back, straight-shouldered stride that, goddamn it, had every man in the place turning to look at her. The skirt barely covered her ass and the skinny straps of the top barely contained her stunning breasts. She was trying to get Saldana’s attention, he realized. He’d thought maybe she dressed that way to get cooperation—God knew he’d cooperate with a woman who appeared to be offering what she was offering.

  “Amazing. You gave every guy in here a hard-on,” he muttered, keeping his touch at the small of her back and his gaze alert for any encroachers. “Should be in the Guinness Book of World Records or something.”

  “I said I’d be good. Now you need to be.” She edged up to the bar. “What do girls drink?”

  He shrugged. “Hell, I don’t know.”

  “On Sex and the City they drank Cosmopolitans,” she said a little breathlessly. “But maybe those are out of style.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Give her a mojito,” he told the bartender. “I’ll take a beer.”

  Isabella leaned on the bar, deepening her already impressive cleavage. The bartender stared, reaching blindly for the bottles.

  Alex wanted to punch him in the face.

  “Hey, do you know where I could find Santiago Saldana?” she asked.

  Alex choked on his beer. The bartender merely blinked.

  “Do you know him?” Isabella pressed. “I know he comes in here.”

  “Nah, I don’t know any customers. No guys, anyway.” He gave her breasts a leering look.

  Alex plucked their drinks off the bar, passed Isabella hers, then steered her away from the bar.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded, fighting for balance on her heels.

  “Saving you from your own heavy-handedness. Do you just plan to ask everyone who works here who knows Saldana?”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “Keep your eyes open.” He guided her to a table just above the dance floor. She stumbled in the crowd, splashing a bit of the sticky drink on her wrist. She lifted her arm and licked it off. Alex heard a guy nearby groan, saw him slap his hand over his chest as if she was giving him a heart attack. Alex positioned himself between the man and Isabella, glowering. The groaner lifted his eyebrows in acknowledgement and backed off.

  “Stand over there.” He walked to the table with his back to the dance floor, against every instinct.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “So you can see everyone—and they can see you. Keep an eye out.”

  “And look good doing it?”

  He saluted her with his beer and scanned the crowd as he drank. He could feel her tension even across the small table.

  “We can go,” he said when she shifted her weight and toyed with her glass.

  “I’m just not used to this many people.”

  “Right.”

  She drank deeply and made a face. She set it down and slid it away. “Sweet.”

  “Yeah. Rebecca liked them.”

  She snapped her gaze to him, questioning. He looked out over the dance floor, edged closer to her, too uncomfortable with having his back to the door. She drew in on herself, as if she didn’t want any part of herself touching him.

  “Bella? Do you see anything?”

  She pulled the glass toward her. “It’s so crowded.”

  “You want to go?”

  “And do nothing?” She shook her head, rolled back her shoulders, before lifting her head in resolve. “We’ll stay.”

  She took a sip, then another, and he actually saw it take effect, wondered how often she drank, if she drank to get through what Saldana put her through. Except she was clearly affected after one drink.

  She began to move to the music as she looked around. The gentle sway was unconscious. She added a tapping foot, a bounce. Did she want him to ask her to dance? He didn’t dance. He looked out over the packed floor below them. He especially didn’t do that, at least not in public. As one man stood, keeping time to the movement, his partner splayed her hands down his sides, writhing as she lowered herself, till her mouth was even with his belt buckle and he was thrusting his hips at her face.

  He turned away to see another man pull his partner back against him. She looped an arm around his neck, her lips parted in pleasure and invitation. His fingers spread wide over her bare belly, his thumb between her breasts, his hips grinding into her ass as she circled it against him in time to the pulsing music.

  Christ. Disgusted with himself for watching, for being aroused, he turned away and signaled t
he waitress. He ordered more drinks, despite a halfhearted protest from Isabella.

  She drank quickly, until he caught her wrist, pushing it down to the table.

  “You don’t want a rum hangover.”

  “Calms my nerves.”

  “It’ll make you sloppy. I need you clear-headed and clear-eyed.”

  “Right.” She swallowed and slid the drink away.

  “You don’t see anyone?”

  “You asked me already.”

  He braced both hands on the table. “I think this is a waste of time.”

  “What else would we do? Please, Alex.”

  He saw the guy approaching, straightened automatically, squaring his shoulders. His size, his presence didn’t deter the young man, who only had eyes for Isabella.

  “You want to dance?”

  Isabella looked pointedly at Alex, but he wasn’t letting her use him as an excuse.

  “Go ahead,” he said, lifting his bottle of beer by the neck.

  She drew back as if surprised by his attitude. Slow learner. Still, he thought she might blow the guy off on her own. Instead she tossed her head back with the least amount of confidence he’d ever seen in her and straightened.

  “Sure.” She tucked her arm through the stranger’s and followed him onto the floor.

  Everything in Alex went tight. He couldn’t stand seeing her easy casualness with this man. He’d watched her dance with the security guard last night.

  Today he’d seen evidence of what she’d told him about her life in the compound.

  If this man laid a hand on her, he’d snap it off.

  God, the woman couldn’t help being sexy. He didn’t like seeing her be sexy for someone else. Still, like every man here, his eyes were drawn to her.

  She moved like a wet dream, sinuous, her movements so graceful, gorgeous. Her body in that dress had its own message, one the man she danced with received and responded to, moving closer, reaching for her. She danced backwards, as far as the pressing crowd allowed. The man pursued, but with a smile, Isabella moved away to the beat of the music.

  Her partner moved after her, acting like the pursuer in some cat-and-mouse game. Isabella kept her smile, but made her message—no—clear, at least to Alex.