we have confirmation that Isabella Montenegro was burned in a fire and had to have plastic surgery. She’s the right size, about the right age—”
“Come on, Mitchell. You aren’t buying into this, are you? Someone wants me to think Abby is alive, that this is my…kid.”
He’d actually believed that no one had known about Abby’s pregnancy. But obviously someone had. And now they were trying to use it against him.
“It explains the fake phone call from the little girl. Don’t you think if Abby were alive she’d have gotten in touch with me?”
His boss worried the lighter in his hand like a stone for a moment before he spoke. “Abby might have defected.”
“Bull,” Jake growled, getting to his feet again. “You didn’t know her. You don’t know what we had together. We were getting married. Dammit, Mitchell, we were going to have a baby.” The words were out before he could call them back.
Mitchell nodded and frowned. “That’s what I was afraid of. Jake, this child with Isabella Montenegro, she’s about five years old and—”
“No, dammit. If Abby was alive, she’d have contacted me,” he said adamantly. “Especially if she’d given birth to our baby.”
“She might have reason to believe you betrayed her,” Mitchell said, the words seeming to come hard to him.
Jake looked at the man, speechless.
“Abby might believe you set her up to die in that explosion,” his boss said. “She might have been given some sort of evidence—”
“No!” Jake cried. “She’d have never taken the word of a man like Calderone.”
“What if the evidence came from the FBI?”
Jake stared at him. “What are you saying?”
“Part of the deal with Julio was proof not only that Isabella Montenegro was Abby, but that she’d been the target the night of the explosion. Julio said he knew who’d tried to kill her and why. According to Frank, that evidence points to you.”
“You don’t really believe—”
“It doesn’t matter what I believe,” Mitchell said, cutting him off. “The point is, this woman might believe that you’re a killer. A man who set up his partner and lover six years ago to die. That could explain why, if she is Abby, she didn’t contact you.”
“That’s crazy,” Jake said. Abby was the target? It didn’t make any sense. Two other agents had died that night as well and another was injured. “Why? Why would someone want to kill Abby?”
Mitchell squinted through the cigar smoke. “Maybe only Abby knows that.”
He shook his head. “Wait a minute. If Frank really believes that I was the one who set up Abby, then why would he want me on this case?”
“Frank doesn’t believe you had anything to do with Abby Diaz’s death. Or alleged death. You’re the obvious person to send. Like I said, you, of all people, will know if this woman is Abby.”
Mitchell slid a sheet of paper across the desk.
Jake watched him, his mouth suddenly dry.
“This is the faxed photo Julio sent Frank,” Mitchell said. “It’s the Montenegro child and her mother. I think you’d better take a look, Jake.”
The black and white copy of the photograph was blurry, the resolution poor and the paper even worse. But Jake felt his heart lurch, his breath catching in his throat, the pain sharp and bright, blinding.
He stared down at the woman. Frank was right. Isabella Montenegro looked enough like Abby Diaz to make him ache. But that was the point, wasn’t it? To make him hurt. To make him doubt himself. To make him desperately want to believe Abby was alive.
But was it possible? Could this woman really be Abby? Or an imposter, designed to draw him back into something he’d spent six years trying to forget?
He shifted his gaze from the woman to the child in the photograph. His pulse pounded just at the sight of the little girl. He felt his eyes burn, his heart slamming against his ribs. Oh God, could it be possible? He couldn’t take his eyes from the child’s face. There was something about her. So small, so sweet. And so scared. He could see it in her expression.
He crumpled the sheet of paper in his fist and closed his eyes, his throat tight, the pain unbearable. He told himself she wasn’t his daughter, but she was someone’s, and damned if he’d let whoever was behind this use an innocent child to get to him.
But he knew he was lying to himself. As much as he fought it, he wanted it to be true. He wanted Abby to be alive. He wanted their lost child more than he wanted life itself. And knew he wouldn’t rest until he found out the truth. He just feared he was walking into a trap, one that even if it didn’t get him killed, would destroy him.
“I’ll understand if you don’t want this case,” Mitchell said softly.
Jake did laugh then. He opened his eyes and looked across the table at his boss, his friend, the man who’d saved him from his obsession to destroy Calderone, from his need to destroy himself. “You know damned well you couldn’t keep me off this case now.”
“Then you think there is a chance this woman is Abby?”
Jake shook his head, his words belying the battle going on inside him. “Abby is dead. The woman is an imposter. So is the kid. And I’ll prove it.”
Mitchell let out a long sigh. “I thought you might feel that way.” He regarded Jake for a long moment, his gaze sad, worried. Then he continued as if this was just another assignment. “One of Calderone’s henchmen is already on her trail. Ramon Hernandez.”
Jake knew of Ramon. A crazy, ferret-faced man with a thirst for blood. Calderone’s kind of man.
“Frank is hoping you can find her before Ramon does and keep her alive until you can turn her over to the FBI back in the States,” Mitchell said.
Jake only nodded. He wasn’t worried about finding Isabella Montenegro. After all, finding people was his specialty.
What worried him was what he’d do when he found her. He’d thought he’d buried the past, but one look at the woman in the photo brought it all back. He swore a silent oath. If this woman was part of a ploy to make him believe Abby Diaz was still alive, she would rue the day she ever laid eyes on him.
And if she was Abby?
He wouldn’t let himself think about that now. He had to get to her and the kid before Calderone’s men did.
Chapter Three
Isabella Montenegro cracked the curtains to peer out into the dirt street. This time of the morning the plaza was still empty, the sun barely peeking through the adobe buildings. A dog barked in the distance. Coyotes howled, the sound echoing from the hills surrounding the small Mexican town.
She closed the curtain and glanced back at Elena sitting, half-asleep,
