she prayed silently. Just give me a chance.
The girl grunted, trying to scream against the hand pressed to her face. They were close to the van door, so close that Laney knew it was just a matter of seconds before the girl was shoved in.
“Bite him!” she yelled.
“Shut up!” the gunman barked, glancing over his shoulder to check on his accomplice’s progress. That was the opening Laney needed. She threw herself at his gun hand. He cursed, the gun dropping to the ground. They both reached for it, Laney’s fingers brushing cold metal, victory right beneath her palm. He slammed his fist into her jaw and she flew back, her grip on the gun lost in a wave of shocking pain. A dog growled, the harsh sound mixing with the frantic rush of Laney’s pulse.
Murphy! She’d not given him the release command, yet he raced toward them, teeth bared.
The man raised the gun. Laney tried to scramble out of the way as he pulled the trigger. Hot pain seared through her temple, and she fell, Murphy’s well-muscled body the last thing she saw as she sank into darkness.
* * *
Grayson DeMarco rushed through Anne Arundel Medical Center’s fluorescently lit hallway, scanning the staff and visitors moving through the corridor. He’d been working this case for almost a year. He’d dogged every lead to every dead end, traveling from California to Boston and down to Baltimore, and he’d always been a few steps behind, a few days too late.
Sixteen children abducted. Four states. Not one single break.
Until tonight.
Finally the abductors had made a mistake.
A young girl was missing. The police had received her parents’ frantic call less than thirty minutes after a woman had been found shot and unconscious on the sidewalk, a violin case and cell phone lying on the grass near her. The case had the missing girl’s name on it.
Grayson had been called immediately, state PD moving quickly. They felt the pressure, too; they could see the tally of the area’s missing children going up.
Like Grayson, they could hear the clock ticking.
They’d found a gun at the scene, spattered with blood, lying in the small island of grass that separated the sidewalk from the street. Grayson hoped it would yield useable prints and a DNA profile that could possibly lead him one step closer to the answers he was searching for.
He prayed it would, but he wasn’t counting on it.
He’d been to the scene. He’d peered into an abandoned Jeep, lights still on, driver’s door open. He’d opened the victim’s wallet, seen her identification—Laney Kensington, five feet three inches and one hundred ten pounds. He’d gotten a good look at the German shepherd that might have been responsible for stopping the kidnappers before they were able to kill the woman. He’d pieced together an idea of what might have happened, but he needed to talk to Laney Kensington, find out what had really gone down, how much she’d seen. More importantly, he needed to know exactly how valuable that information might be to the case he was working.
Time was of the essence if Grayson had any chance of bringing these children home.
Failure was not an option.
A police officer stood guard outside the woman’s room, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression neutral. He didn’t move as Grayson approached, didn’t acknowledge him at all until Grayson flashed his badge. “Special Agent Grayson DeMarco, FBI.”
“Detective Paul Jensen, Maryland State Police,” the detective responded. “No one’s allowed in to see the victim. If that’s why you’re here, you may as well turn around and—”
He cut the man off. “We don’t have time to play jurisdiction games, Detective. As of tonight, three kids are missing from Maryland in just under six weeks.”
“I’m well aware of that, but I have my orders, and until I hear from my supervisor that you’re approved to go in there, you’re out.”
“How about you give him a call, then?” Grayson reached past the detective and opened the door, ignoring the guy’s angry protest as he walked into the cool hospital room.
The witness lay unconscious under a mound of sheets and blankets, her dark auburn hair tangled around a face that was pale and still streaked with dried blood. Faint signs of bruising shadowed her jaw, made more evident by the harsh hospital lights. A bandage covered her temple, and an IV line snaked out from beneath the sheets. She appeared delicate, almost fragile, not at all what he was expecting given her part in the events of the night. Fortunately, as fragile as she appeared, the bullet had merely grazed her temple and she would eventually make a full recovery.
Unfortunately, Grayson didn’t have the luxury of waiting for her to heal. He needed to speak to her. The sooner the better.
He moved toward the bed, trying to ignore the pine scent of floor cleaner, the harsh overhead lights, the IV line. They reminded him of things he was better off forgetting, of a time when he hadn’t been sure he could keep doing what he did.
He pulled a chair to the side of the bed and sat, glancing at Detective Jensen, who’d followed him into the room. “Aren’t you supposed to be guarding the door?”
“I’m guarding the witness, and I could force you out of here,” the detective retorted, his eyes flashing with irritation and a hint of worry.
“What would be the point? You know I’ve got jurisdiction.”
The detective offered no response. Grayson hadn’t expected him to. Policies and protocol didn’t bring abducted kids back to their parents, and wasting time fighting over jurisdiction wasn’t going to accomplish anything.
“Look,” he said, meeting the detective’s dark eyes. “I’m not here to step on toes. I’m here to find these kids. There’s still a chance we can bring them home. All of them. How about you keep that in mind?”
The guy muttered something under his breath and stalked out of the room.
That was fine with Grayson. He preferred to be alone with the witness when she woke. He wanted every bit of information she had, every minute detail. He didn’t want it second-or third-hand, didn’t want to get it after it had already been said a few times. He needed her memories fresh and clear, undiluted by time or speculation.
Laney groaned softly and began to stir. Just for a moment, Grayson felt like a voyeur. It seemed almost wrong to be sitting over her bed waiting for her to gain consciousness. She needed family or friends around her. Not a jaded FBI agent with his own agenda.
He leaned in toward Laney. Though only moments ago she had appeared to be on the verge of waking, she had grown still again.
“Laney?” he said softly. “Can you hear me?”
He leaned in closer. “Laney?”
She stirred, eyes moving rapidly behind closed lids. Was she caught in a dream, or a memory? he wondered.
“Wake up, Laney.” He reached out, resting his hand gently on her forearm.
She came up swinging, her fist grazing
