DECIDED THEY SHOULD take two vehicles. Cole had already left in Petra’s truck and would coordinate backup with other officers from the sheriff’s department. Brady, Petra and the baby would ride together in the black SUV. His plan was to pick up the witness and take her into FBI custody. He’d already put in a call for a chopper to meet them at the airfield.
Through the windshield of the SUV, he watched as she stood on the sidewalk talking to four hugely pregnant women. The ladies waddled into the clinic, and Petra came toward him with the baby in her arms. Over her left shoulder, she carried a diaper bag filled with supplies. Her right hand was free to draw the GLOCK automatic from the side holster that was only partially hidden under her long purple vest.
A gun-toting midwife wasn’t his first choice as a partner, but he could work with Petra. She was FBI-trained and would do anything to protect the baby. Her instinct to reunite the mother with her child had been smart.
She arranged the sleeping baby in the carrier she’d installed in the back of the SUV. Safety first. He approved.
When she opened the door to the passenger side, he held out the dark blue Kevlar vest with FBI stenciled across the back. It wasn’t necessary for him to repeat his order; she knew what needed to be done.
As she donned the protective armor, her blue eyes expressed an irony that contrasted the sweetness of her full lips and the innocence of the freckles that spread across her cheeks. She reminded him of a mischievous kid, but he wouldn’t make the mistake of thinking she was immature.
She hopped into the seat and fastened her seat belt across the vest. “Happy?”
“Delirious.”
He pulled away from the curb. The GPS in the dashboard showed him the route to Doc Wilson’s address, which seemed simple enough. Five miles outside town, he’d turn left on Conifer Street, then another three miles on a winding road. “Tell me what kind of cover we’ll find at Doc Wilson’s house.”
“Are you expecting an ambush?”
“I want to be prepared for any possibility.”
“It’s a two-story log cabin in a forested area. There’s a small clinic with a parking lot attached to the right side of the house. Doc’s retired but still sees a few patients.”
The forest bothered him. If the traffickers had picked up the deputy’s scent, they could sneak into Doc’s clinic without being seen. He remembered the brutally murdered body of his informant sprawled on the floor. These were vicious men who had reason to silence the witness.
“Fill me in,” she said. “What are we looking for?”
“Your job is to take care of the baby and the mother. That’s it. Period. Nothing else.”
“I should question her,” Petra said. “I mean, look at you and look at me. A terrified woman who almost lost her son is way more likely to open up to another woman. Plus, she’s an illegal, and I speak Spanish. Do you?”
“Fluently.” Once again, she’d outlined a good plan. A woman-to-woman conversation would probably be more productive than an interrogation. “We’ll both question her. I’m looking for the obvious information. Names, places and dates.”
“Was she brought here by a coyote? I hate those guys.” She shuddered with anger. The wisps of red hair that had escaped her braid flared around her face like flames. “What they do is so wrong on so many levels.”
For a moment, Brady considered telling her about the ITEP investigation into human trafficking and the sickening possibility that infants were being drawn into this web of crime. Her righteous rage matched his own feelings about the victimization of helpless people. This was a passionate woman, perhaps too much so. Her emotions were close to the surface.
He decided against adding fuel to her fire. “Our focus is to get information that can be acted upon immediately.”
“So we want to talk to her right away.”
“Correct.” Time was of the essence. The traffickers might still be in the area, and he needed to find them.
The light from a half moon and a sky filled with stars illuminated the sparsely populated land beyond the city borders. There were only a couple of houses with lights in the windows and few headlights on the two-lane road.
He used his hands-free phone to contact Cole. “Are you there yet?”
“Just approaching the house,” Cole said. “I haven’t seen any sign of the other deputies.”
“Don’t go in alone. Wait for me.”
“We might have a problem,” Cole said. “A few minutes ago, the deputy at Doc’s called me. Even though I could hear the woman sobbing and yelling in the background, he said he had everything under control and didn’t need my help. He said he’d meet me at the sheriff’s department.”
“He was warning you off.”
“That’s what I thought,” Cole said, “but I played along and asked him if he was sure he didn’t need assistance.”
“His answer?”
“He confirmed that he didn’t need help. I could barely make out what the woman was saying. It sounded like she said, ‘Don’t hurt my baby.’”
Brady feared that the traffickers had caught up to the witness at Doc’s place. He might be headed into danger. Worse than that, he’d dragged Petra and the baby along with him.
Chapter Three
In the reflected light from the dashboard, Petra studied Brady’s profile as he ended his call. Intuitively, she knew something was bothering him. Not that he’d been cheerful before, but he was definitely darker and more serious. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
“When I exit the vehicle, you get into the driver’s seat. If I don’t signal you in five minutes, drive away fast. Do not, I repeat, do not enter the house.”
“I’m armed,” she reminded him.
Under his breath, he said, “Please don’t kill anybody.”
“I’m just saying … If there’s a threat, I can respond.”
“A dead suspect isn’t going to do me much good. I need for you to concentrate on one thing—keeping the baby safe.”
She didn’t argue. It didn’t take FBI training for her to realize that there needed to be one clear leader in a crisis situation. “Are you going to wait for Cole?”
“He’s already at the house.” Brady eased up on the accelerator and drove slowly past a black panel van parked at the side of the road.
“What is it?” she asked.
“California plates on that van.”
Tension prickled along the surface of her skin. She rested her hand on the butt of her weapon. When she’d made her bold pronouncement about keeping up her skills, she hadn’t really expected to fire the GLOCK. And target practice was a lot different than
