tried to free them all. He didn’t really think they had much chance and told her to leave Miguel behind. Escher promised to protect the infant.”
“By running away, she thought she was saving her son,” Petra said.
“Instead, Escher was killed. His partner—the suspect we arrested—tried to find the others, but they were gone, everyone but Consuela who stayed behind to find her baby.”
“And now?” she asked. “What’s going to happen to Consuela and Miguel?”
“They’re reunited with her husband and in protective custody. We need her testimony to convict our suspect. After that, I’m not sure what will happen with immigration. At least, their family is together. They’re all healthy and safe.”
It wasn’t a perfect happy ending, but the fate of Consuela and Miguel wasn’t as terrible as it might have been. They’d escaped. How many others wouldn’t make it?
Unable to sit still, she rose from the table and paced across her kitchen to the counter where she poured herself another cup of coffee. She didn’t need the caffeine. Her blood surged. She was fired up.
This type of injustice was why she’d wanted to be in the FBI. When Brady did his analysis of her, he said she always fought for the underdog. So true. “I wish there was something I could do.”
“There is,” he said. “I told you I was going undercover to investigate the trafficking in babies. And I could use your help.”
“Anything,” she said.
“Will you be my wife?”
Chapter Four
Needless to say, Brady was one-hundred-and-ten-percent serious about his investigation. Enlisting Petra’s help wasn’t something he took lightly. Still, he hadn’t been able to resist teasing her.
Her reaction was huge. Her eyebrows flew up to her hairline. A pink flush dappled her cheeks as she gaped at him, slack-jawed. She stammered, “You w-w-w-want me to do what?”
“Be my wife.” He leaned back in his chair and calmly sipped his coffee, enjoying the show. “I’m sure it’s not the first time someone has asked.”
“Well, no. Not that it’s any of your business.” She braced herself against the kitchen counter. “I need an explanation.”
“Being my wife? I think you know what that means—a white picket fence, a couple of kids and a dog ‘til death do us part. Love, honor and obey, especially obey …”
“I’ll obey you when hell freezes over.”
“We can tinker with the vows. I’m flexible.”
“You can go … flex yourself.” She stalked to the back door. “I’m out of here.”
The screen door slammed behind her with a final sounding slap. Apparently, Petra didn’t respond well to teasing. He’d known she was the sensitive type, but he hadn’t expected her to get so upset. Had he accidentally pinched a nerve? She was twenty-nine years old. Marriage might be a hot-button issue.
He rose slowly from the table, disappointed that he wouldn’t be seeing more of Petra Jamison but glad that he’d found out now that they couldn’t work together. Damn, she was touchy. If she’d thrown a hissy while they were in the middle of their undercover assignment, the consequences would be bad.
When he stepped outside into the crisp fall sunlight, she was waiting for him with her fists stuck on her slim hips. “You said you needed my help. I want to know more.”
The smart move was to keep walking, to move away from her. “This isn’t your problem.”
She stepped in front of him, blocking his path. “Wait up, Brady. I know you were teasing.”
“Well, yeah.”
“Give me another chance.” She swallowed hard. “I might have overreacted.”
He figured that was the closest thing to an apology he was going to get. If she could stay cool, she was the perfect person for the undercover job. He reached into one of the pockets in his cargo pants, took out a photograph and handed it to her. “Do you remember this?”
“It’s the blanket that was wrapped around Miguel. With the sheep design and the blood and the logo for Lost Lamb Ranch.”
“Lost Lamb Ranch was the destination for Consuela and the other pregnant women. We think it’s some kind of clearing house for baby trafficking.”
“Why can’t the FBI just shut it down?”
“Supposedly, this ranch is a nonprofit home for unwed mothers. On paper, they look legit. They file their taxes and pay their bills. The adoptions arranged through Lost Lamb seem to fulfill all the proper requirements, but I think they’re a front for trafficking. If I can get inside and find out who’s really running the show, then I can shut them down, lock them up and make sure they never hurt another child.”
Her head bobbed, and her ponytail bounced. “That’s why you’re going undercover to investigate.”
“But I don’t have an in.”
“And I do,” she said.
“What’s more natural than a midwife looking for work at a facility for unwed mothers?”
“So we’ll move to the area,” she said, “and I’ll be your undercover wife.”
“Isn’t that what I said?”
“Not exactly.”
He didn’t push the issue. The time for teasing was over. “I won’t lie to you. This assignment is dangerous, and it’s not your responsibility. I want you to consider before you give me your answer.”
“How long would it take? I can’t be away from work.”
“All taken care of. Cole’s wife will move up here and handle your caseload. We’ll say you had a family emergency.”
“Wait a minute. You’ve already talked this over with Cole and Rachel?”
“It was Rachel’s idea for me to approach you.”
He was well aware that Cole’s wife had a matchmaking agenda for him and Petra. Because her marriage had turned out well, Rachel was anxious for her friend to find an FBI husband of her own.
Brady didn’t bother telling her that he and Petra wouldn’t make a good match. Not that he didn’t find the feisty redhead attractive. He liked her careless beauty, even the freckles. And she had a killer body. But they were from different planets when it came to temperament. She was all emotion, and he was completely rational.
From the few minutes he’d spent in her kitchen, he knew she’d drive him crazy. Her home was clean but cluttered, with all kinds of scribbled kids’ pictures hanging on the fridge and the countertops lined with containers were in every shape and size—ranging from clear glass to something that looked like a purple mushroom.
