Seth ticked off details, hoping his faulty memory would recall them all, but what he noticed most about his predicament was that, as when he was with Charlie, his body remembered things his mind didn’t. His first inclination was for fight then flight, but something told him to remain calm. If they were going to kill him, they’d have done it already. No, they were taking him to meet someone…his former employer, the man responsible for Martin’s and Lawson’s deaths.

He was stuffed into the backseat between the two men who had abducted him, his face pushed between his knees. They told him to remain quiet, and he did just the opposite. As soon as the driver gunned the engine, Seth reared his head and gouged both men in the ribs at the same time. Not my fault you tied my hands in front of me.

With his fists, he slammed each man in the face, first one—then the other, busting their noses. Then he leaned to the side, grasping Mr. Denim’s gun hand and aiming it at Mr. Las Vegas before Vegas could fire off a round. With Vegas pulling a bead on him and Denim’s fingers reflexively struggling to get off a shot of his own, the outcome was inevitable.

Denim shot Vegas, with Seth aiming the gun. One man down, two to go.

Seth quickly grabbed the gun when Vegas dropped it then shoved his body against the fallen man to be able to detect if the creep was still alive. Then Seth leveled the downed man’s gun on the driver, and soon he, the driver and Denim were in a triangular stand-off, with Denim shakily holding a gun on Seth and Seth holding one on their driver.

“Shoot me, and we all die,” Seth warned Denim.

“How about I just shoot you anyway, you crazy bastard?” Denim spurted blood as he spoke.

“Doesn’t matter to me,” Seth told him, “because you’ll kill me anyway. I might as well take you two down with me.”

The driver pitched forward as if grabbing something from underneath the seat, and Seth quickly shot through the car’s seat cushion, causing the driver to scream in pain, swerve and clutch his butt.

“You want some of this?” Seth asked Denim as the startled man continued shaking, aiming and yelling.

Denim screamed obscenities and told their driver to keep driving.

“Doesn’t matter to me,” Seth repeated. All the while his eyes darted from Denim’s eyes to his trigger finger, watching for the first flinch and preparing to kill. Whatever type of man he’d been before, he knew in that instant that he was trained to survive and that he detested killing anyone, so he prayed Denim would be smart. If it got bloody, then so be it, but Seth wasn’t letting them kidnap him because he knew as sure as he was staring at them that they had every intention of killing him if there was anything left after Rogers got through with him.

“What’s your name?” Seth asked the man in the backseat with him. “I can’t go on thinking of you as the guy with bad taste in clothing.”

“Fuck you.” Denim swung the gun at Seth’s face.

“I don’t think so.” Seth fired the gun directly into the man’s gun hand then swiftly banged him on the temple with the butt of the gun he’d confiscated from his other kidnapper.

The car ground to a halt, and before the driver could reach for his door handle, Seth placed the gun in the back of his skull. “You’ve already got a constipation problem with bullets. Want to go for a headache as well?”

The man sat stock-still. “No.” His voice quivered with pain and fear.

“Press the release on the trunk, then hand me the keys,” Seth commanded, waiting while the driver did as told. “Now lie down across the front seat with your face pressed against the leather and your hands across the back of your head where I can see them.”

Then Seth instructed Denim to get out and crawl into the trunk.

“But I’m bleeding, man!” Denim wailed.

“Guess you should have told me your name.” Seth heard a car door several feet away slam shut, and he hoped it was someone with a cell phone who could call the cops because he couldn’t afford to take his eyes off the two men he’d wounded.

“Shut up, Geraldo.” The man with his face buried in the front seat complained. “At least you can sit.”

“Geraldo, huh?” Seth pushed aside the first man he’d shot and unlatched the back door. He crawled out, gun still trained on Geraldo. “Nice and easy, Geraldo. At least with one hand you can fight those who want to make you their girlfriend in prison.”

“Fuck that.” Geraldo stared cold black daggers at Seth. “I ain’t goin’ back there.”

Seth lifted his eyes to see strong hands grasping Geraldo by the waist and hauling him out of the car backward.

“Thank Christ!” Geraldo babbled. “This crazy mother—”

Sam’s ironic laughter was like a symphony to Seth’s ears. “Oh, don’t you wish you had someone else coming to your rescue?” He boxed Geraldo’s ears and slammed his body against the car. “Spread ’em, and consider your rights having been read to you as if I was still on the force.”

Seth met Sam’s gaze across the hood of the car, and Sam nodded.

“Of course, my buddy over there,” Sam told Geraldo. “I believe he can still recite the words you love to hear.”

Seth nodded and proceeded to deliver the Miranda to both Geraldo and his friend with the bullet in his butt. He’d no sooner finished than he heard the first plunk, then the next…and he saw Sam fall to the ground.

When he whirled to see who had fired the shots, he stared in disbelief as Runnels held a gun in his face. The bastard shrugged without smiling. Then as Seth stared in horror, he watched as the Fed finished off the driver and Geraldo. Finally he spoke.

“Sorry, Seth.”

Charlie arrived at the location Sam had given her, and her blood froze.

“Oh, no, Daddy! No!” She raced to where he lay and felt his pulse. It was thready, but it was there. She kissed his face, then ripped open his shirt, feeling the hard Kevlar beneath her fingers.

As it dawned on her he’d worn his old vest, she was giddy with relief. “Oh, God, Sam. You kept not only your gun but your vest.”

He stirred in her arms, swearing as he came around. “Oh, shit, that hurts.” He tried to sit up, struggling against the constraints of the vest, wincing.

Charlie heard footsteps and turned to see Julio coming up behind her.

“Hijo de puta!” Julio knelt beside Charlie and Sam. “I radioed for backup and an ambulance. Thank God he’s alive.”

“Yeah, but that bastard took Seth,” Sam complained. “One of those guys I clobbered at your house, Charlene.”

“What? Who?”

“Think his name starts with an R.”

Charlie stood and with Julio’s help got Sam to his feet. “What men? The Feds?”

“Yeah, the tallest one with the buzz cut.”

“Runnels?”

“That’s the one. Big guy. I saw him coming up but never put two and two together until after it was too late.”

She wanted to cry. The whole time she and Seth were with Runnels and Stone, one of them was feeding Rogers information.

“What about his partner?” Julio asked. “If one’s dirty—maybe the other?”

“One way to find out,” Charlie said. “Call Bemo and tell him what’s happened.”

Julio did as she suggested while Charlie tended to her father. “What were you thinking?” She helped rid him of the bulletproof vest.

“I thought we’d have coffee, that I’d get him out of your apartment, get to know him.” Sam’s voice was gruff, and he moaned a couple of times as Charlie felt his ribcage. “Leave me alone—I’m fine, just sore.”

“You need to get checked out.”

“What I need is my gun and a helicopter so I can follow them. Don’t suppose you’d have one of those handy, would you?”

Charlie started to respond but paused, thinking. She looked up at the street light and saw the camera attached. “No, but I have the next best thing.” She quickly dialed Bemo’s cell number. “Did Julio give you our location? How about pulling feed from the camera at this intersection and checking for a license plate and the direction that car went afterward?”

Sam leaned against the abandoned vehicle when she was done. “How soon before we can leave this intersection?”

Charlie looked around. “Maybe fifteen or twenty minutes? They’ll need to take your statement.”

“You take it.”

“Member of the family, Dad. Someone else needs to take both our statements.” She motioned for Julio to come back over.

Sam rubbed his sore chest and stomach. “Damn, but that still hurts. Beats taking the bullet, though.”

She guffawed, choking back a sob. “You’re like a cat in clover. You miss this.”

“Like hell.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “Maybe just a bit. Don’t miss it enough to give up my retirement.”

Charlie leaned against the car next to him. Professionalism warred with personal feelings of inadequacy in not knowing yet how to help Seth. “He’s screwed, isn’t he?”

Her father sighed. “Depends upon whether or not he catches a break, a moment when nobody’s paying enough attention. He doesn’t seem like a talkative sort, not like your new partner, so I suspect he’ll have to rely on intuition instead of baffling them with bullshit.”

She blinked back the tears. “No, he’s not much of a conversationalist, but he’s smart. He’ll figure out a way to outmaneuver them.”

Charlie’s heart broke. She’d lost him once—she couldn’t conceive of losing him again, this time permanently.

Her life had been full before she’d met him, but it hadn’t been complete. She’d rediscovered a relationship with a father who’d been absent during most of her formative years. She’d come to peace with a mother who was a few sandwiches shy of a picnic. Her career was everything she could have hoped for…and more. Maybe she didn’t have the exceptional paychecks or exciting nightlife many of her friends did, but she’d been happy. The thought of a future without Seth, however, was unimaginably bleak, and the thought of not having him near, not being able to talk to him, to feel his touch…it was devastating.

“I can’t lose him again, Dad. He has to stay alive until we can reach him.”

Sam reached for her hand. “I hope he will, baby girl.”

Seth knew better than to struggle against the odds he faced. Better to do as Runnels said and go along peacefully. He knew without a doubt, though, that Runnels would kill him in an instant and that his plans were to do just that anyway, once he and Rogers had whatever information they needed.

He thought fast. The only thing keeping him alive was the fact that Runnels and Rogers had no idea just how much Seth had recalled after that meeting with Stone and Runnels or if Seth had divulged what he’d remembered to a third party. He had—Charlie. Charlie knew as much as he did, which meant that if he couldn’t escape and reach her before they did, she’d be dead.

Seeing Sam get shot had been a nightmare. The only thing that puzzled Seth, in retrospect, was the stance Runnels had used—definitely not anything he’d learned at the academy, more like a street fighter who held the gun sideways like some big city thug gangsta wannabe.

Seth’s initial reaction had been panic until he remembered what a bullet hitting bone or muscle sounded like, and what he’d heard was similar but not exact. The old man had evidently kept most of his gear when he retired. So most likely Sam was alive unless someone else had followed behind Runnels to complete the job.

Doubtful. Runnels wasn’t the type who needed someone to clean up after him, and he wasn’t afraid of doing the dirty work himself, if the executions Seth had witnessed were indicative. Geraldo and his accomplices had been wounded and therefore a hindrance to Runnels, so they had to be silenced before anyone found them, and blood left a pretty well-telegraphed trail. No medical facility would have touched them without filing a report, and the men wouldn’t have survived long without attention. Seth felt guilty for having shot both of them, even though he hadn’t aimed to kill, merely to keep from being murdered.

Now it looked as if he was worse off than he’d been with the three bumbling kidnappers.

Seth sat in stony silence beside Runnels, mindful of the Uzi Runnels held. They were the only ones in the backseat of the car, and Seth didn’t recognize the driver. Somehow he didn’t feel so betrayed because he didn’t believe Stone was in on this mess, but Seth wondered where the guy was. Had Runnels killed him?

The driver was young, probably only in his early twenties. Just a kid, Seth thought ruefully, and one with a short life ahead of him if he was already hooked up with the likes of Rogers and Runnels. He seemed extremely nervous as he steered their car through traffic. His eyes kept darting to Seth’s, and there was something frightened yet sympathetic in his gaze.

Seth noted with a sinking feeling that this time he wasn’t told to ride with his head between his knees, meaning Runnels wasn’t concerned with keeping him in the dark about wherever they were headed. It wasn’t important for Runnels and Rogers to protect their privacy if they intended to kill him.

“If I’d wanted to work in dark, smelly places, I’d have joined the city’s sanitation department.” The driver, who’d parked the car inside the dank, warehouse-like garage, looked about nervously once they’d arrived at their destination.

“Shut up, Kevin.” Runnels gave the kid a hard stare. “You get paid well to drive fast and think slow.” He opened his door, cautioning Seth. “Out, this way, slowly.”

Seth did as told, taking in the empty building. If Rogers was there, he blended into the walls.

“You realize you’ll never be able to run for office once you’re back in D.C., right?” He hoped his smart mouth wouldn’t write checks his bound hands and shackled memory couldn’t cash, but he needed to stall, give himself time to look around his new location.

Runnels, who had barely cracked a smile since Seth had arrived from Mexico, suddenly burst into laughter. When he did, Seth noticed the bad teeth. Then Runnels tossed his head as he laughed, and Seth noticed the tattoo. Whatever he was, Runnels was not CIA.

“I take it you killed our real agent?” The words were bitter in Seth’s mouth as he realized yet another of his comrades had been murdered.

Runnels’ jaw dropped slightly. He seemed to know his tattoo had given him away, for he touched it gingerly. “Well, well, you must be regaining some of your lost senses, Agent Taggart.” Runnels snorted. “Pity that the man who really graduated the academy with you wasn’t as bright.”

Seth narrowed his eyes. The voice, the crooked smile, the Midwestern accent. The wreck in Mexico and the figure of a tall man in jungle fatigues hovering over him. Runnels, of course—well, someone posing as Runnels. That explained the reaction he’d felt when he and Charlie had first met the man. He was the one standing over me in the rain in Guadalajara.

“What are you?” he asked the man. “Some mercenary?”

“Please. The term is derogatory. We prefer to call ourselves contractors.” He smirked. “Or guns for hire, if you choose.”

Seth swallowed a retort. So the man saw himself as a cowboy of sorts. Let him. Even they met the long arm of the law at times. Maybe this arrogant fool would as well.

While the three of them waited in the garage, or whatever it was, Kevin paced nervously, to the point that the gunman barked at him to get back in the car if he couldn’t be still. And Kevin obliged, reclaiming his place behind the wheel. One look at the boy’s face told Seth that Kevin had wanted to be back there for some reason. Probably because he knows what they’re about to do to me.

Not long afterward, a door creaked, and Seth heard footsteps, and with each footfall he knew his time was limited. He wondered what Rogers would do before killing him—and he was sure by this time that Rogers was the only one left who wanted to deal with him.

As soon as the man stepped into view, Seth recognized him. Within a millisecond, the key to unlock what had been hidden from him appeared, and that one face unleashed a flood of memories…and emotions.

Rage at what he’d witnessed.

Damien Rogers, the smarmy businessman with minions who worked behind the scenes at Simple Solutions, employing unsuspecting immigrants who thought they were merely helping bring their own families across the border, when once they’d been compromised and promised paradise, had been forced to spirit terrorists from other countries into America, along with their parents and children. If the employees who posed as companions, dates or surrogates of some sort for their contacts balked? Rogers would either pass the opportunity to see a loved one on to someone more willing to do his bidding—or worse, he’d threaten them with exposure and deportation.

Marjorie Lawson had been one such client. She had asked for someone to pose as her date for an important business meeting in Guadalajara, someone who spoke Spanish and was willing to travel. Her CIA cover had been that of an entrepreneur who exported leather goods. She’d been working undercover for two years and had already infiltrated Rogers’ organization, so the CIA had felt comfortable in sending her back for one more mission, this time with George Martin. Only something had gone terribly wrong, and Martin had disappeared. That’s when Rogers had replaced him with Seth.

It all made sense now. Martin must’ve cracked. Seth knew after meeting Charlie and seeing the crime photos at the station that Martin had been tortured.

Looks like I’m next. Seth braced himself, trying not to fall into an abyss of despair when Rogers brought out the Bowie knife, the one Seth figured had most likely gutted Martin.

“For God’s sake, Charlene!” Sam bellowed from the backseat, where he clung to what he called the “oh shit bar” to steady himself. “Slow down!”

“Want me to drive?”

The meekness of Julio’s offer was laced with concern, which only ticked Charlie off further. “No, thanks.” She glanced into her rearview mirror. “Hang on, Dad. I’ve been driving since I was fourteen.”

“Too bad your mother didn’t instruct you better.” Sam’s gruff response was growled, but at least he didn’t yell this time.

Charlie tapped the navigation system. “If you want to help, Rodríguez, just watch for upcoming streets and tell me if there are any traffic delays.”

“We didn’t have those things when I was on the force,” said Sam, whose voice seemed calmer.

Charlie knew her partner and father were only trying to help, to keep her from screaming and pulling out her hair, and while she appreciated their input, she’d rather they both remained silent. It’d only been a few minutes since they’d received the information she needed—the whereabouts of the car that had been seen when Seth had disappeared. With that message had been news that Agent Runnels was an imposter. The real agent’s body had been discovered inside an offshore oil drum the week before, and the medical examiner had just identified the remains. The body was missing both hands and eyes.

With Stone directing CIA personnel from his plane, and the Houston PD able to use the more sophisticated surveillance equipment of the Feds, the two groups had managed to pinpoint the exact location of the car, and the building where they hoped Seth was being held.

The Houston PD liaison with the CIA broke into the mike Julio held. “Heat sensors from the helicopter show six people in the building. The SWAT task force is in position and closing, awaiting instructions. Another chopper is at the airport waiting for Agent Stone.”

Julio looked at Charlie after acknowledging the dispatcher. “You get that?”

“Yep. We’re about four minutes from destination.”

Julio peered at the GPS on the dash. “Traffic jam of some sort two blocks ahead.”

Charlie quickly veered to the left then peeled down a one-way, avoiding oncoming traffic and eliciting more cursing from Sam. “Sam, you stay in the car when we get there.”

“Like hell!”

“Daddy, please. I need someone there in case this guy who has been impersonating Runnels has more men in the parking lot we don’t know about.”

Sam had to realize she was protecting him, and knowing him, he considered it babysitting, when he was fully capable of handling himself and providing backup. She didn’t dare glance at him, though, because the tears she’d been holding back would gush forth, and the last thing she needed was to drop the ball for Julio. His life and hers depended upon her being able to conduct herself as she’d been trained.

Nothing she’d done up to this point, however, had held such personal stakes for Charlie. Her very life, that of her partner, her father and the man she loved were on the line, and even with luck, the odds that they’d all walk away today were slim to none.

The dispatcher’s voice was replaced with that of Bemo, chastising Charlie for her trip down the one-way. He asked what the hell she thought she was doing, and Julio responded something about a shortcut to the parking lot. Charlie was too busy avoiding mishap to catch everything verbatim, but in the back of her brain she knew she would hear about it once this was over.

If she survived.

She tore through the remainder of oncoming traffic, whipped onto another side street, and pulled into the garage’s parking lot, with Julio getting instructions on which entrance they should use.

The list of necessities was short. Firepower, vest and a final appeal to the Almighty.