'Another two minutes,' she said.

Shit. Phillip might not have that long. Phone in hand, Marcus ran to the elevator and pressed the button. 'Come on, you fucker. Come on.'

'Excuse me, sir?'

'Tell the cops to hurry. One of my employees is in my apartment and I think that's where the shooter went too.' The elevator doors opened and Marcus jumped in, swiped his ID card, then jabbed the button for the penthouse. He tossed the ID card on the lobby floor a second before the door closed. 'I'm in the elevator. Tell the cops to come to the penthouse floor. I've left my ID card in the lobby so they can come up. I'm about to lose you.'

Sure enough, his call failed two seconds after the elevator started its climb. The ride was normally quick, but today it felt like he was rising through molasses. When the doors opened, he rushed toward his apartment.

And his racing heart stopped dead in his chest. His front door stood wide open. Where was Phillip? And BB? They'd better be okay. Please be okay.

Keeping his phone in one hand, he drew his gun with the other, taking slow, careful steps through the open door. The place had been wrecked, chairs overturned, picture frames pulled from the walls. Marcus's boots crunched as he walked through broken glass, some from the pictures and some from a vase that had been shattered.

The quiet was terrifying. No voices. No barking dog. BB was a barker. She should be barking her fool head off right now. Be okay. Please be okay.

'Phillip?' he called softly. 'BB? Come here, girl. It's all right.' He kept his voice soothing and smooth. 'I'm home now. You can come out. It's just me.'

The living room was clear, the den as well. In the kitchen he found the drawers pulled out, silverware strewn all over the floor. And more broken glass.

He crept into the spare bedroom, checking the closet and under the bed, remembering where he had found Tabby Anders.

The room was empty, so he quickly moved to his own bedroom, his heart sinking as he opened the door. 'Oh God,' he whispered. Phillip lay on the floor, covered in blood, BB motionless against the wall a few feet away.

He dropped to his knees next to Phillip, his back to the far wall. No one was going to shoot him in the back a second time today. He laid his gun on the carpet where he could reach it quickly, then searched for Phillip's pulse. Don't be dead, kid. Please.

There was no pulse. Rage filled him, pure and lethal, knocking the panic back to where he could think. Breathe, he commanded himself. His heart was knocking in his chest so hard that his own pulse was all he could hear, all he could feel. Control your pulse. Now.

He dropped his hands to his sides and focused on slowing his own heartbeat until he could think clearly once more, then pressed his fingers against Phillip's throat again. And nearly collapsed in relief. Thank you. There was a pulse. It was thready and weak, but it was there.

He grabbed the phone from the nightstand and dialed 911 again, glad he'd kept a landline. He wasn't going to chance losing Phillip because of a dropped call. Putting the phone on speaker, he went for his knife to cut Phillip's shirt away, then remembered he'd given the knife to Scarlett that morning. He pulled his spare from his boot, taking a second to glance at BB as he did so. The dog's chest was moving, but her coat was covered in blood. Her muzzle hung open, her tongue lolling to one side. She was unconscious, but alive.

'This is nine-one-one,' the operator answered. 'What is your emergency?'

Marcus returned his attention to Phillip, who hadn't stirred, his breathing so shallow that his chest didn't appear to be moving at all. He sliced the bloody shirt away, and for the third time that day found himself staring at a massive gut wound. Blood was slowly seeping from the bullet hole, so slowly that Marcus had to fight back his panic once more. He'd seen wounds like this too many times to want to remember, even before Tala's that morning. He'd watched too many soldiers die as medics rushed to save them.

'Gunshot wound to the abdomen. Victim is Phillip Cauldwell, age twenty-seven. Pulse is weak. He is non-responsive. I called a few minutes ago about the victim in the lobby of my building, so first responders should be on the way. Send another team to the penthouse, unit 20B. Both victims have abdominal wounds.'

'Help is on the way. Please stay on the line.'

'I will,' he said, then leaned into Phillip's face. 'You are not going to die,' he growled. 'Don't you dare consider it. Stay here. I'll be right back.'

Tucking his gun into its pocket holster, Marcus stood up on legs that shook, rushing to the master bath closet for clean towels and his first aid kit. It was paltry compared to the tackle box Scarlett kept in her house, but it would have to do.

Pressing one of the towels to Phillip's bleeding gut as gently as he could, he pulled his cell from his pocket and dialed Scarlett's number. Please pick up. I need you.

Cincinnati, Ohio

Tuesday 4 August, 8.40 P.M.

Deacon followed Zimmerman out, and Agent Troy rose as well, saying he needed to make some calls. Scarlett found herself sitting alone with Kate Coppola, who looked like she had something to say. So did Scarlett, but she waited, letting Kate go first.

'I've heard a lot about you,' Kate said. 'All good.'

'Likewise.' Scarlett looked at the other woman speculatively. 'Can I ask why and how you ended up here?' She was wondering what Faith would think of Deacon's old partner showing up out of the blue.

Kate's smile was rueful. 'I'm not chasing Deacon. And don't deny that that's what you're thinking, because it's written all over your face.'

Scarlett rolled her eyes. Marcus. 'Damn that man,' she muttered.

'Deacon?'

'No. A different man.' She regarded the redhead evenly for a moment. 'If you're not chasing Deacon, this seems like a big coincidence.'

Kate didn't seem to take offense. 'It's not, really. I was up for a promotion, so I knew I could end up anywhere, and my boss knew I missed working with Deacon.'

Scarlett's brows rose again. 'So Faith has no worries from you, but I should?'

Kate chuckled. 'No. I'm not looking to partner with him again, but I had my choice of a few assignments and . . .' She shrugged self-consciously. 'My old team in Baltimore had become like family. I couldn't stay there and maintain my career path because all the roles I wanted were already filled. But leaving family is hard to do. Especially when you've never really had one before. Seeing the Cincinnati post opening was the biggest relief. I felt like I could keep growing in my job, but be near family too, you know?'

'Because Deacon's like family? Yeah, I get what you mean,' Scarlett said, thinking about the circle of friends he'd pulled her into. 'I understand.'

'But you have your real family here,' Kate said with a small frown. 'Your uncle, at least. Right?'

'I still understand,' Scarlett said. 'The family you make on the job is different than the family you were born into, even when that family loves you.' So much that it suffocates me.

Kate's frown disappeared. 'Don't worry that I'm angling to drag Deacon out of MCES. He's happy with you guys and doing what he wants to do. But this job is what I want to do.'

'You have experience with traffickers?'

'Unfortunately, yes. Baltimore and Washington don't see as much as some cities, but Baltimore is a port and the Ravens made it into the playoffs last year. Sex trafficking spikes in cities with major league sports.' Her expression had chilled, her eyes remote. 'I got my first case six months ago. Sex trafficking. Some asshole had brought his "stable" in for the big game. We got a tip from a resident that something wasn't right in the house down the street. Boy, was she right. We pulled four young women out of a hellhole that still makes me want to throw up.'

'But you pulled them out,' Scarlett said softly.

Kate swallowed. 'After the fact. We couldn't undo what had happened to them.'

'I know what you mean. All we can do is stop the crime, and catch the criminals. But it's not enough. It'll never be enough. Yet . . . it has to be enough or we crash and burn.'

Kate's eyes opened, her emotions under control. 'I know. I'm sorry. I don't normally whine about it.'

'Neither do I, but when I did, Deacon let me.' Scarlett grinned a little. 'I imagine he helped you too. Which is why you're here?'

A small smile from the other woman. 'He said you were smart.'

'Did you catch the fucker on that first case?'

Kate shook her head, the small smile fading. 'No. He wasn't there when we went in. He got wind of our raid and then he was in the wind. No trace. But we got the women out and placed in shelters. All four were under eighteen, two under fifteen. One was an American girl from Iowa, a runaway. The rest entered the country with their families, who'd come in on legal visas, just like Tala's family. Tricked into coming in, then separated. The parents and sons were sold for labor slaves, the daughters into the sex trade. These young girls were threatened that their families would be killed if they didn't comply. So they complied,' she finished grimly. 'Over and over again.'

'So you've made this your calling,' Scarlett murmured.

'Something like that, yes,' Kate said with a nod. 'I'm specializing in it, that's for sure. I'm sorry Tala was killed, but it is a break we never expected. We need to use it to make sure she didn't die in vain. What can you tell me about this reporter she was meeting?'

Scarlett told her everything she knew, except for the part about Marcus's reaction to seeing Tala's bullet-ravaged head. That was private, and she would fall on her sword to keep it that way.

'So they met by coincidence,' Kate mused.

Scarlett shook her head. 'Not entirely. Marcus knew what to look for. He saw the signs that something was wrong.'

'And he got involved. Not many do. I'd like to go with you when you talk with the mother and sister. I'd also like to speak to your reporter.'

'I'll arrange it,' Scarlett said, then glanced at her phone when it buzzed, blinking at the caller ID. 'Speaking of himself. It's Marcus O'Bannion. Excuse me a moment.' She got up from the table and walked to the window, hoping for better reception. 'What's up?' she answered.

'You need to come,' Marcus said quietly, too quietly. 'Now. Please.'

Scarlett's pulse rocketed, but she managed to keep her voice calm. 'Where?'

'My apartment. I'm texting you the address. Bring that CSU guy of yours. Tanaka. He's your best, right?'

'Our very best.'

'Then hurry. Please.'

'Marcus, are you all right?'

But there was no answer. He'd already hung up. A second later her phone buzzed with his text. 7 Hills Twr. Penthouse. 20B.

Kate ran to her side, her own cell phone in her hand. 'Who should I call?'

'Call nine-one-one. Tell them to get to Seven Hills Tower in Hyde Park, penthouse unit B. Where's Deacon?' She dialed his cell, not waiting for Kate's answer.

Deacon answered on the first ring. 'I'll be another few minutes,' he said.

'I just got a call from Marcus. Something's gone down in his apartment. He asked for Vince and the CSU team.'

'Shit,' Deacon muttered. 'You go. I'll follow as soon as I can.'

'I'm going with you,' Kate told her when she'd hung up.

'Then come. Now.' Scarlett ran toward the entrance, calling Vince while she listened with her other ear to Kate calling 911.

Don't be hurt, Marcus. Don't you dare be hurt.

Cincinnati, Ohio

Tuesday 4 August, 8.45 P.M.

Marcus pocketed his cell phone, knowing that Scarlett would worry and sorry that he'd been so abrupt, but he needed to put all his focus on keeping Phillip alive.

But his friend's blood was pouring from too many places. Marcus couldn't isolate all the wounds. Not fast enough. I'm not doing this fast enough. The panic started to climb up his throat, but he shoved it back down and got in Phillip's face again. 'Don't you die on me, Phillip Cauldwell. Don't you dare die on me.'

Phillip's eyelids flickered, but didn't lift. 'Bossy,' he whispered. 'Always so bossy.'

'Damn straight,' Marcus snapped, relief making his body so rubbery that he had trouble keeping himself upright. 'Because I am the damn boss and don't you forget it. What happened here?'

'Guy followed me into the lobby. Big guy. Black. Dressed in black, too. Couldn't see his face, had on a ski mask.' Phillip's throat worked, tears leaking from his eyes. 'He killed Edgar. I tried to stop him.'

'No,' Marcus soothed. 'Edgar's not dead. The paramedics should be helping him right now. Tell me about the man. He forced you up here?'

'Yes. Didn't have my knife.'

Phillip lived in a shitty neighborhood and always carried a knife for protection. Lisette had tried a thousand times to get her brother to move away from that hellhole. Marcus had even given him a raise, but Phillip refused to move.

'Left it in your other pants, huh?' Marcus asked, trying to keep his voice light.

'Yep.' A grimace of pain. 'Had to go through a metal detector in Mr Arrogant's building. Sorry.'

Marcus frowned for a moment, then remembered his team's meeting that morning. It had been only twelve hours before, but it seemed like an eternity ago. 'Mr Arrogant' was the corporate vice-president his team had targeted for investigation, the man who'd beaten his wife and child. The man Children's Services couldn't touch because he'd bribed everyone to lie. Phillip had posed as a courier that morning so that he could harvest the names of employees at the abusive vice-president's office, hoping to find someone who'd tell the truth about the man. The shirt Marcus had cut off him was part of his courier uniform.

'Don't say you're sorry. You're alive. How'd you get away?'

'He shot me. Twice.' An agonized grimace twisted his face. 'Dug a slug out with his knife. Hurt . . . like a bitch.'

What the hell? Why would the shooter dig the slug out and while Phillip was still alive? 'I guess it did,' Marcus said grimly.

'And no, I don't know why he dug the slug out. I can tell you're wondering.' A flicker of a smile, then another grimace of pain. 'Then BB attacked him. Bit his leg. He kicked her off, but it gave me the second I needed.' Phillip drew a breath that rattled frighteningly in his lungs. 'I took his knife and stabbed him. Got him in the bicep. Left side.' Another rattling breath. 'Stuck him like a fucker.'

'Good for you,' Marcus said fiercely.

'But then he shot me again. In the gut. Dropped me like a damn rock. He took a bath towel. Wrapped it around his arm. Didn't even take the knife out.'

'So he didn't leave any blood,' Marcus said grimly.

'No. But BB bit him hard.' A desperate smile bent his lips. 'So get the fucker's DNA from her teeth. Get him for me, boss.'