The hair on Jess's nape p.r.i.c.kled as realization struck her like a punch. "My G.o.d."

"What?"

"Mummert," she whispered. "Chief of Police Mummert."

"You think he's in on it?"

"I think he murdered Angela." Thinking of her friend, she closed her eyes. "I have to go."

"Jess-"

Knowing he would try to talk her out of what she was about to do, Jess disconnected. For a moment she gripped the cell phone, her mind reeling. Angela had believed Mummert to be an ally. Had she confided in Mummert? Had she told him about the MIDNIGHT Agency and her investigation? Did he know Madrid was a MIDNIGHT Agent?

The thought of Madrid walking into a trap made her knees go weak. She looked down at the cell phone. He'd given her his only means of communication; there was no way to call him, warn him. He'd told her to stay put. But how could she when he could be walking into an ambush?

She couldn't stay here and do nothing while the man she loved walked into a trap. But Madrid had left her without a vehicle. The shipyard was too far away to reach on foot. She could call a cab, but that would entail a wait and involve another person. She could try to find a vehicle with the keys left in the ignition.

It dawned on her then that she could drive the RV.

Dashing to the front of the vehicle, she shoved open the door to the cab. She got an impression of bucket seats with a console in the center. Large steering wheel. Digital dash. No keys.

Where are the keys?

Then she remembered seeing Madrid take the keys from a cabinet, and dashed into the galley. She flung open the cabinet door and her heart stuttered when she spotted a single key dangling from a hook.

"I'm sorry, Madrid," she whispered as she darted back to the cab and climbed into the driver's seat. "But there's no way in h.e.l.l I'm going to let you get yourself killed."

JESS PARKED the RV on the same muddy road she and Madrid had used the night before. As soon as she was on board the ship, she would call Jake Vanderpol and let him know what she was doing in case something went wrong.

It took her ten minutes to find the opening Madrid had cut in the chain-link fence. Evidently no one from the shipyard had discovered it. The place wasn't exactly bustling, but still, in a post-9/11 world it surprised her that the port police were not more careful with security.

Silently Jess ducked through the hole. Sticking to the shadows, she sprinted toward the docks. All the while her mind conjured visions of armed smugglers and cops on the take, and she found herself wondering how she was going to stop them when all she had was a cell phone and a flashlight. Not exactly an a.r.s.enal. Then she reminded herself that these ruthless men had Nicolas, and she realized she didn't have a choice but to try. If she could find Madrid, she could tell him what she knew about Mummert, and maybe between the two of them and Jake Vanderpol they could come up with a plan and stop these b.a.s.t.a.r.ds once and for all.

Her boots clicked quietly against the asphalt as she jogged down the concrete pier toward the Dorian Rae. Around her, the other ships moved restlessly against their moorings, the ropes groaning like bound ghosts. As she neared the Dorian Rae, she spotted the gangplank, a stairway that led to the bulwark on the quarterdeck. Last time she had been here, it hadn't been there. Farther down the dock, a forklift carrying a box on pallets started toward her.

Realizing they were in the process of loading the ship, Jess took the gangplank at a run. The black water thirty feet below seemed to mock her as she made her way to the bulwark. Remembering the cold grip of it, she shivered and hurried ahead.

On the quarterdeck she paused and looked around. There was no one in sight, but she knew there were people on board. Somewhere in the distance a diesel engine rumbled. To her right a rat scampered along a rope as thick as a man's arm. On the deck above her, she could hear voices.

She needed a plan. But outnumbered and outmanned as she was, an effective strategy wasn't going to be easy to come up with. She wondered if Nicolas was on board. A shudder went through her when she thought of all the terrible things that could happen to the little boy at sea.

At the sound of footsteps her head jerked up. Silhouetted against the lights of the bridge to her right, she saw two men walking toward her. Jess's heart leaped into a sprint. Looking around wildly, she hopped over a rope rail, then ducked into an alcove.

The men stopped less than ten feet away. If she moved one inch in the wrong direction, she thought, the men would see her. Pressing her back against the wall, Jess tried to make herself as flat as possible and prayed they didn't get any closer.

A full minute pa.s.sed. Craning her neck slightly, she peered around a steel beam. The men, smoking cigarettes, were both dressed in dark slacks and company jackets. Leaning against the rail beside them were nasty-looking automatic rifles. Lovely.

"We should be under way within the hour." One of the men spoke with an accent.

"I'll feel a h.e.l.l of a lot better once we're out to sea." The second man slid a flask from his jacket pocket, took a long pull, then pa.s.sed it to his companion. "The last thing we need right now is problems because of Mummert's screwup."

"In another hour we'll be in international waters. Once there, we're home free." He jabbed a thumb in the direction of a small airtight hatch directly to his left. "We might even get to sample some of our cargo, if you know what I mean."

"I'm in this for the money," the second man said, "not the fringe benefits."

"Pretty self-righteous for a smuggler."

"Yeah, well, I don't like the idea of offing that kid."

"Think of the alternative and you'll come to terms." Leaning over, the first man picked up his rifle.

The second man shoved the flask into his jacket and picked up his own weapon. "Let's finish our security sweep and get below deck. I'm getting cold and there's a card game heating up in the mess hall."

Jess stood with her back pressed against the wall for a full minute after the men were out of sight. When she trusted her legs to move, she stepped out of the alcove, her head reeling.

I don't like the idea of offing that kid.

Think of the alternative and you'll come to terms.

She knew in her heart they were talking about Nicolas. What she didn't understand was how two human beings could accept something so monstrous as killing an innocent child. The thought brought tears to her eyes.

But Jess didn't let herself cry. There was no time. The Dorian Rae was about to head out to sea. And she had to find Nicolas before the ship left port.

She glanced at the hatch the man had motioned to. A shiver swept through her at the thought of sneaking below deck again. She and Madrid had seen where the women were being held captive. She'd seen the blood, the shackles.

We might even get to sample some of our cargo, if you know what I mean.

The man's words drifted through her mind. Were they talking about human cargo? Did they have women on board now? Until this moment Jess had been under the impression that they were smuggling illegal immigrants into the United States. But smuggling women out of the country, as well? Who were the women? Runaways? And where were these men taking them?

The whole scenario sickened her.

Taking a fortifying breath, she twisted the wheel lock, pulled open the hatch and stepped into the semidarkness. The hatch closed with a resounding click behind her. Around her, steel pipes clanged and pinged, the ceiling creaked. Claustrophobia threatened, but Jess staved it off by sheer will. She couldn't turn back now. Nicolas was relying on her.

Slowly, cautiously she moved down the narrow corridor, her shoes nearly silent on the steel floor. Twenty feet into the hall, she came upon another hatch. Setting her hands on the wheel, she turned it twice and the hatch hissed open. She went through it and another corridor stretched out before her. The odors of mildew, oily water and something else dark and earthy filled her nostrils. Jess squinted into the near darkness, but the corridor was empty. Pulling the flashlight from her waistband, she flicked it on. The beam illuminated steel walls stained red with rust and dripping with condensation.

She thought she and Madrid had taken this same route the night before, but nothing looked familiar. As she made her way down the narrow corridor, she desperately wished for a blueprint of the ship. Nicolas could be anywhere and she had no idea where to look.

The sound of steel against steel sent her heart into her throat. Gasping, Jess spun, brought up the flashlight. Terror slammed into her at the sight of the two men crowded into the doorway and holding ugly-looking rifles trained on her chest.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?"

Chapter Seventeen.

Jess's pulse raced out of control as a tall man with a scraggly beard looked her up and down. They were the same two men she'd encountered on deck. The men who'd been so nonchalantly discussing the murder of an innocent child.

"Looks like we got us a stowaway," said the man.

His partner nodded. "A ship is a dangerous place. Anything could happen to a stowaway and no one would ever know."

Jess's heart was pounding so hard she could barely hear the words. But she didn't need to hear their voices to know they wouldn't think twice about harming her.

"I-I must have taken a wrong turn." A dumb response, but it was the only explanation she could think of with her heart doing acrobatics in her chest and her mind spinning like a top.

The bearded man lunged at her. She felt the sc.r.a.pe of his fingertips against her arm and danced back. Simultaneously she brought up the flashlight, hoping the beam would temporarily blind him. A curse burned through the air, and she caught a glimpse of his lips pulled back into a snarl, his eyes glinting with savage intent. And all she could think was that they were going to kill her and no one would ever know.

If anything happens...hit the red b.u.t.ton.

Madrid's words flashed through her mind. She stumbled back. Her hand went to the device clipped to her belt. She fumbled with it till her fingers found the b.u.t.ton and pressed it.

An instant later the flashlight was knocked from her hand. Vaguely she was aware of it skittering away. Screaming, Jess spun and threw herself into a run, the footsteps behind her spurring her faster. She was midway to the hatch when two strong arms grabbed her shoulders and spun her around.

"Where do you think you're going?"

She lashed out with her fists, but the man was strong and fast and overpowered her with ease. Jess fought him, but she was no match. Shoving her face-first into the wall hard enough to bruise her cheek, he jerked her hands behind her back.

"Give me the rope," he snapped to his partner.

Jess tried to jerk her hands free, but her efforts were in vain. She closed her eyes as the man tied her wrists.

Roughly the man spun her around to face them. She cringed when his gaze swept over her, lingering on her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "Who are you and what are you doing here?" he demanded.

"I-I told you," Jess said in a shaking voice. "I must have taken a wrong turn."

The two men exchanged looks. "So what do we do with her?" the other guy asked. "Throw her in the brig with the others?"

The bearded man sneered. "She ain't lost. I'd lay odds this b.i.t.c.h is Customs." He all but snarled at her. "Or a d.a.m.n cop."

"A cop?" The second man looked alarmed. "I don't want no part of this if she's a cop. I'm on parole."

"That won't matter." Her captor lifted his hand to her face, ran his finger down her cheek and smiled. "Unless she can swim with an anchor around her neck."

MADRID STARED at the blueprints spread out on the table, putting every level, every hatch, every corridor to memory. Next to him, Jake Vanderpol shoved hollow-point rounds into a clip.

"I'd lay odds he's on the ship," Madrid said.

Jake jammed the full clip into the Beretta and shoved the pistol into his shoulder holster. "If there wasn't so much steel, we could get infrared."

"No time for that."

"Yeah." Jake grimaced. "So are we going in after him or what?"

Both men jumped when Jake's cell phone chirped. Madrid knew what the display would read even before Jake showed it to him.

Code 99.

Jess.

Jake hit the retrieve b.u.t.ton for the text message details. Madrid. Code 99. All available agents respond. Waypoint: N3801.650 W12257.754.

"That's your code, partner."

Jake's voice came to him as if out of a fog. Madrid's gaze snapped to him. "I gave my GPS unit to Jess."

"Looks like she's in trouble."

Jake was studying him closely, as if expecting him to explode at any moment. "I told her to stay put."

"Has there ever been any time in your life when a woman has done what you've asked?"

Madrid barely heard the words. "I have to go."

"Not alone you don't."

"Cutter isn't going to condone this."

"He doesn't condone half of what we do." Jake looked down at the coordinates and punched numbers into a larger GPS hand-held unit. His brows snapped together. "Looking at the grid, I'd say she's on board the ship, partner."

Nausea rose inside Madrid at the thought of Jess being on board the Dorian Rae alone and at the hands of brutal smugglers. "I think that's where the boy is, too."

Jake Vanderpol started for the door. "Let's bring them home."

JESS COULDN'T BELIEVE she'd screwed up so royally. What was she thinking, rushing into a potentially dangerous situation without a plan and without someone to back her up? But she knew where her mind had been. She'd been thinking of a five-year-old boy with special needs. A child who'd already been through so much and was once again facing terrible danger.

A hand between her shoulder blades shoved her forward. She stumbled, wondering if Madrid had gotten her message. If he knew she was in trouble. If he would be able to reach her in time to save her and Nicolas.

They came to another corridor and went left, up some steel stairs and through another hatch. The corridor here was wider and better lit. Beyond, she heard voices. At the end of the hall, light spilled from a doorway. Dread and a new terror rose inside her when she realized they were probably taking her to whoever was in charge to decide what to do with her. It didn't take much imagination to figure out what that fate might be.

She paused outside the door, her heart pounding. She didn't want to go inside. She didn't want to face those men. She considered trying to break free and making a run for it.

"Move it." A rough hand shoved her through the portal. Jess stumbled into a room filled with cigarette smoke. Half a dozen male faces jerked in her direction. Six unshaven men sat at a table with cards and money spread out before them.

"Ah, Jessica Atwood. What a pleasant and unexpected surprise."

The familiarity of the voice jolted her. Jess scanned the room, her gaze landing on the source. Norm Mummert. Even though she'd suspected his involvement in the smuggling ring, the sight of the police chief still stunned her. Up until yesterday he'd represented the good guys.

"I'm glad you could join us," he said.

"I can't say the same." She tried to make her voice come out strongly, but the words were little more than a squeak.

She looked around the room, shuddering inwardly at the expressions of the men staring back. She turned her eyes to Mummert. "I can't believe you're part of this," she said.