The front door opened and a big uniformed black man, a local, most likely, walked out of the house, jogged off down the trail. Johnnie watched him disappear into the jungle, his nerves stretched thin as they waited for Sloc.u.m, hoping he had fresh intel.

A few minutes later, the soft call of a bird let them know the SEAL was approaching. Silently, he slipped up beside where they hunkered down in the jungle not far from the house.

"Ortega's inside," he said, "along with the men who came with him from the main house." His ice-blue eyes glinted and his mouth lifted in a hard-edged smile. "You don't have to worry about the guard who just came out."

So the big Belizean was out of commission. Sloc.u.m was good, Johnnie thought. d.a.m.ned good. "We found blood on the trail."

Johnnie shoved down a fresh stab of worry and fixed his attention on the bungalow, low-roofed, rectangular in shape, soft interior lights illuminating what appeared to be a main room with a long hall running off it. He wished they could just charge in, shoot the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds and get Amy out of there.

But it didn't work that way.

"Ortega's two guests headed down the hall not long after they got here," Sloc.u.m said. "Looks like a row of bedrooms. Far as I can tell, the men are still in there."

"Lots of folks," Jake said.

Johnnie's fingers tightened around the AR-15 slung across his chest. "Let's get close enough to find out what they're doing."

Staying low and deep in the foliage, he moved off toward the house.

Ortega motioned to his man. Amy's heart raced as the guard jerked her up off the sofa, lifted her into his arms and strode off down the hall. She struggled against his hold, but with her arms bound behind her and her ankles tied, there wasn't much she could do.

Ortega opened one of the bedroom doors and the guard strode past him and tossed her onto the bed. Standing in the doorway, Ortega nodded and the man pulled a knife from the sheath at his waist. Amy tried to scoot backward away from the blade, but the man just laughed. Reaching down, he cut the bindings on her ankles, turned her around and freed her wrists.

"There is a basin over there." Ortega pointed to a sink against the wall. "Use it to wash your face and cleanse yourself. Tonight, you and I, we are going to get much better acquainted." He smiled lewdly.

Ortega glanced over at the dark corner behind the bed. "Perhaps your sister will join us."

Her gaze shot to the corner. "Oh, my G.o.d! Rachael!"

Ortega's smile widened. As Amy scrambled off the bed and rushed to the slender, dark-haired girl curled into a ball on the floor, he stepped into the hall and closed the door.

Amy's eyes filled. "Rachael... Oh, my G.o.d, what have they done to you?" Her throat closed up at the sight of her sister's pale face and vacant eyes. "It's me, Rachael, it's Amy."

Rachael just stared.

"Oh, Rachael..." Amy gently shook her. "Look at me, sweetheart. It's your sister, Amy." She started to say that she had brought friends who were going to get them out of there, but Carlos Ortega was ruthless and powerful. There was every chance the room was bugged, a chance he was watching them, listening to every word.

Nausea rolled through her.

What if something had happened to Johnnie? What if he and the other two men had been captured or killed?

He'll come for us, she told herself. He heard the shot and he'll come. She trusted Johnnie to protect her, trusted him more than any man she had ever known.

She thought of the heavily armed guards who had taken her prisoner, and fresh fear gripped her. Amy pushed it away.

"Look at me, Rachael." She tipped her sister's head up, forcing Rachael's eyes to meet hers, but when she let go, Rachael's head slumped back down on her chest.

The lump in Amy's throat grew bigger. She remembered the roofie Kyle Bennett had given her and looked more closely at her sister. Rachael had clearly been drugged. She had lost weight and her eyes were sunken and hollow. Dark circles marred the skin below her thick dark lashes, and there was a bruise on her temple. Dear G.o.d, she had been here two months, obviously been beaten and possibly kept on drugs for weeks.

Amy tried not to think what else Carlos Ortega might have done to her, but when she looked at Rachael, dressed in nothing but black lace underwear and a black push-up bra, she couldn't block thoughts of what her sister must have endured.

Fresh tears washed down her cheeks. "I won't let him hurt you," Amy whispered, cradling her sister's head against her shoulder. "I promise I won't let him hurt you again."

And since Johnnie wasn't there to see her cry, she gave in to her terrible fear and the wracking sobs she had been fighting to hold inside and prayed that he would come.

They split up, Johnnie flattening himself against the wall at the front of the house, Jake and Ben going around to the back. Dim lights lit all three bedrooms along the front. The narrow windows at the top of each room weren't big enough to crawl through, but they weren't meant for escape. It was a setup he'd seen before-in brothels in Honduras and Guatemala. He clamped down on the fear and anger he struggled against.

Moving swiftly, he crept along the row of bedrooms, listening for the sound of her voice. There weren't any screams, no shouts for help, only men's laughter coming from two of the rooms, but it didn't sound much like a party.

Someone was talking in the third bedroom, her voice soft and low. Relief hit him so hard he felt light-headed. Amy. He listened for a moment to be sure she was all right, couldn't make out what she was saying but thought she was talking to another woman.

Whatever was happening, for the moment, she was out of the crossfire.

Just stay there, baby, I'm on my way.

Johnnie crouched and ran along the wall toward the front of the house. He spotted Jake moving toward him, signaled that Amy was in a safe place. Making their way toward the door, they moved in on the house together. Johnnie checked his wrist.w.a.tch, counting the seconds. Sloc.u.m was in position by now, ready to come in through the back door they had spotted earlier.

Jake held up three fingers, two, then one. Together they spun and fired a burst of automatic rifle fire through the door, splintering the wood. Then Johnnie kicked it open and they swung back out of the way, the deadly return fire whizzing past them, a thunderous roar and dense rain of lead that battered the jam and sent bits and pieces of wood flying into the air.

Jake tossed a flash grenade into the room, they covered their ears and closed their eyes against the blasts and blinding light.

They were in the room an instant later, firing their AR-15s, Jake's shot taking one of the guards in the shoulder and spinning him around. The other guard fired wildly, blinded by the flash, the shot cutting the air past Johnnie's ear. He ducked and rolled, dove and brought the man down as Sloc.u.m charged into the room.

Johnnie wrestled the gun from the guard's hand and tossed it away, noticed the b.l.o.o.d.y rag wrapped around the guy's upper arm, thought of the blood he'd seen on the path, thought of Amy. That's my girl.

He jammed his 9 mil beneath the guard's chin, and the man's arms shot up in surrender. Across the room, the bodyguard stood in front of Ortega, hustling him backward, trying to get out the front door.

He made the mistake of snapping off a barrage at Sloc.u.m, who fired four lethal rounds from his big Heckler & Koch in return. The shot took the bodyguard square in the chest but the powerful slug kept going, slamming into Ortega, and both men went down.

Both guards huddled on the floor with their arms raised. Ortega and the bodyguard were down and bleeding.

"I've got this covered," Jake said. "Go get her."

Johnnie took off down the hall, Sloc.u.m right behind him. They each took a bedroom, kicked open the door. A young woman lay on the bed, her eyes closed and her mouth slack. Johnnie looked at the piece-of-s.h.i.t excuse for a man beside her, naked and huddled on the floor, and forced himself not to pull the trigger.

"Second man's in here," Sloc.u.m said. "Since he's wet himself, I don't think he'll be a problem. Get your woman and let's get out of here."

Johnnie didn't hesitate. Just grabbed the door handle to the third bedroom, turned the k.n.o.b and shoved open the door.

"Johnnie!" Amy jumped to her feet and bolted toward him, threw her arms around his neck and just hung on. "I knew you'd come. I knew nothing would stop you."

"Nothing but dying, baby." And then he kissed her, hard and deep, and his heart throbbed painfully, and all the time he was thinking, Man, I am so in love.

And I've got to be the dumbest SOB on the planet.

They were hurrying, anxious to leave the house. While Jake bound the guards' hands and feet with wire ties, Amy gathered what little clothing she could find and dressed her dazed sister in cut-off jeans and a T-shirt, shoved her feet into flip-flops.

In a small closet in the bedroom, she found Rachael's purse. Inside was a comb and brush and small makeup kit. Next to it was her pa.s.sport.

One less problem. Amy breathed a sigh of relief.

They left the house a few minutes later, heading off down the trail, Amy walking close behind Johnnie, Ben Sloc.u.m carrying Rachael, whose head slumped against his chest.

As they neared the boat, Amy saw Johnnie pull the sat phone out of his pack.

"Dietz, it's Riggs. We're on Ortega's island. We've got a situation here. A couple of Ortega's guards wounded or otherwise disabled, two women drugged and raped. Ortega and his bodyguard are dead."

Dietz said something Amy couldn't hear.

"Yeah, we found her," Johnnie said. "She's in pretty bad shape, but she's alive."

Amy turned to look at her sister and her heart squeezed. Dietz must have asked for the location of the island; Johnnie rattled off the coordinates. "We'll need that plane in Placencia as soon as you can get it there."

Apparently Dietz agreed.

"I'll call Wheeler," Johnnie said, "fill him in. I'm sure he'll be in touch. In the meantime-we were never here."

While Jake pulled the palm fronds and foliage off the boat, Johnnie phoned the DEA agent who had been helping them and repeated the information he had given Dietz. When he finished, he shoved the phone back into his pack.

"Wheeler's getting us a ride," he said. "Company jet should be at the airport by noon."

"They want to debrief us," Sloc.u.m said.

"You got it." Johnnie turned and slid an arm around Amy's waist. "You doin' okay?"

She nodded, thought that she was doing fairly well...considering.

Jake jumped into the boat, reached up to collect Rachael and settled her in one of the seats. Amy looked down at her sister, whose eyes were closed in a drug-induced stupor. "I just...I feel so sorry for her."

Johnnie cupped Amy's cheek. "If it weren't for you, Rachael would still be in that house. You saved her, baby. And now you'll do whatever it takes to make sure she'll be okay."

Her eyes burned with tears. She managed a halfhearted smile. "Thank you...for everything."

Johnnie made no reply, just jumped into the boat, reached up and caught her waist, and swung her down beside him. Sloc.u.m pushed the nose of the boat off the sand and jumped aboard, and Jake fired up the engines.

In minutes they were heading into the open sea.

Amy looked at Johnnie, sitting on the seat beside her. "I found her pa.s.sport," she said. "If she knew she was leaving the country that night, why didn't she tell anyone?"

Johnnie drew her against him. "In time, she'll be able to tell us what happened. Till then, none of that is important. What's important is that your sister's alive, and that we're going home."

He took the hem of his T-shirt and used it to wipe the remaining black paint off her face, bent and lightly kissed her. "There, that's better."

He wiped his own face clean, then leaned back against the seat. They were leaving Placencia as soon as the plane arrived. With Ortega no longer in control of his organization, which played a key part in the San Dimas cartel, none of them knew what would happen, and they didn't want to chance running into more trouble.

And Rachael needed medical attention. They didn't want to risk taking her to a Belizean hospital, but as soon as they got back to L.A., she would get the care she needed.

The good news was the DEA was sending a private jet to take them home. They wanted to know everything the men had found out about Ortega and what had happened on the island.

As the boat skimmed over the water, Amy closed her eyes and let the warm wind rush past her face. So many questions remained unanswered.

Why was Rachael in Belize? Who had arranged for her to be brought there? What was her connection to Ortega?

Exhaustion washed over her. She didn't realize she had fallen asleep until the boat b.u.mped into the dock in Placencia and her eyes popped open.

"Come on, baby," Johnnie said gently. "Let's get your sister someplace where she can sleep off some of those drugs. Maybe the rest of us can get a little shut-eye, too."

She nodded.

Still wary, the men took watches standing guard. The next thing she remembered was waking up in a motel room near the tiny Placencia airport, lying on top of the mattress asleep in her clothes, her sister asleep in the bed next to hers. Johnnie dozed in a chair across the way.

As if he had sensed her watching him, his eyes cracked open. A glance at the clock and he was on his feet.

"Time to go," he said, striding toward her.

It was still dark outside, the sun not yet up. "Do I have time to shower?" she asked.

"If you make it fast." He gave her a long, slow perusal. "Maybe we could save a little time by taking one together."

Desire curled through her. Maybe it was the danger they had faced last night, maybe just seeing him there in the room, remembering all the hard muscles beneath his black T-shirt and camouflage pants, remembering how good it was when he made love to her.

Amy glanced over at her sister, who looked more unconscious than asleep, and her heart twisted. "We better not. If Rachael wakes up, I need to be here."

Johnnie nodded. He tipped his head toward the bathroom. "Go on. I'll sit with her till you're finished."

"Thanks." Amy started for the shower, cast a wistful glance back at Johnnie. Forcing her mind in a safer direction, she walked into the bathroom telling herself to think how good it was going to feel to be wearing perfume again-instead of bug spray.

Twenty-Eight.

Johnnie turned his sat phone back on as the bureau jet taxied toward the executive terminal at the Houston airport, a stop on the return to drop off Ben and Jake, who were being debriefed by an agent in their area.

Johnnie looked at the phone, saw a message waiting. He recognized the number and returned the call from Dev Raines.

"Hey, Johnnie," Dev said. "You still in Belize?"

It was amazing the way his friends always seemed to know his comings and goings.

"At the airport in Houston," he said, "dropping Sloc.u.m and Cantrell."

"Do any good?"

"We found the girl. She's pretty messed up, but she's breathing."