Sean: You're up at dawn?

Jaye: Ha ha. I sent a worm out to gather real-time info on each of the identified corps and three were shut down at the end of business yesterday.

Sean: Shut down how? Money transferred?

Jaye: No money transfers, all shell corps. Closed. The info was posted at midnight ET.

Sean: Influx of cash to Spade?

Jaye: None yet. I'm going to expand the worm, but I suspect they're all being axed. Just closed.

Sean: Why? Did it happen yesterday?

Jaye: No idea why, and they could have been shut down anytime in the last few days. Not more than a week. They get posted pretty quick. I'll send you what I learn.

Sean: You're an angel.

Sean logged off and wondered what had happened to cause Spade to shut down his shell corps. The most logical reason would be money. These were hollow companies, though-they could let the companies ride and, if they were compromised, just start new ones. On and on. The only way to shut them down would be to completely sever them from the new enterprise. Or maybe there was something there that they wanted to hide.

Sean understood money laundering and finance, but nowhere near as well as he understood computer security and hacking. And he didn't really care what Spade was doing at this point. Associating with Dominick Flores was sufficient for Sean to want his son away from here. After he got Jesse to safety, he would dig into Carson Spade with a magnifying glass and destroy him.

He looked at his watch. Damn, Kane had only been gone for an hour. He said it could take him all morning to set up his plan. A plan he didn't fully explain to Sean. All Sean knew was that it depended on Gabriella getting a note to Jesse. Sean's note. And if that didn't happen, then they were back to square one.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE.

Siobhan stepped out of the hotel and almost immediately the security chief approached her. "May I summon your driver?"

"I'm just walking to Starbucks. It's only a few blocks."

"It's not a problem."

Before she could argue with him, he was on his radio. Less than a minute later the driver pulled up. Did they have him sitting in his car waiting?

Still, Sean and Lucy had been more than generous in setting her up in this hotel, and she was pretty certain Kane had something to do with the security precautions.

When the driver dropped her off, she said, "I'm meeting a friend-you don't have to stay."

"It's not a problem," the driver said. Apparently, that was the motto of this security team.

"Thanks." What else could she say?

She went inside the Starbucks. She was meeting Eric Barrow, her reporter friend. They'd been friends forever-since high school. He had some problems and could be a complete ass sometimes, but he was all about the truth. He was cynical and would believe the worst about anyone. When he got an idea in his head he would move heaven and earth to prove it, but so far, she'd never caught him printing a lie, and he'd never stabbed her in the back.

The same couldn't be said of other people in Eric's life, which was why Siobhan was probably one of Eric's few friends.

Starbucks was on the corner of one of the most populated business areas of Laredo. Laredo was an old town, depressed; a third of the residents lived below the poverty level. But they still had a Starbucks, Siobhan thought wryly.

It was a treat for her. She even splurged and bought a pastry, something she hadn't done in months. Andie led a simple life as well, but she had her luxuries-and Starbucks was one of them. Siobhan didn't think her sister had gone a day without swinging by the drive-through on her way to Quantico, where she worked as the number two in charge of officer training. When Siobhan pointed out that Andie likely spent $150 a month at Starbucks-more if she added a pastry or sandwich to her triple lattes-Andie wasn't amused.

"I spent thirty-two months in the fucking desert fighting to protect my right to have a goddamn Starbucks latte, and dammit, I'm going to have a goddamn Starbucks latte every fucking day until I die."

Andie had the foul mouth in the Walsh clan.

Siobhan sat down and waited. Eric was habitually late, so she wasn't worried or surprised when he finally came in twenty minutes after he said he'd be there. She had finished her croissant and was nearly done with her coffee.

"You should have warned me about your friends," Eric said.

"Good to see you again, Eric."

He grinned. "Sorry. You know me."

"I do, which is why I'll cut you some slack. But I didn't know they were going to talk to you. I showed them your article, they followed up. It's important."

"Would you have told me they were coming?"

"Not if I thought you'd disappear." She took his hands. "Eric, this is serious. Marisol and Ana were my friends. Their mother was my friend. I have to find them."

"I know, sugar, I've done everything I can-you know that. But the feds? Really?"

"There's a newborn baby without her mother. Her mother is either Mari or Ana. And now there's another girl, dead, her baby stolen from her womb. This is bigger than us, Eric. Stop-I see your wheels turning. You want a story, and I'll give you a huge story, but don't blow this. Mari and Ana's lives are in danger."

"I'm not, but-"

"No buts. You wanted to meet with me."

"No feds. You gotta shake them."

"I'm not promising you that."

"Dammit, did you know that the girl fed is Jack Kincaid's sister? Jack hates me."

"I'm sure Jack barely remembers the time when you nearly got him and his team killed," she said sarcastically.

"I didn't know the information was embargoed."

She wasn't certain she believed him. She wanted to ... but this was Eric. "Eric-that was then. Let's focus on now. If there is a human trafficking ring targeting pregnant immigrants and stealing their babies, we have to stop them. I'm not here because of my job; I'm here because I fear for their lives."

"Word is that your fed friends made a lot of people nervous in Del Rio. Everyone is laying low. But I have an address. Just ... be discreet about this, okay? If the feds come out in force, you're not going to get anything from these people." He slid over a folded piece of paper. "This is a midwife who may have information. But I guarantee she will not talk to Kincaid and Armstrong. You talk to her, see what she knows."

Now Siobhan was skeptical. "Why would you give this to me and not pursue it yourself? Since you think there's a story here."

"Because, like you said, this is bigger than the story. You find Mari and Ana, I'll get the story, I know that. I trust you, Siobhan. You're probably the only one." He paused, leaned forward. "I heard about the girl in the morgue. Word's spread on the streets. You don't like my tactics, but people here trust me because I've never burned the little guy. Don't ruin that for me. It's my best source of information."

Siobhan didn't always like it, but she understood. "I can be discreet. But, Eric-don't burn Lucy and Noah. They care, they're good cops. If you burn them, I'll never work with you again."

Eric shook his head and shot her a smile. "You think I'm going to burn a Kincaid who's marrying a Rogan? Hell no, I'm not going to touch her, I promise."

Siobhan wanted to believe him.

Lucy was fifteen minutes late to meet Noah that morning and it was clear that he was irritated. "Let's go," he said as soon as she walked in. "Dunning."

"Sorry," she mumbled.

He glanced at her. "It's been a long couple of days, but you should have let me know you were running late. I would have understood."

She didn't say anything. He was right. Lucy had been late because she'd sent Sean a message to call her when he had a chance ... he'd responded by text that he would, just didn't know when. She'd then told him his client had come by the house and Lucy had information to share.

Then nothing. Nothing.

She was alternately worried about Sean's safety and angry that he didn't respond.

She'd been so blindsided by Madison Spade coming to her house and dropping the bombshell that Jesse was Sean's son that she didn't even think about calling headquarters. It hadn't been intentional-Madison thought that Lucy already knew. Didn't make the news any less shocking.

What's shocking is that Sean didn't tell you.

They'd promised no secrets, they'd promised to be honest with each other. After what happened in June when Sean risked his life to find a wanted fugitive who had already killed several cops-without telling her first-he'd promised not to put her in that situation again. He wanted to protect her, but in his attempt to keep her from worrying, she stressed that much more. Not knowing was worse.

She, too, had a hard time telling Sean what was bothering her, but she'd worked hard to overcome her insecurities and fears. He helped her, and she knew he wanted to share in the good and the bad.

But this was different. Why wouldn't he have told her? What could he have been thinking? That she would be angry with him? For something he didn't know? Or that she would be upset? That she would blame him for not being there? He couldn't have known-that wasn't something he would have ever kept from her, not for the two years they'd been together.

Why? Why? Did he not think she could handle the news? That she would fall apart or something? Yes, she was upset-because Sean kept something so important, so personal, from her.

Madison had met with Sean on Monday ... she'd come home late, but they'd had a late dinner, they'd showered together, they'd made love ... he could have told her. Any number of times that night. The next morning.

And he hadn't.

She almost didn't notice that Nate had followed her and Noah out of the FBI building. She glanced back and almost asked why, when she remembered hearing Noah call for Dunning. Nate gave her an odd, questioning look. She smiled at him, though it felt unreal. She had no joy inside, nothing. Nate and Sean were close, and if Nate thought something was bothering her, he might talk to Sean about it. That was the last thing she needed.

She had to get her head in the investigation. She couldn't let her personal problems interfere with her job.

Noah tossed Nate the keys, and Lucy climbed into the backseat. "I asked Nate to join us because I don't know what to expect," Noah said. "We're going to the property management first. I have a warrant for limited records-got a friendly judge who liked the argument you put together, Lucy."

"Me?" She barely remembered the conversation.

"Zach came through-he was able to connect the business that owned the brothel property with the business that owns the property outside Freer. I used that to get the AUSA to push a judge-the lawyer didn't want to do it, but I can be persuasive. We can ask for files of all properties managed by the company that are owned by those two businesses, lists of tenants, rents paid or owed, and contact information for the businesses. The management company needs to communicate with them somehow. Zach pulled ownership records-we know the brothel property was bought four years ago from a bank while it was in foreclosure, and shortly after Barrow's article came out it was sold to another business-could still be owned by the same people, just trying to clean the slate. The Freer property was bought six months ago from an estate-the original owner had lived in the place for forty-two years, died, and his lone heir sold it on the cheap after it had been on the market for nearly two years."

"Zach has been busy."

Nate drove in silence. Lucy looked at he phone, checked her email. It was what she didn't see that hurt-no message from Sean.

Noah got on the phone, and it took Lucy several minutes to realize he was talking to Rick Stockton. When he hung up, he said to Nate and Lucy, "We have the clear to interview Lance Dobleman. Nate, let's go there first. It's early, I want to shake him up. I'm going to get two agents to follow him." He got back on the phone. Lucy heard him ask for Abigail Durant, the ASAC who oversaw three units, including the Violent Crimes Squad.

Smart. If they shook him up, a tail may lead them to Jasmine ... or to the missing girls.

By the tone of the conversation, Noah didn't get the answer he wanted. "Abigail, there is no reason Agent Cook can't handle a simple field assignment. Follow, do not engage." Elizabeth Cook, the agent on their squad who didn't work in the field. The one Juan never assigned to partner with anyone because she handled internal research and the occasional background check.

A moment later Noah said, "Abigail, I need two agents to tail a suspect for at least twenty-four hours, up to seventy-two hours ... Cook is the only one who isn't assigned to a priority case, and she can go out with one of your ... I understand, but ... You have my assignment report in your inbox." He listened for a long minute, then said, "We'll discuss this later, Abigail ... since you brought it up, yes, I think it's a major issue. Juan is well respected, I am the interloper from HQ." Again, silence. "Honestly, this may sound callous, but I don't care. I needed all hands this week and keeping a senior agent at her desk wasn't going to cut it ... Yes ... No ... I'm happy to meet later this afternoon, but you'll have to give me some flexibility because I don't know how long I'll be out ... Kincaid and Dunning ... Yes, I'm aware. I'll take any heat if there's a problem, but I need two agents ... Fine, I'll send you the details, you send whoever you want."

He hung up. If he could have slammed down the phone, he would have.

"Rick fucking owes me a bottle of twenty-year Scotch," Noah muttered.

Noah rarely, if ever, swore, so Lucy kept her comments to herself.

Nate didn't. "I thought you knew Agent Cook didn't work in the field."

"Juan told me," Noah said. "Active special agents assigned to field offices are required to work in the field. No exceptions."

He didn't say anything more, and Lucy wished she knew what Agent Cook's story was, why Juan let her work only from her desk, and why Noah was pushing it when he was the temporary SSA. She glanced at Nate-he didn't press the conversation, but he clearly knew more of what was going on than she did.

Noah said, "Though you're both rookies, you're going to partner for the duration of this case-at least until I can get freed up. There's no one else, and I can't send an agent back to Laredo solo."

Nate turned into the entrance for a gated community. He didn't say anything as he rolled down his window and showed his badge and identification.

The guard hesitated a moment. He was young. "Can I have the address you're visiting?"

Nate shook his head.

"I, um, I'm supposed to log every visitor."

"Special Agent Nate Dunning," Nate said. He handed the guard his FBI card. "If your boss has a problem, he can call me."

Again, the young guard hesitated, but he took the card and pressed a button. The gate slid open.

Nate drove through before it was completely open. "If they want to intimidate would-be visitors, they should get someone who looks like he already graduated from high school."

The gated community north of I-10 had winding roads, great views of the city, and tree-lined streets. It would be a nice place to live, Lucy thought, though it was clear the neighborhood was relatively new, likely less than ten years old. The developer had done a good job working the custom homes around the existing trees, giving it an older feeling.

Less than two minutes later Nate stopped in front of a large, sprawling two-story home at the end of a cul-de-sac. No cars were on the street or driveway, but an attached four-car garage was behind the house.

Noah said to Nate, "Keep an eye on things."

"Yes, sir."

Noah glanced at him oddly. "Sir?"

"Habit."