THE BACK DOOR of the van opened, and Agent Pepper stuck his head out. “You need to come in here and see this—both of you.”
“You found Cheng?” Aubrey asked, pulse racing as she ducked inside. Just because they’d been played didn’t mean this was over.
“So far we haven’t been able to trace his cell phone—”
“But you have something,” Jack said.
Brewster nodded. “We just screened an anonymous 911 call that was made in the same block where Mei was being kept across the bay.”
“And . . .”
“A neighbor saw two men force a woman into the trunk of a car. We have the license plate of the car.”
“What about a location of the car, or description of whoever took her . . . anything?” Jack asked, shutting the van door behind them.
“We’re trying to get more information now, but a BOLO was just put out on the plate.”
Aubrey glanced at Jack. “What about the witness?”
“Officers are on their way there now.”
“Jack . . .” Aubrey turned to him. “We’re only fifteen minutes away at the most. I want to talk to the witness.”
“I agree.” Jack turned to Brewster. “What about a GPS locator on the car?”
“We’re working on it. If the vehicle’s equipped with security like OnStar we should be able to use GPS to locate it. It even might be possible to remotely slow down the vehicle.”
“We’ll need the address of the witness,” Aubrey said, heading back outside in front of Jack.
Brewster called out, “I’ve already sent it to both your phones.”
Three minutes later, they were heading across the Harbor Bridge toward Portland, located across the Nueces Bay from Corpus Christi, past the Texas State Aquarium and the USS Lexington. Crime was typically lower in Portland, partly because of a higher police presence, making it the perfect place—she assumed—for an FBI safe house. But something in their plan had gone very wrong.
A sick feeling had started spreading through her the moment she’d heard Cheng had Mei. She’d been the one to convince the girl to trust her—that they needed her to bring in Cheng—and that she’d be protected. Instead Cheng had found a way to get to her. And if she wasn’t already dead, she would be soon.
Guilt bored through Aubrey as she stared out at the water. If anything happened to Mei, she was to blame.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Jack said as they sped across the bridge.
“I’m thinking how sad it’ll be when they replace this beautiful bridge with the new one,” she said. She knew that wasn’t what he’d been looking for, but she wasn’t ready to talk about what they were facing.
“Okay . . .”
“I read that the new bridge will be the tallest point in South Texas.” She picked at a broken nail as she stared out the window. “It will also be the longest cable-stayed bridge in the US.”
“Bree—”
She sucked in a lungful of air, but it only seemed to feed her apprehension. Time was running out and they needed to drive faster. To find that vehicle before they took Mei to Cheng.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” Aubrey said. “I told her she’d be okay. That we’d protect her. How did he get to her?”
“I don’t know, but we’ll find out. We’ll find her.”
“What if we find her and it’s too late?”
What if she’s already dead?
Aubrey wiped away a tear she couldn’t blink back, hating how weak and vulnerable the situation made her feel. But the bottom line was they’d underestimated Cheng, and now Mei was going to pay the price with her life.
“This isn’t over,” Jack said.
Biting back her frustration, she continued the prayer she’d started for Mei the moment she’d discovered what had happened. She prayed that Jack was somehow right and they would find Mei safe. That Cheng wouldn’t be able to hurt her no matter what his intentions. And that they’d find a way to end this entire nightmare.
Because that was why she did what she did. To serve and protect.
They rode the rest of the way in silence. Ten minutes later, Jack pulled in front of the address they’d been given. The one-story, brick-faced house was located across the street and one down from the safe house.
He glanced at the text message Brewster had sent as they walked up to the safe house, where a yellow crime scene tape had been hung up. “Sergeant Fernandez?”
“Yes.”
Jack held up his badge and introduced the two of them to the officer standing on the front porch.
“We were just informed that you were on your way here,” the sergeant said. “Do you want to see inside the safe house?”
“Not right now,” Aubrey said. “We’d like to speak to the witness first.”
“I sent her back to her house. She was pretty shaken, but she’s aware there will be more questions.”
“Good.”
“And the agents who were guarding Mei?” Aubrey asked.
“They’ve been taken to the hospital. The paramedics who responded believe they should fully recover.”
“What do you know about the witness?” Aubrey asked as the three of them started walking toward the sidewalk.
“Name’s Jacqueline Waters. She works at the post office here in town. Normally she’d be working, but she happened to be taking a sick day.”
They nodded their thanks, then headed across the street. Aubrey stepped onto the front porch and rang the doorbell. A few seconds later, a woman opened the door, leaving the screen shut.
“Jacqueline Waters?” Jack asked.
The fortysomething-year-old woman, wearing sweats and a hoodie, nodded.
“I’m FBI Special Agent Jack Shannon and this is Detective Aubrey Grayson. I know you’ve already spoken to an officer, but we’d like to hear what happened from you.”
The woman nodded again, then sneezed into a tissue. “Of course. And I’m sorry . . . I would invite you in, but I’ve got this horrible cold, which is why I was home in the first place.”
“This is fine,” Aubrey said. “If you’d just tell us exactly what you saw across the street, we’d appreciate it.”
“I’d come into my living room to get my book”—she sneezed again—“when I heard a noise outside. I’m not even sure why I bothered to come look, but two men were carrying a woman to my neighbor’s car parked in her driveway across the street. I was trying to see if it was my neighbor, thinking she must be sick, but then they dumped the woman into the trunk.”
“Could you see the woman?”
“I didn’t get a good look, but she seemed smaller than my neighbor and her hair was darker. Which is what confused me. I don’t know who else it would be. My neighbor lives alone.”
“But you recognized the car?”
“It was definitely my neighbor’s car—her name’s Bridget—and she has a blue Honda CR-V.”
“And did they come from your neighbor Bridget’s house?”
The woman paused at the question. “That’s what I assumed, but to be honest, I can’t be sure.”
“Did you see them get into the car with the woman before they drove away?”
She shook her head, sneezing again. “As soon as I saw them pop the trunk and put her inside, I ran to get my phone. I got 911 on the line, and by the time I got back to the window, Bridget’s car was driving away. I was able to catch the license plate, which I gave to the officer I spoke with earlier.”
“Were there any other cars in the area? Maybe a car you didn’t recognize?”
The woman paused to think. “The house next door to Bridget has been empty for a while, but now that you mention it, there was another car there I’d never seen before. A dark sedan that was parked along the curb in front of the house. When I came back, it was gone.”
Aubrey glanced up at Jack. “So there’s a woman in the trunk of a car, and two cars that drove away about the same time.”
It didn’t make sense.
“Have you seen your neighbor?” Jack asked.
Jacqueline shook her head. “No, and I’m worried. The officer was going to check. She’s seventy-two years old and lives alone in that house. I’ve tried calling several times, but she isn’t answering.”
“Thank you, Jacqueline,” Aubrey said. “We’ll be back if we have any other questions.”
She started across the street with Jack, who signaled to two officers standing in front of the safe house to join them.
“The neighbor has to fit into this scenario somehow,” she said, still trying to put the pieces together. “Where is she?”
“I don’t know, but I’m calling Agent Brewster for an update.”
“The license plate is registered to a Bridget Sanders,” Brewster said once he’d answered. “But she has no online security, so there’s no way we can track the car except through an old-fashioned BOLO.”
“Our witness told us she was worried about her neighbor, who’s also the owner of the car. She’s not answering her phone,” Aubrey said.
“From what I heard, officers knocked but didn’t go inside,” Brewster said. “If we’re looking at a possible second abduction, you need to go inside.”
“Are we thinking they took both of them?” Aubrey asked as Jack hung up the call. “It doesn’t make sense. If they had their own car, why use the neighbor’s?”
“I can’t answer that,” Jack said.
Officer Fernandez and a second officer, Lawrence, joined them in front of Bridget Sanders’s home.
“Did you search the house?” Aubrey asked.
“We just knocked on the door. No one answered,” Officer Lawrence said.
“The owner’s car was stolen, a woman was kidnapped, and then no one answers the door. You don’t think that’s suspicious?” Aubrey asked.
“We were responding to a 911 kidnapping,” Fernandez said, “then we were told there were two FBI agents down next door.” She looked distressed. “We didn’t know anything about an elderly woman who might be in trouble.”
Jack held up his hand. “Let’s just make sure no one is inside.”
It took them thirty seconds to breach the front door after their persistent knocks went unanswered.
“Bridget Sanders . . . this is the FBI,” Jack called, stepping into the house first with his gun raised. “We’re checking to make sure you’re okay.”
They spread out and started clearing the house, room by room, looking for any clue that could explain where the woman was. Aubrey started down the hallway toward the master bedroom, checking each room as she went.
“Clear.”
“Clear.”
“Clear.”
She stopped inside what must be the woman’s bedroom. She had seen no signs of struggle anywhere in the house. Here the bed had been made, the closet and dresser drawers were neatly shut, and perfume bottles and jewelry still sat neatly aligned on the dresser.
Aubrey checked the bathroom, then headed to the front of the house.
“Her cell phone is here in the kitchen,” Jack said, picking it up.
“So she left in a hurry and forgot it,” Officer Fernandez said.
“Or she was taken by force,” Aubrey said. “But I didn’t see any signs of a struggle.”
“I didn’t either,” Jack said.
“We have officers canvassing the rest of the neighborhood in case someone else saw something,” Fernandez said. “We might get lucky.”
Jack nodded. “Good.”
But they were back to square one.
Two agents down.
And now two women were missing.
Aubrey started for the front door of the house. A car was pulling into the driveway. A blue CR-V.
“Jack . . .”
A woman matching the description of Bridget Sanders got out of the car with a package in her hand, stopping in the driveway when she saw the officers exiting her house.
“Ma’am—”
“What’s going on?”
Aubrey held up her badge. “I’m Detective Aubrey Grayson. I need you to stay where you are.”
The older woman took a step backward, clearly panicked. “I don’t understand!”
Aubrey signaled for Officer Fernandez to stand with her while Jack opened the trunk. “Just stay where you are, ma’am.”
Aubrey headed toward the back of the car, heart racing at what they might find. Their witness could have made a mistake. Identified the wrong car or misinterpreted what she saw. But until they looked inside that trunk, there was no way to know.
She heard the click of the trunk release as Jack pulled the latch and stopped for a few seconds before lifting it open. Her lungs gasped for air.
“Jack . . .” Mei’s body lay in front of her, blood running down her head into a pool beneath her cheek. Nausea swept through Aubrey. Cheng had ordered her killed, and now they were too late.
Jack stepped beside her.
Mei’s hands had been bound in front of her and a gag placed in her mouth. Aubrey pulled out the gag, then stopped. There was something else inside her mouth. Aubrey forced herself to pull out the crumpled-up piece of paper and felt a wave of terror slice through her as she read the note.
GAME ON, AGENT SHANNON