They had planned to make some follow-up calls once people woke up in the morning, but the disappearance of Peter and the possibility of even more missing had pushed the manhunt to a back burner.

  Perhaps that had been a mistake.

  Orlando opened a web browser, and brought up the bookmarked article. It was in Spanish, but that wasn’t a problem. Both Quinn and Orlando spoke it fluently.

  Quinn leaned in as he skimmed through the piece, stopping a third of the way down. There was a quote from a captain in the Federal Police, and a photograph that must have been his official police portrait.

  “This guy,” he said. “Captain Eduardo Moreno. Can you find a number where we can contact him?”

  “Give me a second.”

  It took more than a second, but not much. “This is interesting,” she said. “He’s not based in Reynosa.”

  “Where, then?’

  She glanced at him. “Monterrey.”

  Quinn felt the tingling he got when he started making connections. Monterrey, where the job Nate had been working on was located. Where, if Burke was to be believed, several police cars had been waiting to intercept them. If they were actual officers and not just men dressed up in uniforms, someone would have had to organize them. Someone in a position of authority.

  There are no coincidences.

  “Maybe it would be better if we talked to the captain in person,” he said. If Moreno was involved, he was the best lead they had so far, and the last thing Quinn wanted to do was scare him off with a phone call.

  As Orlando returned her attention to her computer, Quinn looked over at Daeng. “US passport?”

  “I have two.”

  “Break one out. We’re going to Mexico.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  AT WHAT HE guessed was around eleven a.m., Nate heard a door open somewhere outside his cell. It was too far away to belong to one of the rooms his neighbors were being held in, and seemed to be coming from a different direction than that of the courtyard he’d had dinner in the previous evening.

  Several seconds passed, then he heard footsteps. Three…no, four pairs. As they neared, he moved over to the vent and scrunched down so he could look through the thin slats.

  The light in the corridor was dim, but more than enough for him to see the feet as they walked by. There were three pairs of dark work boots, and one of men’s black sneakers. The person in sneakers was between two of the people in boots, and it was clear they were assisting him.

  The steps went on for another couple of seconds, then stopped. A door opened, this one much nearer than before. Intermixed with the shuffling of feet was a firm “In,” then the door slammed shut, the locking rods shifted up and down, and the three booted pairs of feet walked away.

  Apparently the new member of their party had arrived.

  Things remained quiet for twenty minutes, then Lanier called out like he had with Nate. The new guy, though, didn’t respond. Nate was willing to bet he’d been nearly unconscious when he was dumped off and completely knocked out now.

  Back on his mattress, Nate pulled the threadbare blanket over his legs and leaned against the wall. It wasn’t that he was cold. He wanted to access the storage compartment in his prosthetic leg. Though he hadn’t spotted a camera, it was safer to assume one was tucked away somewhere, keeping tabs on him.

  Acting like his leg itched, he reached under the blanket and pulled his pant leg up over his fake calf. He separated the seam just enough so he could open the storage container and remove the bolt he’d hidden away. It was doing him no good just hitching a ride. If he was going to use it—as a weapon or whatever—it needed to be accessible.

  He pulled at the shaft, but the bolt didn’t move. Confused, he tried to get the tip of his finger all the way around it so he could give it a tug. The bottom end seemed to be jammed into the crevasse where the back panel and the side one met. The head of the bolt had been shoved up into the top of the container.

  It took him a moment, but finally he got it to pop free. It wasn’t the only thing he suddenly felt in his hand. He pulled it up so he could take a look. In addition to the bolt was a black piece of plastic that looked very much like part of the button that activated his emergency beacon.

  He slipped his finger back into the container. It was part of the button, all right. He could feel where the bolt had pressed against it and broken it off. He wiggled his finger around and found that the entire button felt loose.

  Was the beacon still on?

  He cursed under his breath. He knew the container had been a tight fit for the bolt, but he hadn’t had a choice. He played with the button for a moment, hoped the beacon was still active, and closed his leg again.

  Clenching the bolt in his fingers, he lay back down and closed his eyes.

  It’s fine, he told himself. It still works.

  Whether that was true or not, there wasn’t a thing he could do about it, so he focused on trying to figure out why he was here. Once more, he was unable to come up with a satisfying answer.

  At some point he drifted off, and found himself standing on the beach in Santa Monica, Liz beside him.

  “Don’t leave,” she told him.

  “I’m just going for a swim.”

  “Stay here.”

  “Liz, I’ll be right there,” he said, pointing at the water. “You can watch me the whole time.”

  He swam out through the waves and stopped just past where the swells began. He treaded water in a circle, turning back to the shore, intending to give Liz a wave.

  Only the shore wasn’t there. Just more ocean.

  “Liz?” he called out. “Liz?”

  There was no answer.

  “HEY, NEW GUY. You awake yet?”

  Nate shook off his sleep and rose on an elbow.

  “New guy. Can you hear me? Hey!”

  For a few seconds, Nate thought Lanier was talking to him. Then he remembered the person who’d been escorted in that morning.

  He moved over to the door and leaned down by the vent.

  “I think it’s a trick,” Berkeley said. “No one’s down there.”

  “There is someone,” Lanier said. “I heard the door.”

  “You’re right,” Nate said. “They put him in a room down here by me.”

  “Have you heard him?” Lanier asked.

  “No. Nothing since he arrived.”

  “I still think it’s a trick,” Berkeley said.

  “New guy,” Lanier whispered loudly. “Can you hear us?”

  No answer.

  “New guy.”

  Silence.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  HARRIS ENTERED THE suite and found Romero sitting in his wheelchair behind his desk, writing.

  “Well?” his employer asked, without looking up.

  “The shooter has arrived. He’s a little banged up.”

  Romero’s head shot up. “Why?”

  “He apparently wasn’t in a cooperative mood when he was taken.”

  Romero thought for a moment, then waved a hand in the air. “As long as he’s alive, that’s all that matters. So, they’re all here now.”

  “Yes, sir,” Harris said.

  “And the schedule?”

  “Set. Tonight I’ll have dinner with Curson, and first thing tomorrow morning we begin.”

  “The camera? You haven’t forgotten?”

  “It will all be recorded as you requested.”

  “Good.” A smile appeared on Romero’s face. “I want to see everything immediately after the session.”

  “Of course. That won’t be a problem.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  THE DAY BEFORE, as Liz listened to her brother’s message telling her he and Orlando would be heading back to L.A. that evening, an idea began to form in her mind. She’d been feeling frustrated just sitting there alone, waiting for others to find Nate. That wasn’t the way she operated. She was far from helpless and was used to tackling problems head on. Not that this was the normal kind of complication that usually came up in her life, but if she and Nate were going to have a future together, she needed to learn how to deal with it.

  The problem was that when Jake and Orlando returned, she knew her brother would tell her as little as he could afford to. He may have seen it as a way to protect her, but to Liz it was unacceptable.

  She needed to be looking for Nate, too. To do that, she needed to know the same things her brother did. Then the idea hit her—a way of putting herself firmly in the loop. She thought it through as thoroughly as she could, and when she was ready, she wrote her brother a note and left the house.

  The first part of the plan was deception. She had to make sure Jake thought she was out of the way. Nate had once shown her how easy it was to lock on a cell phone signal and track its location. She had no doubt her brother would do just that when he realized she was gone. So to convince him that she had left, she drove all the way to San Diego, and spent the night in a small motel called The Otter House.

  Early the next morning, she spotted a delivery truck behind the building. While the driver was filling a vending machine, she put her phone on silent mode, and tucked it into the truck’s glove compartment. Though she didn’t have the training her brother and her boyfriend had, she was the smartest of the three, and remembered everything she’d heard them talk about. Putting the phone in the truck meant that during the day, her location would seem to be moving around, like she was driving aimlessly through the city, thinking.

  Her location deception set, she headed back north, arriving in Jake’s neighborhood at a quarter after two. Since she was driving his car, she parked on a side street not too far away, then snuck back and input her code into the gate security pad. She eased the gate open and peeked inside.

  No cars in the driveway.

  She walked quietly over to the house and looked through the windows as best she could, but the ones along the front were not designed to provide much of a view inside.

  I’m sure it worked, she told herself. It had to.

  She thought for a moment. If they were already gone, she was wasting valuable time. But if they were still here?

  Just say you forgot something, and keep the conversation to a minimum.

  She took a deep breath, put on her best distressed face, and let herself in the front door.

  The house was as quiet as it had been the day she’d first arrived.

  “Hello?” she called out. “Anyone here? It’s Liz.”

  Dead silence.

  As she walked through the living room, she began to worry that maybe Jake and Orlando hadn’t come back yet. If that were true, she wasn’t any better off than she’d been the day before. She scanned the living room. Everything looked exactly like it had been when she’d walked out the door. She glanced over at the dining room table. Even the note was still there.

  Hold on.

  She walked over to take a closer look. She had left the note facing up, and near the center of the table. Now it was flipped down, and a bit off to the side.

  Someone had been here.

  Moving into the kitchen, she checked the trash can. There were food wrappers and a couple of takeout boxes.

  So not just one person. At least two.

  Jake and Orlando.

  Her hopes began to rise.

  She all but ran through the living room, and down the hall to the linen closet on the other side of the bathroom.

  Please, please…

  Inside on the left was a hidden moveable panel. She had seen Nate open it only once. It had been on her first visit as he’d shown off the house to her. He’d let her in on quite a few secrets that day, probably more than he realized.

  She opened the panel, activated the touch screen, and navigated to the sound recording control window. The presets she’d checked off were still in place: VOICE ACTIVATED, COMPLETE HOUSE. She opened the log of recordings. There were dozens, some brief, some considerably longer.

  Nate had said Jake had installed it in case of emergencies, but hardly ever put it to use. There were cameras, too, both still and motion, but she hadn’t bothered with them.

  The only question now was, had they discovered where Nate was? Listening at double speed and working backward from the last recording, she had her answer seven and a half minutes later.

  “This is interesting.” Orlando’s voice. “He’s not based in Reynosa.”

  “Where, then?” Jake asked.

  “Monterrey.”

  “Maybe it would be better if we talked to the captain in person.” A pause. “US passport?”

  “I have two.” A new voice. Male, but not one Liz recognized.

  “Break one out. We’re going to Mexico.”

  She listened for another ten minutes to see if there was anything else important, then erased the recordings, closed the panel, and bought a ticket online to Monterrey.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  THOUGHT STILL HOT, the temperature had begun to dip.

  Sun’s down, Nate thought.

  As if heralding the passing of day to night, he heard a door open. Three sets of heavy footsteps pounded down the hallway, and didn’t stop until they reached the door of the newest prisoner.

  Nate moved into position by the vent again, and was there in plenty of time to see them walk back by, this time accompanied by the man in the sneakers.

  Seconds later, the door opened and shut again, and quiet returned.

  Nate waited a few minutes, then said, “Did you see him?”

  “See him?” Lanier asked. “Do you have a window?”

  “No. Through the vent.”

  “Mine’s angled down. Can’t see a damn thing.”

  “Same here,” Berkeley said.

  “I saw him.” The voice was a croak from farther away.

  “Who the hell is that?” Lanier asked.

  “It’s the guy across from me,” Berkeley said.

  The one who’d been there a while, but hadn’t responded in the past.

  “Hey, buddy,” Lanier said. “You all right?”

  There was a grunt. It could have been a yes, or it could have been a none-of-your-business.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Not important,” the man said, his croak replaced by a gravelly bass.

  “However you want to play it. Me, I’m Lanier. The guy across from you is Berkeley. And down there at the other end is Quinn.”

  It was quiet for a second before the man said, “Quinn, huh?”

  Feeling the need to reply, Nate said, “Yeah. That’s me.”

  The man let out a low laugh. “Okay. Call me Jonathan, then.”

  Both Lanier and Berkeley said hello, but Nate kept quiet. He had no doubt the man in the far cell had chosen the name Jonathan just to send the message he knew Nate wasn’t Quinn.

  “What’s your specialty, Jonathan?” Lanier asked. “I assume you’re in the biz.”

  “Whatever needs doing.”

  “A jack?”

  “Sure.”

  The more the man talked, the more Nate couldn’t help thinking he knew the voice, but he couldn’t put a name to it.

  “So Jonathan, why haven’t you answered us before?” Lanier asked.

  “I didn’t hear you.”

  “We’ve been trying to talk to you for days.”

  Silence.

  “How long have I been here?” the man asked.

  “You came here right after I did.”

  “And how long is that?”

  “I’ve been here eight days.”

  More silence.

  “You okay in there?” Lanier asked.

  Quiet.

  “Hey, Jonathan. You still with us?”

  A few more seconds of nothing, then a grunt like before, followed by, “I’m going to get some sleep.”

  “All right,” Lanier said, sounding disappointed. “We’ll be here when you wake up.” His next words were directed at Nate and Berkeley. “Either of you come up with any fresh ideas on how we get out of here?”

  They talked for another few minutes, but no one had anything concrete.

  Finally, Nate said, “I’m going to get some rest, too.”

  Putting a hand on the door, he started to push himself up, but his palm slipped, hitting the frame of the vent.

  Unexpectedly, it moved.

  He stared at it. Even if he could get the grill off, the hole would be too narrow for him to crawl through. That didn’t mean it couldn’t be useful, though.

  Making sure his body shielded the vent from any potential camera in the room, he tugged on the frame. It moved again, creating a thin gap between it and the door. He tried again, but apparently it had gone as far as it could. If he had a hammer or a crowbar, he could have worked the tip into the gap and lever the grill out in seconds. But his holding cell had come equipped with neither.

  He studied the gap, and wondered for a moment.

  Maybe…

  He worked the bolt out of his pocket, flipped it around, and lowered the cap end into the gap. Sure enough, his instinct had been right. Almost a perfect fit.

  Working his way from one end to the other, he levered the bolt back and forth, expanding the length of the gap all the way across. Then he did the same on the ends. The bottom was the hardest part because he couldn’t see what he was doing, but by the time he finished his first full pass, the frame had pulled away from the door a full quarter inch.

  The second go-around was easier, and he was able to increase the gap half an inch more.

  Before proceeding any further, he leaned as far down as he could and looked through the slats. He was worried that the front part of the frame might fall out into the hallway if it lost the support of the back half. If that happened, the bang would surely bring guards running. But the positioning of the front portion looked unchanged. In fact, now that the back had separated some from the front, he could see that the vent slats were actually attached to the front half.