Midwife Cover

“No,” Brady said firmly. “You’re a civilian.”

She pointed to a yellow-painted brick that she was using as a paperweight. “You know what that is?”

“An award for completing the Yellow Brick Road at Quantico.”

She gave a nod to her former career path as an FBI special agent. “I was number one on the obstacle course back then, and I’ve kept up my skills. Besides, I can take care of the baby.”

“The baby? Who said anything about taking the baby?”

She stood to face him. Brady was over six feet tall, and she was only five feet, seven inches. She had to tilt her chin to look him straight in the eyes. “If you want the mom to talk, you need the baby. She’s not going to open her mouth when she’s in a panic about her missing child.”

For a full twenty seconds, he glared at her, definitely ticked off. Then he inhaled deeply, exhaled and conceded. “You’re right.”

“Wow, I didn’t expect you to give in.”

“You might have the wrong impression of me.”

“Let’s see.” She took a step back and looked him up and down. “My first impression is that you’re rigid, controlling and always follow the rules. Pretty much the opposite of me. Is that about right?”

“Not bad for a superficial description.”

“Could you do better? Go on, tell me about myself.”

“You don’t want to play this game.”

Another challenge? She couldn’t let it pass. “I insist. Tell me your impression of me.”

“A risk-taker,” he said in a low voice meant only for her ears. “Pretty much fearless, but you’re afraid of fire.”

“What?” How had he known that?

“You heard me,” Brady said. “You come from a family where at least one member is in law enforcement. You’re rebellious and always root for the underdog. You’re honest to the point of tactless. You say that you don’t care what other people think but you’re sensitive. You lost someone close to you—a boyfriend or a fiancé. And you’re from northern California, near San Francisco.”

Taken aback, she gaped. He’d been correct on every single count. “Either you’re a psychic or a damn good profiler.”

“Psychics don’t generally become special agents,” he said. “If you come with us to pick up the mother, I’m going to insist that you wear a protective vest.”

“Fine.”

His snap analysis intrigued her. She wouldn’t mind getting to know him better, even if it meant putting up with his arrogance.

BRADY DECIDED THEY SHOULD take two vehicles. Cole had already left in Petra’s truck and would coordinate backup with other officers from the sheriff’s department. Brady, Petra and the baby would ride together in the black SUV. His plan was to pick up the witness and take her into FBI custody. He’d already put in a call for a chopper to meet them at the airfield.

Through the windshield of the SUV, he watched as she stood on the sidewalk talking to four hugely pregnant women. The ladies waddled into the clinic, and Petra came toward him with the baby in her arms. Over her left shoulder, she carried a diaper bag filled with supplies. Her right hand was free to draw the GLOCK automatic from the side holster that was only partially hidden under her long purple vest.

A gun-toting midwife wasn’t his first choice as a partner, but he could work with Petra. She was FBI-trained and would do anything to protect the baby. Her instinct to reunite the mother with her child had been smart.

She arranged the sleeping baby in the carrier she’d installed in the back of the SUV. Safety first. He approved.

When she opened the door to the passenger side, he held out the dark blue Kevlar vest with FBI stenciled across the back. It wasn’t necessary for him to repeat his order; she knew what needed to be done.

As she donned the protective armor, her blue eyes expressed an irony that contrasted the sweetness of her full lips and the innocence of the freckles that spread across her cheeks. She reminded him of a mischievous kid, but he wouldn’t make the mistake of thinking she was immature.

She hopped into the seat and fastened her seat belt across the vest. “Happy?”

“Delirious.”

He pulled away from the curb. The GPS in the dashboard showed him the route to Doc Wilson’s address, which seemed simple enough. Five miles outside town, he’d turn left on Conifer Street, then another three miles on a winding road. “Tell me what kind of cover we’ll find at Doc Wilson’s house.”

“Are you expecting an ambush?”

“I want to be prepared for any possibility.”

“It’s a two-story log cabin in a forested area. There’s a small clinic with a parking lot attached to the right side of the house. Doc’s retired but still sees a few patients.”

The forest bothered him. If the traffickers had picked up the deputy’s scent, they could sneak into Doc’s clinic without being seen. He remembered the brutally murdered body of his informant sprawled on the floor. These were vicious men who had reason to silence the witness.

“Fill me in,” she said. “What are we looking for?”

“Your job is to take care of the baby and the mother. That’s it. Period. Nothing else.”

“I should question her,” Petra said. “I mean, look at you and look at me. A terrified woman who almost lost her son is way more likely to open up to another woman. Plus, she’s an illegal, and I speak Spanish. Do you?”

“Fluently.” Once again, she’d outlined a good plan. A woman-to-woman conversation would probably be more productive than an interrogation. “We’ll both question her. I’m looking for the obvious information. Names, places and dates.”

“Was she brought here by a coyote? I hate those guys.” She shuddered with anger. The wisps of red hair that had escaped her braid flared around her face like flames. “What they do is so wrong on so many levels.”

For a moment, Brady considered telling her about the ITEP investigation into human trafficking and the sickening possibility that infants were being drawn into this web of crime. Her righteous rage matched his own feelings about the victimization of helpless people. This was a passionate woman, perhaps too much so. Her emotions were close to the surface.

He decided against adding fuel to her fire. “Our focus is to get information that can be acted upon immediately.”

“So we want to talk to her right away.”

“Correct.” Time was of the essence. The traffickers might still be in the area, and he needed to find them.

The light from a half moon and a sky filled with stars illuminated the sparsely populated land beyond the city borders. There were only a couple of houses with lights in the windows and few headlights on the two-lane road.

He used his hands-free phone to contact Cole. “Are you there yet?”

“Just approaching the house,” Cole said. “I haven’t seen any sign of the other deputies.”

“Don’t go in alone. Wait for me.”

“We might have a problem,” Cole said. “A few minutes ago, the deputy at Doc’s called me. Even though I could hear the woman sobbing and yelling in the background, he said he had everything under control and didn’t need my help. He said he’d meet me at the sheriff’s department.”

“He was warning you off.”

“That’s what I thought,” Cole said, “but I played along and asked him if he was sure he didn’t need assistance.”

“His answer?”

“He confirmed that he didn’t need help. I could barely make out what the woman was saying. It sounded like she said, ‘Don’t hurt my baby.’”

Brady feared that the traffickers had caught up to the witness at Doc’s place. He might be headed into danger. Worse than that, he’d dragged Petra and the baby along with him.

Chapter Three

In the reflected light from the dashboard, Petra studied Brady’s profile as he ended his call. Intuitively, she knew something was bothering him. Not that he’d been cheerful before, but he was definitely darker and more serious. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“When I exit the vehicle, you get into the driver’s seat. If I don’t signal you in five minutes, drive away fast. Do not, I repeat, do not enter the house.”

“I’m armed,” she reminded him.

Under his breath, he said, “Please don’t kill anybody.”

“I’m just saying … If there’s a threat, I can respond.”

“A dead suspect isn’t going to do me much good. I need for you to concentrate on one thing—keeping the baby safe.”

She didn’t argue. It didn’t take FBI training for her to realize that there needed to be one clear leader in a crisis situation. “Are you going to wait for Cole?”

“He’s already at the house.” Brady eased up on the accelerator and drove slowly past a black panel van parked at the side of the road.

“What is it?” she asked.

“California plates on that van.”

Tension prickled along the surface of her skin. She rested her hand on the butt of her weapon. When she’d made her bold pronouncement about keeping up her skills, she hadn’t really expected to fire the GLOCK. And target practice was a lot different than facing real danger. “Do you think the van belongs to your suspect?”

His fingers tensed on the steering wheel. “How far are we from Doc’s place?”

“I’m not sure.” This narrow, winding road followed a small creek, and one curve looked much like another. “I think it’s just around the next bend.”

He was still driving slowly. His headlights slashed through the trunks of pine trees into the forest. She caught a glimpse of something moving and pointed. “There.”

Gunfire rang out. Three shots. The windshield cracked.

Brady hit the brakes. Petra tore off her seat belt and ducked. From the backseat, the baby jolted awake and started wailing.

“Drive away,” Brady shouted as he jumped from the car.

He ran into the forest, charging directly into harm’s way. His white shirt contrasted with the trees and the brush at the edge of the road. His black suit faded into the night, but that gleaming shirt was a target for the gunman.

She wanted to go after him and provide the kind of backup he’d need in facing an armed-and-dangerous suspect. But her first concern was protecting the infant.

Petra scrambled over the center console and got behind the wheel. There were two bullet holes in the windshield. The shooter hadn’t been kidding around. He wanted them dead.

More gunshots split the air. She heard a high-pitched scream. Where was Cole? Where were the other deputies?

There wasn’t room on the road to turn around, so she flipped the SUV into Reverse. As she backed up, her headlights lit up the scene that played out in front of her. She braked to a stop and took her gun from the holster.

Brady was facing a gunman who held a woman carelessly around her waist. Her hands were fastened behind her back, and she was yelling in Spanish. Ayudame. Help me.

Both men dodged behind tree trunks. Even though Brady was returning gunfire shot for shot, she knew he wasn’t taking aim. He wouldn’t risk hitting the hostage. Nor would she.

But Petra might provide a distraction. She buzzed down her window and fired her weapon into the air.

The gunman swung toward her. With his arm outstretched, he aimed at the SUV and fired. Bullets smacked against the hood. In the backseat behind her, the baby continued to cry.

She ducked, barely peeking over the dashboard, and she saw Brady make his move. With one running step, he mounted a rock that was the size of an ottoman. Using that height, he launched himself through the air toward the gunman. It was the boldest, bravest, stupidest thing she’d ever seen in her life. But it worked. Brady knocked the gunman off his feet.

Her breath caught in her throat. The two men struggled on the ground amid the brush. She couldn’t tell what was happening. Desperately, she wanted to help, to leave the SUV and go to Brady’s aid.

Another vehicle rumbled toward her. She recognized her truck. Cole was coming back toward them from Doc’s house.

In the glow of her headlights, she saw Brady stagger to his feet. He held the woman against his chest. His gun was aimed at the suspect on the ground.

Relief washed through her. And pride. Brady might think of himself as someone who would never break the rules, but she was pretty sure that his diving leap at an armed suspect wasn’t standard FBI procedure. He’d taken a risk, a big one.

She wriggled in her seat, wanting to rush toward him. But she knew the protocol. Until she was one-hundred-percent sure it was safe, she needed to stay in the car with the baby whose cries had faded to a whimper.

With gun drawn, Cole went toward Brady and the woman. They talked for a moment. Cole took custody of the suspect on the ground. Brady freed the ties that bound the woman’s hands behind her back and helped her toward the SUV.

Leaning on Brady’s arm, the dark-haired woman limped forward. She had bandages on both forearms. Her clothes were spattered with blood, bruises marred her face and her long dark hair hung in a tangled mass. Still, she dragged herself toward her baby.

Petra got out of the SUV and opened the back door. In seconds, she freed the baby from the carrier. Holding the tiny bundle, she went toward Brady and the mother whose arms were raised, reaching desperately.

When Petra handed her the child, the woman gasped. She sank to her knees on the ground, cradling her infant to her breast. She rocked back and forth, holding him and quietly sobbing.

Before Petra could compliment Brady on his rescue, he said, “She told me there were only two men. The guy in custody and Escher who we already know is dead. Ask her again. I need to be sure.”

Petra hunkered down beside the woman. “He’s all right. Your baby is all right.”

Her exhausted eyes sought Petra’s face. “Mijo es bueno.”

“Si, muy bueno.” She smiled and gently rested her hand on the woman’s trembling shoulders. “What’s his name? ¿Cómo se llamo?”

“Miguel.”

“And your name?”

“Consuela.”

In Spanish, Petra asked if there were any other bad guys. Consuela replied that there were only the two, and Escher wasn’t a bad man. He had tried to help her and to save Miguel.

Petra rose and faced Brady. “She says it was just the two of them.”

“I’ll take her word for it.”

She heard police sirens approaching and glanced toward Cole. He had the suspect sitting on the ground with his hands cuffed behind his back. “What about Doc and the deputy? Are they okay?”

“Cole entered the clinic and found them both tied up. The deputy had been knocked unconscious. Doc is taking care of him.”

“I’m surprised this guy didn’t kill them.”

“He’s not stupid enough to kill a deputy.”

Through the trees, she saw the red and blue lights of an approaching ambulance and a police vehicle. As soon as they all arrived, regular police procedure would take over, and she’d be shunted out of the way.

She’d probably never see Brady Masters again, which shouldn’t have bothered her. The uptight fed wasn’t her type. If they spent more time in each other’s company, they’d surely drive each other crazy. Still, she felt a twinge of regret … and a bit of curiosity.

“I have a question, Brady. How did you know I’m afraid of fire?”

“Are you asking me to give away my profiler secrets?”

“I am.”

He took her elbow and pulled her aside, creating a bubble of privacy as the ambulance parked. He leaned close. His gaze rested gently on her face, and his voice was just above a whisper as he confided, “When we were at the clinic, you blew out the candle before you left the room. Since you’re a rule-breaker, that precaution seemed out of character, unless you have a fear of fire.”

“Very observant.” When she smiled at him, he did the same, and she noticed a dimple on the left side of his mouth. “And how did you know I’m from San Francisco?”

“That was easy. There’s a beat-up orange-and-black Giants baseball cap on the file cabinet nearest your desk.”

“Of course,” she said. “I wear it so often I don’t even notice it anymore.”

“I noticed a lot about you, Petra.” As an SUV with the Grand County sheriff’s logo on the side parked behind the ambulance, he stepped away from her. “I might need to contact you again. I have some questions of my own.”

“You know where to find me.”

He strode toward the other officers and the paramedics who were helping the mother and baby. Immediately, Brady took charge, issuing orders that nobody seemed to question.

She wondered if they’d meet again. They seemed to connect on some level. Would he contact her?

She hoped so.

FOUR DAYS LATER, IT WAS Petra’s day off, and she was still in bed at half past ten. She didn’t want to get up and end a marathon of dreams about Brady.

Dreams were important to her. Whether they represented fears that bubbled up from the unconscious or were prescient whisperings from magical beings, dreams had a meaning. Why had Brady become the star player in her nighttime dramas? She rolled onto her back, kicked off the forest green comforter and stared up at the ceiling as she considered.

Most of her Brady dreams were as obvious as a twelve-foot-tall neon sign. They involved kissing and caressing and Brady with his necktie hanging loose and his white shirt unbuttoned. His chest heaved with desire as he stalked toward her, grabbed her and dominated her. Oh, yeah, she knew exactly what those dreams were telling her. I need a lover.

The last time she had a serious boyfriend was almost a year ago which wasn’t surprising because, as a rule, midwives don’t come into contact with a lot of eligible men. Any halfway decent guy—even an arrogant, obsessively neat fed—was enough to get her motor revving.

But these weren’t all sexy dreams. In another, she saw him with a baby in his arms. That was how they met, and she might be replaying that moment. But was there another interpretation? Something about fertility? She was twenty-nine and not getting any younger. Because Brady appeared to be a fine healthy sperm donor, he might represent her desire to have a baby of her own.

An old, familiar ache tightened around her heart. Her chances of conceiving a baby were slim to none. Those dreams were unlikely to come true.

She dragged herself out of bed and padded barefoot down the hall to the kitchen where she got the coffeemaker started. Yesterday, she’d been with a mom who was in labor for six hours before she delivered a gorgeous baby girl, seven pounds, six ounces. Petra felt the need to stretch her legs. This would be a good day for a run.

After she washed up and pulled her hair into a high ponytail, she slipped into a pair of shorts and a yellow-and-red Bob Marley T-shirt. With her coffee mug in hand, she went out the back door onto the patio behind the two-bedroom, frame house she was renting. The morning sun warmed her face as she sat on top of the redwood picnic table with her running shoes on the attached bench. From this vantage point, she surveyed the remnants of her vegetable garden. In spite of the early frost in August, she still had zucchini.

Maybe she’d bake zucchini bread and take a loaf to the parents of the new baby. They were a terrific couple, and she had no doubt that this was another family where she’d always be welcomed as Aunt Petra. That kind of friendship was a satisfying feeling, a great feeling. But was it really what she wanted in life?

Staring into her coffee mug, she wondered. She loved being a midwife and appreciated the simple pleasures of baking and gardening, but the action-packed hour she’d spent with Brady reminded her of her time at Quantico. While training to be an FBI agent, she’d scored high on marksmanship, kicked ass on the Yellow Brick Road obstacle course and was at the head of her class. She missed the adrenaline rush.

“Petra?”

She turned her head and saw him. “Brady, where did you come from?”

“I’ve been knocking on your front door.”

He sauntered around the corner of her house and stepped onto the patio. His cargo pants and black T-shirt made a very different impression from the first time she met him—so different that she wasn’t sure he was real. This version of Brady was more like the sexy guy she’d been dreaming about. He looked fit and strong. His uncombed hair seemed to be a lighter shade of blond. He had a few days’ growth of stubble on his chin.

This version of Brady was hot, hot, hot. Looking at him made her heart pump faster. It took an effort to keep the mug from trembling in her hands. “Would you like some coffee?”

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

She climbed off the picnic table and went through the back door into the kitchen. For Brady’s coffee, she chose a handmade mug with a blue-and-green glaze. She turned toward him. “Cream or sugar?”

“I take my coffee plain and hot.”

“Like your women?” She’d blurted the comment without thinking. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be inappropriate. It’s just that you look different without your black suit.”

“I’m going undercover.”

She poured his coffee and handed the mug to him. “That’s not a typical assignment for a profiler.”

“It’s only my second time,” he said as he took his coffee to the small table in the kitchen and sat. “One of the reasons I came here was to tell you what happened to Consuela and Miguel. You deserve to know.”

“I appreciate that.” She’d been worried about the mother and baby.

“You understand that this is FBI business, and you can’t talk about it.”

“Yes, sir.” She gave him a mocking salute.

“Consuela’s story started in Mexico. She wanted to be with her husband for the birth of their first child, and she paid a coyote to take her to where her husband was working on a construction crew outside Las Vegas. She never got there. Instead, she fell into the hands of a human trafficking gang.”

She winced as though she’d been slapped. Human trafficking was the modern equivalent of slavery. These people were used and abused until the marrow had been sucked from their bones and there was nothing left. When death came, it was a mercy. “That’s what you’ve been investigating.”

“The FBI has a task force in the field. I’ve been working with them for eight months. I thought I was done, but I’ve got to follow up on what I learned from Consuela.”

Petra sat at the small table opposite Brady. “What did she tell you?”

“She gave birth to Miguel in the back of a semi. The other women helped her, and they managed to keep the baby a secret for a while. Two of them were also pregnant.”

“I thought most girls picked up by traffickers were forced into prostitution. Pregnant women wouldn’t do them much good.” The truth hit her. “Oh, my God, they want the babies.”

He gave a terse nod. “One of the men in charge of Consuela’s group figured that out. His name was Escher. He’d been a coyote for years, but the idea of stealing babies and dumping them into a horrible and uncertain future was too much, even for him. He called me.”

“He was your informant.”

“Consuela said that he tried to free them all. He didn’t really think they had much chance and told her to leave Miguel behind. Escher promised to protect the infant.”

“By running away, she thought she was saving her son,” Petra said.

“Instead, Escher was killed. His partner—the suspect we arrested—tried to find the others, but they were gone, everyone but Consuela who stayed behind to find her baby.”

“And now?” she asked. “What’s going to happen to Consuela and Miguel?”

“They’re reunited with her husband and in protective custody. We need her testimony to convict our suspect. After that, I’m not sure what will happen with immigration. At least, their family is together. They’re all healthy and safe.”

It wasn’t a perfect happy ending, but the fate of Consuela and Miguel wasn’t as terrible as it might have been. They’d escaped. How many others wouldn’t make it?

Unable to sit still, she rose from the table and paced across her kitchen to the counter where she poured herself another cup of coffee. She didn’t need the caffeine. Her blood surged. She was fired up.