LITMIR.BIZ

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yelling? She wasn’t deaf.

      “Honey, can you hear me?”

      Quinn moaned, struggling to pull herself out of the pain-induced fog.

      “Yes.”

      “What’s your name? Can you tell me your name?” the woman asked.

      Quinn was struggling to stay conscious.

      “Quinn.”

      “Thank you, Quinn. Do you know where you are?”

      “Hospital.”

      “Yes,” the woman said. “You’ve been shot.”

      Quinn felt someone running a hand across her midriff, pressing into the taut flesh. She reached out, trying to grab it.

      “Police. Need police,” she mumbled.

      Nick’s heart skipped.

      “Here! I’m here,” he said, as he moved to the foot of the bed. “Detective Nick Saldano, Las Vegas Homicide.”

      “The car...on fire. Two dead inside. Found baby there.”

      “Where?” Nick asked. “Where did you see this?”

      “93...”

      Nick frowned.

      “Highway 93?”

      Quinn shuddered as a ripple of pain rolled through her and reached toward her shoulder.

      “Ma’am? Quinn? Highway 93?” Nick asked again.

      Her eyelids fluttered. The word came out on a sigh.

      “Yes.”

      “Who shot you?”

      “Don’t know. Someone...in the desert.”

      “Did you see what they were driving?”

      But Quinn didn’t answer. She was unconscious again.

      “That’s all for now, Detective. She’s still bleeding. Must have nicked a vein. She’s going to surgery.”

      Nick backed up and watched as they wheeled her out of ER. Something terrible had happened out in the desert, and he had a hunch Quinn was a witness someone had tried to kill. The fact that she was still breathing put her in danger all over again.

      “Go with God,” he said and left the examining room. He needed to call his lieutenant about the reported murder, and get a guard on this woman ASAP. And then check and see if someone from Child Welfare was here for the kid.

      * * *

      Quinn woke up again as they were moving her to the operating table. The simple act of moving her from the bed to the table was excruciating. Tears welled.

      “Hurts. Please don’t,” she mumbled.

      Someone patted her arm.

      “I’m sorry, dear. We’ll get you comfortable soon. Take a deep breath.”

      She didn’t see the anesthesia going into her IV but she felt it. A fleeting thought went through her mind that if she died today, there would be no one to grieve her passing, and then she felt nothing.

      * * *

      The county authorities who were dispatched to find the crime scene drove several miles north on Highway 93 watching for signs of a fire off in the desert.

      What they saw instead were floodlights and smoke. They drove up on a chopper parked near what was left of a smoldering car and a large number of vehicles parked a safe distance away.

      Sheriff Baldwin frowned as they pulled up and parked. What in hell had they come up on?

      Two men separated themselves from the crowd around the burned-out car and came to meet them.

      “I’m Sheriff Baldwin,” he said. “We’re here to investigate a report of a car fire. Who are you and what are you doing with my crime scene?”

      The man nodded at Baldwin, then flashed his badge as he introduced himself.

      “Sheriff, Federal Agent Carl Gleason and this is my partner, Federal Agent Lou Powers.”

      Baldwin was noticeably surprised by Feds on the scene as Gleason continued.

      “The victims in the burned-out car are two of our own, so we’ve taken control of the crime scene.”

      Baldwin frowned.

      “Then you might like to know that the biker who reported this also found a survivor. The witness was shot leaving the scene but made it to the Las Vegas police precinct before she collapsed.”

      Gleason’s pulse shifted gears.

      “So the baby survived?”

      “How did you know the survivor was a baby?” Sheriff Baldwin asked.

      Gleason didn’t answer. He just asked another question.

      “Was there any sign of the mother?” Gleason asked.

      “No one else was mentioned to me when they called this in,” Baldwin said.

      “Where is the baby now?” Agent Gleason asked.

      “I have no idea, but why all the secrecy?”

      “The kid is Anton Baba’s,” Gleason said. “The rest is on a need-to-know basis.”

      Baldwin frowned.

      “This is my county, and I need to know why someone shot at a woman and a baby as they were leaving this wreck, understand?”

      Gleason thought about it a moment and then decided he could let Baldwin in on this...to a degree.

      “My agents had taken the woman and her baby into protective custody and were on their way to a pickup site. When they didn’t arrive as scheduled, we started looking for them and found this. We assumed Baba took them back, but if you’ve got a witness on the scene who has the baby, then maybe there’s still a chance to save him. We have to get to the kid before Baba does or he’ll take that woman out for sure. For all we know, she may already be dead.”

      “Bad deal all around,” Baldwin said. “You need to call the Homicide Division at the Vegas police department. They’ll be able to fill you in with the details on the witness.”

      Gleason was already on the phone to the Las Vegas police as the sheriff and his deputies drove away, but Baldwin wasn’t upset about losing this one to the Feds. He and his men had dodged a bullet by not being in charge of that crime scene. The last thing he wanted to do was start digging into the business dealings of Anton Baba.

      * * *

      Detective Saldano was in the hospital lobby getting an update from Summers.

      “We’ve been contacted by the FBI regarding the woman and kid. This whole incident has taken on a darker, more dangerous aspect.”

      “How so?” Nick asked.

      “Anton Baba is the father of the baby. They don’t know where the mother is for sure, but they assume she’s back in Baba’s possession. The two victims in the car fire were Feds, and the FBI has taken over the crime scene and the case.”

      “Holy shit,” Nick muttered.

      “Exactly. The Feds already took possession of the child from Social Services and are actively looking for the mother.”

      “What about the biker who found the kid? The one who was shot?” Nick asked. “Are they going to protect her, too?”

      “They say they will interview her when she is able to be interviewed. If she has nothing new to add to their case, they’re cutting her loose.”

      Nick frowned.

      “Baba won’t be that generous,” Nick said. “Her life is in danger, sir.”

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