Ransom. Terri Reed

before sidestepping, but they followed her move and blocked her exit.

      Irritated by the rude behavior, she ground out, “Excuse me.”

      “Elizabeth Cantrell?”

      The deep, smooth voice that hinted at an American Southern drawl stopped her in her tracks. Her attention snapped to the men. How did they know her name?

      Both men were tall, broad-shouldered and handsome, yet very different. One had jet-black hair and looked to be of Native American descent. His warm brown eyes regarded her with curiosity. He was dressed in jeans, a warm winter jacket and boots still dusted with snow.

      However, the other man’s obsidian gaze wasn’t warm or curious. He stared at her with such accusation that she took a step back. He wore a wool trench coat buttoned all the way up to the collar and black slacks and black shoes that didn’t look nearly warm enough for the weather. His dark brown hair was short and tousled, as if he’d run his fingers through the strands several times. If she weren’t so freaked out, she’d have found him handsome, but at the moment all she felt was annoyed and scared and intimidated. A combination that made her body tense.

      “I’m Liz Cantrell. What do you want?” She hated that her voice trembled. Were these men sent from the man who had her sister? But how would the man know which plane she was on? A creeping sensation skated over her neck. She was being watched?

      The man with curious eyes said softly, “Canada Border Services, ma’am.”

      What? A panicked flutter started low in her tummy.

      “US federal agent,” the other said in a low tone. “Come with us.”

      Neither man wore any identifying logos. Caution told her not to trust them. Wariness crept into her voice. “How do I know you’re telling me the truth?”

      The federal agent pushed aside his coat just far enough to reveal his gold shield. Then he slid his coat back into place.

      A fresh wave of panic washed over her. These men were law enforcement. She couldn’t go with them. To do so would jeopardize her sister’s life. The man on the phone had told her not to involve the police or he’d kill Jillian and Travis.

      She searched for an exit but realized the men had boxed her in. Even if she attempted to run, she wouldn’t get very far and would only draw attention to herself. To them. What did they want with her? “Why? I haven’t done anything wrong.”

      The two men shared a glance, then the federal agent stepped to her side and gripped her by the elbow. His big hand was firm but gentle. His woodsy scent surrounded her in such contrast to his cold and accusing demeanor.

      “This way, Miss Cantrell,” the CBS officer said.

      Despite not wanting to attract attention, every instinct in her screamed she shouldn’t acquiesce. The man on the phone had told her no police. But these men couldn’t know that. And if they knew she had been on this flight, then that meant the kidnapper could also have eyes on her.

      “Please, you have to let me go.” She dug in her heels but couldn’t keep the two men from surreptitiously forcing her to move forward.

      “Wait.” Her voice rose. She winced. It wouldn’t do to show her panic. She collected herself and continued in a hiss, “Where are you taking me?”

      They ignored her question and led her away from curious gazes and through a door discreetly situated behind a kiosk. They went down a long hallway. Terror gripped her. Where were they taking her? What would they do with her? To her? What would happen to Jillian? She sent up a silent plea to God for help.

      She struggled to free herself but her captors wouldn’t let go. The long corridor seemed endless. The tight wall too close. Another door was pushed open, and she was thrust inside a small room that held a metal table and two chairs on either side. High in the corner a red light blinked on a camera. She was in an interrogation room, one like she’d seen on countless television shows.

      A ripple of anxiety coursed through her veins, making her blood turn to ice. Why were they detaining her? How long would this take? What if the man holding her sister hostage found out? What if they took the ransom?

      “We’ll be right with you,” the CBS officer said before shutting the door and locking her inside.

      The faint smell of antibacterial cleaner burned her nostrils. She hated to contemplate the many germs that had contaminated the room. It wasn’t that she was a germophobe per se. But she couldn’t afford to catch a sickness now. Not when her sister’s life was in jeopardy.

      Hysteria bubbled up at the ridiculous direction her brain went. A coping mechanism? The walls closed in on her making her skin crawl with desperation.

      Frantic to escape, she looked for a possible exit besides the locked door. A window high in the wall was the only possibility. Pulling her jacket sleeves over her hands for protection against picking up bacteria or a virus, she tugged at the table but it wouldn’t budge. The feet had been bolted to the floor. Using the sleeve of her jacket, she dragged the chair over to the wall below the window and stepped up. Unfortunately, she still couldn’t reach the window. So much for escaping. She pounded a fist against the wall, the pain barely registering in her desperate mind.

      She jumped down and wedged herself into the corner. Wrapping her arms around her middle, she prayed with everything in her. She’d been entrusted by their father to keep her sister out of trouble. She hadn’t done a very good job this time. Thinking back over the many times Liz had had to bail Jillian out of one scrape or another made this latest folly that much worse. Jillian was an adult, but her judgment and maturity hadn’t caught up to the number of candles on her last birthday cake.

      Dad would be so disappointed. But Liz solemnly vowed to her father’s memory that she would do whatever it took to save her sister.

      * * *

      US Immigration and Customs Enforcement agent Blake Fallon watched the woman on the video screen. Elizabeth Cantrell. Or Liz, as she’d been clear to correct him.

      Her DMV picture didn’t do her justice. Her honey-colored hair draped loosely about her shoulders, and her thick-lashed blue-green eyes reminded him of the Caribbean. The puffy, knee-length jacket hid her figure except for slender, jean-encased legs. The red color of her outerwear highlighted the pink in her cheeks.

      His lips had twitched when she’d tried to reach the window. Good for her for at least trying. She was going to need to be brave and brash for what he had planned. He hoped she had the mental and physical mettle to help him bring down an international criminal.

      “Here we go,” Canada Border Service officer Nathanial Longhorn said as he entered the room.

      Blake and Nathanial served together on one of many joint teams consisting of various law enforcement agencies between the United States and Canada called Integrated Border Enhancement Teams—IBETs for short. Other members of their team were working to find the illegal contraband smuggler Idris Santini’s far-flung bases of operation in Canada, the United States and Venezuela.

      Santini was like a cloud of smoke, visible one moment, then disappearing the next. But now Blake had a viable lead. A way of drawing Santini out into the open where Blake and his team would snag him in a tight net, like the dangerous critter he was. But to do so, Blake would need Liz’s cooperation. He’d get it by any means possible.

      Nathanial lugged Miss Cantrell’s suitcase onto the table next to the video feed and popped open the lid. Nestled inside between Liz’s clothing was a small wooden jewelry box. Roses and a hummingbird decorated the lid and sides. It was delicate and appeared old. A family heirloom?

      So far Blake’s information from his confidential informant inside the Santini organization had proved correct—a woman named Elizabeth Cantrell was planning to bring contraband for Santini into Canada via the border crossing in Buffalo, New York.

      Blake snagged the jewelry box and lifted the lid. The rough stone necklace he’d been told about lay at the bottom of the box. He breathed