Hill Country Holdup. Angi Morgan

now. Bringing the illuminated diving compass closer to her goggles, she cautiously surfaced at the instructed coordinates. Exploding fireworks cast enough flickering light to see a black-clad figure steering a small rowboat about fifteen feet away.

      A man wearing a pull-on President Clinton mask hauled her over the side. She wasn’t seated properly before he threw a towel in her direction and wrenched the heavy bag from her back. His deranged laughter made her spine shudder.

      “I don’t care what the money is for, it doesn’t matter. Just don’t hurt Rory. I’ll do anything to get my son back.” Anything.

      “Clinton” ignored her plea and threw a lumpy grocery sack at her feet. Huddling under the dark towel, she pulled yet another tight stretchy shirt over her head. For the second phase in this nightmare to work, she needed to appear dry while driving away.

      Separate yourself from the emotion, Jane. Her mother’s voice rang clear. Panic never resolved anything. The one time she’d thrown caution to the wind, her sense of freedom had left her pregnant and raising a child alone.

      She ignored the putrid pond stench and the rubbery feeling in her legs from swimming the race of her life. Once they reached shore, her captor held a Glock in his gloved hand. There weren’t too many people on this side of the lake by the parking garage. None close enough to notice her or the man in the Clinton mask.

      Now that they had what they wanted, she assumed the gunman wouldn’t hesitate to shoot. So she obeyed her instructions by not calling out for help or drawing attention to herself.

      They climbed over a half wall that formed the ground floor of a dimly lit parking garage. A car sat three spaces from the exit.

      Judging from the vivid colors bursting in the sky and the John Philip Sousa melody echoing across the lake, the program had reached its finale. She needed to be in traffic when the fireworks ended.

      “Clinton” tossed her the keys. Without a grunt in her direction, the guy took off. She had no idea what he looked like. She couldn’t identify anything about him except his average height and slender build.

      Helpless.

      That summed everything up. She couldn’t prove anything, give the police anything to go on, or assist in any way. The creep hadn’t even spoken to her. The abductors’ instructions were burned into her memory.

      She popped the trunk and settled a long blond wig complete with dark roots onto her head. The walk alongside the car took a minute with new bright orange flip-flops on her feet. She pulled the seat forward as others began loading their cars with lounge chairs and coolers.

      Adjusting the mirrors, she tried to achieve a bored look, and desperately tried to slow the beat of her heart. No use. She pulled out of the Omni Hotel’s garage. Despite her best efforts, her protective bubble of self-control lay close to shattering. Willpower alone kept her alert, despite appearing relaxed behind the steering wheel. Her insides churned as if she were the contents of a giant milkshake.

      The stream of automobiles thickened. She passed policeman after policeman directing traffic. The urge to scream for help grew until she had to cover her mouth with a shaking hand.

      The cars came to a complete stop in all directions, and an ambulance siren screamed through the intersection. Guilt rattled her, creating another crack in her discipline. Steve. They must be moving him to a hospital, but he’d be okay. He had to be okay.

      Breathe in. Breathe out. Hold on to the steering wheel. Follow directions. She steadily moved her hands to a ten-and-two position on the hard cool plastic.

      Everything will work out. Follow the plan.

      With or without Steve’s help identifying her, the FBI would connect the antidote to Dr. Jane Palmer, research scientist. During the past two days, she hadn’t been given an opportunity to contact the police or Steve. Now she was a fugitive, part of the kidnappers’ plan. If she called anyone for help, she couldn’t save Rory.

      Every person she knew would be interrogated. Her home would be invaded, and everything she owned would be searched. They’d find the book. Now that Steve was part of this, there was a good chance they’d understand the clue that much sooner.

      Please God. Bring my little boy back to me. She prayed over and over and over.

      Heading westbound on Highway 114, she eased her foot off the accelerator as she passed a black-and-white. The lake house would be there no matter how fast she drove.

      “You have to pull through this, Steve. We need your help.”

      THREE HOURS IN THE HOSPITAL and still no one knew what had happened to him. He’d been informed they’d found another antidote vial locked in a safe at her apartment. Antidote for what? Everyone wanted to know but Jane held all the answers. It was her serum.

      Determined to leave, he’d forced his doctor to admit that nothing was seriously wrong with him. He pulled his shirt over his head just as George came through the curtains.

      “Has the Brant kid shown?”

      “We lost her.” His partner dropped his eyes to the floor and shook his head.

      “You’ve got a team finding out where she’s working?” he asked and tucked his shirt into his jeans.

      “You ordered that as soon as you could talk.” George frowned and scratched his scalp. “Of course, we followed through. We know she rented a car yesterday.”

      Steve slipped his left foot into a boot and bent to pull it on. He nearly lost what little was left in his stomach but wasn’t sharing that bit of info with anyone. He wanted out of the hospital and on the trail of the kidnappers. And Jane.

      He pulled on the second boot and sat straight again, forcing a shaky hand to smooth back his hair before he slipped on his Stetson.

      “Palmer sure caught us with our pants down,” George said. “It was like she knew we were shorthanded.”

      “Maybe. But…” He couldn’t believe it. Jane wasn’t a kidnapper.

      “But?”

      But with a stick from her needle, she’d paralyzed him and left. What should he believe? “Just find her.”

      “I’m driving you home.” George dug his hands into his jeans pockets and shifted from foot to foot. “Come on, Steve. We’ve got this covered.”

      “I know Jane Palmer.”

      “You didn’t even know she was back in town, man. According to the landlord, she’s been here six weeks.”

      No, he hadn’t known she was back. And he didn’t know where she lived, but he did know Jane. He knew every inch of her body, every inch of her soul. She couldn’t be a part of the kidnapping. But she had to be since she’d picked up the ransom. He had very little time to determine why.

      The doctor warned him to take it easy for the next several days as he left the hospital. As if he actually would. A kid was still missing. And his ex-lover was climbing the FBI’s most wanted list.

      George punched the unlock button for the F150. “I can’t take you anywhere but home, Steve. Orders.”

      “Who’s in charge?” He climbed in, still stiff from the drug.

      “McCaffrey. He knows about your history with Jane. You’re on official medical leave until they know exactly what that serum did to you. Among other unanswered questions.”

      Like how he was involved. “Are they through at her apartment?”

      “Don’t do this to yourself, man.”

      “What would you do?” He yanked the Stetson to his lap and rested his throbbing head against the seat.

      “She left you, Steve. She packed up and moved after two words—good and bye.”

      George started the engine. A light rain distorted the on-coming headlights. Steve leaned his aching