As he fell into the flow of the traffic on the Poplar Street Bridge over the Mississippi River, he ground his teeth together. The small jet the U.S. Marshals used to transport witnesses wasn’t flying out of the main St. Louis airport, which he prayed would help his chances to get Saunders to the plane without further incident before the big ice and snow storm hit St. Louis full force.
But if someone was watching the four bridges over the river near St. Louis, he could be driving into a trap. No amount of zigzagging through the streets of the city would change the fact that there were ultimately only a few ways to the airport on the Illinois side of the Mississippi. That was if they knew they weren’t using the Lambert–St. Louis International Airport.
In the rearview mirror he caught sight of the top of a white truck back five cars. Could it be the same one that had smashed into his SUV? He couldn’t take the chance. Pushing his foot down on the accelerator, he changed lanes as he neared the Illinois side of the river.
“We may have a tail,” Colton told Parker.
The other marshal pushed Saunders down again, but not without grumbling from the witness. Some people didn’t appreciate the efforts the U.S. Marshals Service went through to protect them.
The most direct route to the airport from their position was taking Highway 3. Colton approached the exit. The white truck switched to the same lane. At the last second Colton changed his mind, zipping over the rougher pavement back into the stream of cars to take another exit farther down the road. A few horns honked. He increased his speed, putting as much distance between him and the white truck.
“What are you doing? Are you trying to get us killed?” His face beet red, Saunders straightened to look out the back window.
“Calm down. I know what I’m doing.” Colton glimpsed the ashen cast to his partner’s face.
“You do?” Saunders asked as Parker again pushed the man down on the seat. “Don’t look like it to me. One second you’re going off the highway. The next not.”
“I took lessons to learn to drive this way.”
Saunders harrumphed while Parker laughed, switching his attention between the witness and the traffic behind them. Although glad to have help in keeping an eye on the vehicles around them, Colton didn’t drop his own alertness. At least on the east side of the Mississippi River the roads weren’t as icy since the cold front just started to blow through the area—possibly giving him enough time to get to the plane before the airport shut down.
Lord, give me the patience to deal with this witness. He’s going to test what little I have.
Again Colton proceeded toward an exit, but this time he took it at fifteen miles over the speed limit. He checked his rearview mirror. No white truck. He blew a long breath out slowly. They weren’t safe yet. In his mind he pulled up the map he’d studied and began crisscrossing his way toward the west and the airport, coming in a back way.
His car phone rang with a call from Marshal McCall. He punched it on.
“The police rounded up the three guys involved in the accident. They’ve been taken in for questioning. We don’t know if it was intentional or not. They say no, but then that’s to be expected. Keep your eyes alert. There could be someone else in case those three failed.”
“Assume the worst?”
“You’ve got it. Are you at the airport yet?” Josh asked.
“Almost. We had to take a detour. I thought I saw the truck behind me on the highway. I guess I didn’t.”
“Detour? Where? We’re on Highway 3 right now, nearing the exit for the airport.”
“We’re coming in from the other side. Maybe five minutes away. Let them know at the airport.” If all goes well.
A heavy sigh came through the connection. No doubt Josh McCall wasn’t too happy he’d changed the plans without telling him, but Colton had been busy driving in icy conditions.
“See you at the plane.” The tightness in the St. Louis–based U.S. Marshal’s voice expressed his irritation.
The dark gray clouds raced toward them. Rain splattered the windshield with ice increasingly pelting against the glass. Colton floored the accelerator as much as he dared, only slowing down when he had to make a turn into the airport.
Colton kept his focus on the U.S. Marshals Service’s jet parked near a hangar and took the SUV across the fields between runways where the terrain was rough, easier to drive on with ice. He hit a hole in the ground and bounced up, thumping his head on the car’s roof. Saunders grunted and spewed a few more curses.
The jet was only another hundred yards away. Once he got Saunders on the plane he could relax, at least until they reached Denver. Then the real work began: getting more useful information from Don Saunders. What they did with it would depend on if those three guys were after Saunders.
Parking near the steps into the jet, Colton threw a glance over his shoulder as he saw the lead SUV heading for them. “Let’s get him inside.”
He came around to open the back door while Parker moved across the seat and followed Saunders out of the vehicle. As Colton kept watch, Parker hurried their witness onto the jet.
Marshal McCall and his partner, Serena Summers, exited their car and made their way over to Colton. From the body language pouring off the woman whenever she and Josh were together, Colton wondered about how well the pairing of those two marshals was going.
His brown eyes diamond hard, Josh got in Colton’s face. “Your risky driving and going off on your own could have resulted in someone getting killed.”
He held his ground and tapped down his anger, saying in a controlled voice, “It didn’t and it could have possibly saved our witness’s life if that was a planned accident. Sometimes we can’t stick around and ask those questions. Our witness is here and safe.” With a smile, he nodded toward Serena, a beautiful woman with long brown hair and a look of sadness in her eyes, no doubt from the death of her brother, Daniel, Josh’s partner. “Now if you’ll excuse me, we need to get out of here while we still can.”
As Colton mounted the steps to the jet, his shoulders sagged with weariness, the adrenaline rush subsiding. And this was just the beginning of his part in the case.
* * *
FBI Agent Lisette Sutton entered the Supervisory U.S. Marshal Tyler Benson’s office in Denver, and two men rose. She supposed the taller one of the pair, standing in front of the oak desk must be U.S. Deputy Marshal Colton Phillips, the person she would be teamed with in this case involving child smuggling and baby brokering across state lines. She shook his hand first, then the marshal’s behind the desk.
“I’ve been assigned to work the Saunders case with you.” From growing up in New Orleans, it had taken her years to drop the y’all from her speech. Outside of the South, she found that the word didn’t sound businesslike—too casual—and she was determined to make it in an occupation still dominated by men.
“Have a seat, Agent Sutton. Your boss called me half an hour ago.” U.S. Marshal Benson gestured toward the chair next to her new partner.
As she took the seat, she slid a glance toward U.S. Marshal Phillips, quickly assessing his medium-length dirty-blond hair and strong profile. He swung his gaze toward her and locked on to hers. His startlingly blue eyes fringed in long lashes caught hold of her, and for a moment she couldn’t look away. His eyes were intense. Focused. Assessing her as she had him. Her stomach fluttered. Slowly one corner of his mouth tilted up, and he glanced away. Surprised by her momentary reaction to Colton, Lisette centered her full concentration on Benson, resolved not to let anything or anyone divert her from the job to be done.
“From what Don Saunders has given us so far, we’re dealing with a black-market baby adoption ring that covers a good part of the United States, possibly