Chapter One

Presley Nolan stared at the bloody shirt in the clear plastic evidence bag on his boss' desk. It was a women's size small, sleeveless, and yellow silk. Or rather, it had once been yellow.

Now, the predominate color was rusty red dried blood.

And there was a jagged rip in the fabric near the neckline.

Those were attention-getters, all right. Then again, so was the sticky note attached to the top that had only three words written on it.

From the hostage .

Yeah, hostage was a gut-punching word, but coupled with the blood and what appeared to be that knife slash on the fabric, this looked damn bad.

Normally, a kidnapper allowed some time for his or her demands to be met before inflicting any kind of injury or violence. Then again, the violence could have happened during the abduction. In his experience, most hostages fought back and resisted if they could.

"A courier delivered the top about forty-five minutes ago," his boss, Ruby Maverick, explained.

Presley yanked his attention from the top and toward Ruby. "Delivered it here at headquarters?" he asked.

Ruby, who commanded a room just by walking into it, or breathing, nodded.

"Ballsy," he grumbled.

Maverick Ops was the elite security team in central Texas, and it was indeed a bold move for a kidnapper to drop off something like that right on their doorstep.

Or rather hire someone to do it.

"A courier brought it?" Presley guessed.

"Yes, and while the cops are still interviewing him, he doesn't appear to have any connection to the hostage, Victoria Wessington. Report on screen," Ruby ordered her AI app that controlled all the tech bells and whistles in her office.

A blonde-haired woman's image popped onto the wall monitor. Victoria Wessington, no doubt.

"Approximately four hours ago at eight AM, Mrs. Wessington was abducted from the parking lot of her downtown office in San Antonio," Ruby explained. "She runs two foundations and was the only one in the private parking lot at the time. According to her assistant, she'd gone in early to catch up on some work. That was her routine for a Monday morning."

So, the kidnappers would have known she would likely be there. Later, Presley would want to know the names of anyone aware of Mrs. Wessington's routine or schedule, but he held back questions and let Ruby continue with the briefing.

"The security and nearby traffic cams were jammed," Ruby informed him, "but according to an eyewitness who was across the street, two men wearing balaclavas dragged Mrs. Wessington from her office and threw her into a black van. The witness didn't get the license plate number but did call the police. By the time they arrived, the van was nowhere in sight."

When Ruby finished, Victoria Wessington's background info began to scroll across the monitor beneath her photo.

"Aged fifty-two, no criminal record," he read aloud. "No bio offspring but the stepmother of two adult kids. Married for twenty-eight years to…" Presley stopped because he suddenly saw the reason for the kidnapping. "Jesep Wessington, aged sixty-nine, real estate mogul and owner of Wessington Diamonds."

Ruby made a sound of agreement. "He's reported to be worth about fifty million, along with being the main supplier of diamonds to the state. Victoria has her own wealth though, since she's the sole heir to her late parents' global export business."

"Yeah, that'll do it." Those were a lot of reasons for a kidnapper to target the woman.

But it didn't explain why Ruby had called him in. Or why there were two cops standing at the back of Ruby's office. Ruby had introduced them as Detectives Albert Delaney and Seth Martinez.

Before signing on at Maverick Ops, Presley had done a stint in military special forces and had then been a cop at San Antonio PD, and while these two were vaguely familiar, he didn't personally know them. Nor had Presley questioned them—because after Ruby had made the introductions, the bloody top had snagged his attention.

"This arrived with the blouse," Ruby went on. She motioned toward the sheet of paper beside it that had also been sealed in a San Antonio PD plastic evidence bag.

Unlike the sticky note, there were more than three words, and they were hand scrawled in block letters.

"Victoria Wessington's right index finger will arrive if demands are not met in a timely fashion," Presley read aloud. "After that, who knows what kind of dirty, ugly things will happen to her. My advice? Meet the demands."

"What a cocky piece of shit," Presley muttered, looking at Ruby. "And the demands?"

"That came in the form of a phone call about five minutes after the blouse and letter arrived," Ruby explained.

Judging from the timing, that would have been shortly before Ruby had contacted him and asked him to come to her office right away.

"Jesep Wessington wants me to rescue the hostage?" he came out and asked. "Why me and not the cops?"

"Because the kidnappers demanded you do it," Ruby said.

Well, shit on a stick. That was another gut punch.

Presley shook his head. "I don't know anyone in the Wessington family, so why me?"

"Not just you," Ruby muttered, and she gave a voice command to play the recorded call.

Seconds later, the mechanically altered voice poured through the room. It sounded like something straight out of a cheesy cartoon.

"Presley Nolan and former Lieutenant Billie Cooper will deliver the ransom of the diamonds known as the Marbury collection at a time and location to be specified in the next communication."

"Billie," Presley grumbled.

Now, that was a name he had no trouble recognizing. Once, she'd been his boss at San Antonio PD, but now she worked for Ruby's main competition, Strike Force.

"Hell," he added.

Ruby studied him. "Billie should be here any moment. Do you have a problem working with her?"

"No," he was quick to say.

Did he?

Maybe he did.

Though he damn sure shouldn't. This was the job, and personal crap had to be shoved aside.

But thankfully, Presley didn't voice all the waffling that was now going on in his head about Billie Cooper. They'd certainly worked together before, on a few high-profile cases, but that wasn't what was front and center right now.

It was the last time he'd seen her.

The incident .

Something he'd been trying damn hard to forget.

Now, he was not only going to have to face that incident, but he would also need to figure out why the hell the kidnappers had requested the two of them. That meant going through all those old cases.

And their personal lives.

Going through everything because requesting them could be key to identifying the kidnappers.

Well, maybe.

It was also possible the request was a smokescreen to throw them off a scent. Often situations like this involved family members.

"Where's Mrs. Wessington's husband?" Presley asked. "I'm guessing he knows about this?"

"He knows." That response came from Martinez. "He's opted to stay at his estate on the west side of San Antonio and wait for further instructions."

Presley stared at him. "Is he a suspect?"

"Not at the moment." It was the second cop who answered that time. "But we're looking."

"Yeah, I'll bet you are," Presley muttered. "What's the Marbury collection of diamonds?" he asked, directing that at Ruby.

She put a picture on the monitor of about a dozen diamonds. "Value is about six million. Wessington doesn't own them. They belong to a group of investors who turned them over to Wessington's people so they could be appraised and then resold."

So, it sounded as if Wessington was simply the middle man on this. Did that mean anything in the grand scheme of this kidnapping? Maybe.

Presley shifted to the cops. "Is Wessington onboard with paying the ransom?"

"Not exactly," Martinez said.

Presley huffed. "Let me guess. He wants to substitute fakes or inferior stones to try to fool the kidnappers?"

Martinez nodded. "Mr. Wessington has expressed his hope that you'll be able to rescue his wife and that handing over the decoy diamonds won't be necessary."

"That's a good hope," Presley said, the sarcasm dripping. "It could get his wife killed."

He might have had a whole bunch to say about that if there hadn't been a knock at the door.

"Come in," Ruby said.

The door opened, and there she was. Billie Cooper. Even though Presley had already steeled himself up to see her, he clearly hadn't done enough in that particular department.

As usual, she got to him.

Billie was a blast from the past. A trip down memory lane and a pain in his ass all rolled into one. Yeah, she got to him all right because even after the shitstorm two years ago, the heat was still there, waiting to strike and send their lives to hell in a fast-moving handbasket.

"Presley," she said, his name seeping out of her mouth along with a stream of breath. Apparently, she hadn't done enough steeling up either.

She was tall, only three inches shorter than his six foot two height, and while she had a wiry build, she also looked tough.

And he knew she could be.

He hadn't seen her in two years, since that shitstorm, and there had been some changes. Her shoulder-length brown hair was now cut in a short, choppy, couldn't care less kind of way that suited more than the polished style of her lieutenant days. It framed that amazing face.

And a black eye.

"I, uh, had a few problems with a noncustodial ex who was trying to take his kids," she muttered when she saw him studying her. She turned to Ruby. "Billie Cooper."

"Ruby Maverick."

She nodded. "My boss speaks well of you."

Ruby smirked. "Yes, I'll bet he does." Apparently, it was the day for sarcasm since Ruby's comment was doused in it. "Your boss has briefed you on what's happening?"

"He did on my drive over. Victoria Wessington has been kidnapped, and Presley and I are supposed to do the exchange. Why us?" she asked, volleying glances at everyone in the room.

"We don't know yet," Ruby informed her. "But my techs are going through all the cases where Presley and you worked together to see if there are any red flags. I understand that the two of you never worked a kidnapping case together?"

Billie shook her head. "Not directly. We were homicide. The one and only time I recall us getting involved in something like that was when things went south and the hostage was killed."

"Yes, that investigation is being looked at," Ruby assured her.

Presley didn't have to any looking to recall the details. It was the case that had started the shitstorm, and it had ended with a woman dead. And Billie and him in bed for what he supposed was comfort sex.

There hadn't been a whole lot of comforting involved.

And afterward, there'd been a hell of a lot of payback.

Within an hour after she'd left his bed, and him, Billie had resigned from SAPD because, hey, sleeping with a subordinate was an unforgivable no-no in her book. A few weeks later, Presley had turned in his badge as well and had ended up leaving to work for Ruby.

Yeah, indeed a shitstorm.

Billie nodded a greeting to the two cops and then made her way to the evidence bags on the desk. Presley stepped back to clear the path for her, but he wasn't fast enough. Her arm brushed against his. Just a brush.

He noticed.

So did she.

And while Billie didn't mutter any profanity, he could sure see it in her gray eyes. Eyes that she quickly pinned on the top.

"The blood's been tested?" Billie asked with her attention still on the evidence bag.

"It has been," Ruby verified. "It's Mrs. Wessington's. Her DNA was on file because she was a bone marrow donor a few years back. Do you know any of the Wessingtons?" Ruby asked.

Billie nodded. "I met her stepson, Ari, when he came to Strike Force to have us try to retrieve some stolen merchandise. We didn't take the assignment though because…" She stopped, her mouth tightening as if she'd just tasted something very sour. "Because Ari said he preferred to have a man on the job."

The two women exchanged a heard that before look.

"My boss turned down the request and advised Ari to go elsewhere," Billie tacked onto that.

Presley didn't personally know her boss, Owen Striker, but the guy just went up a couple of notches in his book.

So, Ari Wessington had a problem with women. Did that include his stepmother? Again, that was something Presley would need to find out.

The landline on Ruby's desk rang, the sound shooting through the room. "It's the kidnappers," she said, glancing at the screen where Unknown Caller was displayed. She gave the verbal command to record the call, and she put it on speaker before she answered.

Once again, Presley heard the same mechanical voice from the previous call. "It's showtime," the cocky asshole said.

"We require proof of life before any exchange is made," Ruby interjected.

"Yes, I figured you'd want that. Scream for them, sweetheart."

It didn't take long. Seconds. Before Presley heard the shriek of what he was pretty sure was fueled by pain. It echoed through the room, and happened just as Ruby got a text.

Ruby muttered something he didn't catch and ordered the photo she'd just gotten on the monitor. Even though the woman was gagged, her face bloodied and bruised, and her hair a tangled mess, Presley could see enough of the hostage's features.

This was indeed Victoria.

Alive.

But nowhere near well.

The photo would be examined for any clues as to her location, but with what appeared to be a white sheet as a backdrop, Presley wasn't holding out much hope for that.

"Mrs. Wessington is obviously having a bad day," the kidnapper joked. "Come and get 'er, and don't forget to come alone, just the two of you, and bring the goodies. Bring them to the Sanderson family park."

"Sonofabitch," Presley grumbled under his breath while Billie muttered a "Damn it."

It was a sunny, warm October day, and that park would no doubt be jammed with families and kids. Added to that, it was in the city center, a good twenty minutes from where they were now, and they'd have to pick up the fake diamonds first. Along with working out a plan to keep bystanders from getting caught up in this.

"Presley and Billie," the voice continued. "Tread carefully. Wouldn't want another hostage dying on your watch, would you?"

Billie and he repeated their profanity and exchanged a look. No words passed between them, but Presley knew what she had to be thinking; this was somehow linked to that last case they'd worked together.

"Try to keep everybody alive this time," the voice taunted.

The tone had changed. It was still that cartoony crap, but Presley heard the dangerous edge to it. Then, he heard the next to impossible condition for Billie and him to save Victoria Wessington.

"You've got thirty minutes," the voice said. "Get here by then, or bring a trash bag to pick up the bloody pieces of her."

And the woman screamed in agony again as the call ended.