Hunted (FBI Heat Book 1) by Marissa Garner Page A

Would you—”
    “Yes.”
    He laughed. “Sounds like you’re as eager to get back to where we left off as I am.”
    Down, girl, down.
“Maybe.”
    Ben snorted. “Coy doesn’t suit you. Look, I gotta go. I’ll call tomorrow, and we can make plans.”
    After disconnecting, Amber couldn’t stop smiling. The surge of anticipation sent her off to recruit Adam’s help. She found him in the employee lounge, clocking out.
    “Hey, Adam. Got any special plans for this weekend?”
    “As a matter of fact, I do. My girlfriend and I are leaving early tomorrow morning to spend the day in Venice Beach. Then we have tickets for a concert at seven in LA. We might even spend the night up there instead of driving home. Have you got something planned?”
    She sighed. “I did, but my plans fell through.”
    * * *
    Ben watched as the guards, johns, and hookers were taken into custody and transported away. He’d worked the raid on the downtown location and then hightailed it to Fallbrook to witness the wrap-up of this one. Just like the previous operations, tonight’s had done a lot of good—getting guards and johns off the streets and freeing enslaved women—but they hadn’t achieved the goal of finding Maria and the others. Again, no one recognized any of their pictures.
    If they hadn’t been integrated into H’s whorehouses in San Diego County, had they been shipped out of the area? If so, the chances of finding them diminished exponentially. Damn, he hated the thought of making another disappointing call to Pedro in the morning.
    Another disappointment had been his informant’s intel or lack thereof.
Selling babies? Stud service?
None of it made any sense. And a link to the missing women seemed improbable.
    Ben settled in for the long drive back to Coronado. Late Friday night traffic this far out from the city wasn’t a problem, so he drove mostly on autopilot as his brain wrestled with the investigation.
    Hermosillo believed in a fast buck. He’d steal babies to sell; he wouldn’t have his minions impregnate women to create inventory. Remembering Staci’s comment, he shuddered at the disgusting thought. Besides, there were legitimate surrogate agencies—like Amber’s employer—to help couples who couldn’t produce their own babies.
    Surrogacy? Five young women.
Could there be a connection? He frowned.
    Ben didn’t know much about the surrogate mother industry, but it made sense that full payment by the parents wouldn’t be made until delivery—no pun intended. H dealt in quick cash flow. He’d never wait nine months for his money. And a woman could only give birth once a year, so inventory turnover would be equally slow. In addition, pregnant women required medical care. They might be able to double as hookers for the first few months, but once the baby bump appeared, not many johns would be interested.
Nah, none of it sounds like H’s style.
    Manuel needed to dig deeper for his
dinero
. If H did, in fact, have a new business, the information had to be available somehow, somewhere. The lazy informant might have to take a few risks for once.
    As the BMW sped across the bridge, Ben’s gaze panned to the Coronado Beach apartments on the shore of the bay. Too late to see Amber tonight, but tomorrow, he planned for them to spend several hours together. Maybe they could hang out at the beach, cruise the Gaslamp Quarter, or take in a movie. A romantic dinner seemed appropriate. And if they ended up in bed together at the end of the day, he’d be a happy man.
    A white Jeep Cherokee barreled out of the complex driveway just as Ben prepared to turn in. He slammed on the brakes. While the vehicle sped away, he zeroed in on the license plate, managing to catch four digits. In the dark, he couldn’t make out the state or design, but the colors were wrong to be a California plate. Not unusual, since out-of-state licenses were common in the San Diego area because military personnel stationed at the numerous bases and