Just Olivia.

Dear God, the thought that she might even now be in the hands of a murderer…Fear gnawed at his gut but somehow he was able to keep up the conversation with his daughter. After hanging up, he made another quick call. This time to the airlines. He was connected to a representative and, after arguing about legalities, the rep told him that Olivia had been on the flight and that the plane had touched down hours ago, which only confirmed what he’d already known as he talked to her. The airline had no more information for him.

She’d gone missing between LAX and here.

“The airport has security cameras,” Bentz told the other detectives. “Cameras at the door and at baggage claim. I want to see the tapes.”

“We’ll get ’em. If we don’t locate Petrocelli,” Hayes agreed.

Bentz didn’t know if he could stand the waiting. He didn’t like this, didn’t like the feeling. He’d experienced it too many times in his life before, when someone he loved was in danger. This wasn’t the first time he’d been worried sick over Olivia’s fate. He couldn’t let anything happen to her. Couldn’t.

And he couldn’t sit around here, waiting for other people to call the shots. “Come on,” he told Hayes. “We need to have a chat with Yolanda Salazar.”

“I’m way ahead of you. Already working on a warrant. But you’re not talking to anyone. This is our case, and you have a personal ax to grind.”

“You bet I do. My wife is missing!”

“I’m talking about the shooting, Bentz. The department settled with the Valdez family, but I don’t think it would be wise for you to get into it with them. In fact, I don’t want them to know you’re a part of this. At least until we know where we stand. If you go on the interview, you’re a bystander. Lucky to be going along. You know the rules; you just need to play by them.”

“Your rules.”

“Shit, man, I’m glad to have you ride along, but it’s my jurisdiction. My case. You’re right. My rules.” He stared long and hard at Bentz. “Now, are you going to ride with me or not?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Bentz said sarcastically.

He tried like hell to stay calm, not go to the worst case scenario, but he was worried as he climbed into the backseat of the 4Runner, with Hayes driving and Martinez riding shotgun.

He checked again: No phone call. No text. Nothing. He tried to make sense of the events of the afternoon and failed. “Any prints or evidence found in the silver Chevy?” he asked.

“We don’t know yet,” Martinez admitted.

How the hell had Fortuna Esperanzo ended up in the Pacific Ocean, so close to Devil’s Caldron? In his mind’s eye he witnessed Jennifer jump. And then again. And again. Leaping from the railing, soaring into the air, vanishing from view. How was that possible?

He tried to imagine scenarios that might solve that mystery, if only to distract himself from the one question that thrummed through his body with every beat of his heart.

Where the hell was Olivia?

Exhausted, Olivia could barely move.

And she was scared to death as she lay in a dark, smelly enclosure, a cage deep inside a boat of some kind.

This madwoman Petrocelli, or whatever her name was, intended to kill her. Because she was married to Rick. That’s why the other women were dead; because they’d known her husband.

No. That wasn’t quite right. All of the dead women had known Jennifer, a woman Olivia had never met.

And they were killed. Murdered. Just like you will be if you don’t find a way out of this.

Her limbs were useless, her head spinning. Though she was awake, her eyes wide open, her body still wouldn’t do what she wanted. It was as if her brain were completely disengaged from her muscles, her nerve synapses misfiring.

Oh, God, how had she been so stupid to have trusted the woman? Why hadn’t she checked her ID more carefully? Surely her captor, this lunatic, wasn’t a real police officer with LAPD.

How do you know that? Cops can go crazy, and Petrocelli might just be the psycho.

It didn’t matter. Whoever her abductor was, she was deadly.

Earlier, as she’d been yanked from the car and slipped into the sleeping bag, Olivia had gotten a glimpse of a dark street and looming buildings in an area that smelled of the sea. She had heard her attacker grunting and puffing with exertion as she had lifted Olivia into what seemed to be a cart of some kind. A cart with at least one creaky wheel.

Olivia had tried to yell, to scream, to flail her arms and legs, hoping to either hit her assailant or to attract the attention of anyone who passed by.

But her brain hadn’t been able to force her body to move, hadn’t been able to issue any commands her muscles would obey. The stun gun’s jolt had knocked her senseless, rendered her useless. She’d thought of the baby inside her…Oh, dear God, had it survived the surge of voltage that had rendered her helpless? I’m sorry, she thought, Oh, I’m so, so sorry.

The cart bumped and jangled, her attacker breathing hard as she was rolled over a rough surface. Listening, she heard a jet rumble overhead and then the blast of a foghorn from a boat.

Trying to think, working to pull together her shattered thoughts, Olivia attempted to figure out her surroundings, but it was so dark, so claustrophobic, so damned hot in the sleeping bag, she was having trouble breathing.

Think, Olivia. Don’t give up. You’ve been in tight spots before and when the shock to your system wears off, you can use your hands; at least they’re cuffed in front of you. Don’t give up. Don’t let fear paralyze you. Think of the baby, of Rick. You can’t stop fighting.

Pull it together. There has to be a way!

The surface under the wheels changed, and the cart rolled more smoothly. Then she was hauled upward and, still in the sleeping bag, dropped to a hard surface before being dragged downstairs. It took all her willpower to curl slightly, protecting her abdomen with her flimsy arms. Protecting her baby…

“You could stand to lose a few pounds, you know,” her captor muttered.

At the bottom of the steps, Olivia was dragged for a short distance, then released onto the floor. Through the thick fibers of the sleeping bag she smelled something acrid and foul…urine?

“Welcome home,” the woman taunted with a smug tone in her voice. She was breathing hard from the exertion.

Olivia heard metal jangling. Keys? She strained to listen, all the while flailing wildly as she worked her way to the top of the sleeping bag. Her wrists were still bound, her mouth taped. Frantically, breathing with difficulty, she was able to reach upward in the bag, her fingers slowly and unwillingly tracing the trail of closed zipper teeth to the top, where she found the inside tab and started tugging downward. Time and time again her fingers slipped, her body still not responding to her brain’s commands, her nerves jangled and jumpy, closing in on a full blown panic.

Don’t stop. Work at it. The taser won’t last much longer.

Finally, she pulled hard, lowering her body, dragging the tab, forcing the clenched teeth of the zipper to part.

The woman laughed as she observed Olivia’s pathetic attempts at escape.

Tough!

Olivia wasn’t giving up without a fight.

She kept tugging, pulling on the tab until a rush of urine-tinged air stung her nostrils. The bag opened to reveal the hold of a boat. One lamp gave the room a weird yellow aura, showing Olivia that she was trapped inside a cage with steel bars from ceiling to floor. A cage for animals, judging from the smell and bits of straw wedged into the floorboards. An empty bucket was pushed into one corner near a jug of water. Obviously for her, she thought, her insides turning to ice.

A barred gate was the only access into the cage. As Olivia watched in dull horror the woman who had abducted her inserted a key and locked her inside.