It had been three days since Marissa was taken away by Sanchez’s guards. Jed had arrived at Cassie’s renovated East Baltimore row house at five in the afternoon, given her a summary of her sister’s predicament and collapsed into bed for a few hours of badly needed sleep. While he’d been conked out, she’d made half a dozen phone calls, and he was damn impressed with the group of people she’d so quickly assembled.

He looked around the living room at the circle of faces.

He knew Jason Zacharias, of course. They’d worked together on a number of undercover assignments, including the time he’d come to rescue Jason and his wife Noel from a Scottish megalomaniac and Jason had ended up saving him. The other women of 43 Light Street and their husbands were strangers. But he knew they were Marissa’s friends. He’d always thought of her as so cold. But he could see from the faces around him that they were all deeply concerned about the turn of events in San Marcos. And they’d do anything they could to get her out of this mess.

He was especially struck by the couple sitting close together on the couch. She was Jo O’Malley, who’d been introduced as a private detective. He was Cameron Randolph, an electronics genius. Jo was expecting their first child, and it was obvious how happy they were about the pregnancy. Still, Jo had cancelled a prenatal appointment to attend this meeting.

“Start at the party,” Cassie requested.

Jed did, skipping over his personal reactions to Marissa and sticking with the facts, “I went straight from Sanchez’s to the American embassy, but they couldn’t do anything until nine the next morning. By then it was already too late to complain that an American citizen named Marissa Devereaux was being held incommunicado by General Miguel Sanchez.” He shifted in his chair.

“Too bad the embassy didn’t get right on it. I checked with the San Marcos Department of Immigration the next day and found out that no one named Marissa Devereaux had entered the country in the past three weeks the legal limit for a renewable tourist visa.”

Jo’s eyes narrowed. “Somebody must have been working overtime searching for her entry visa. But it paid off. If she’s not legally in the country, there’s no way to lodge any kind of official complaint.”

“You’ve got it,” Jed agreed.

“I’ve been burning up the phone lines to the State Department,” Cassie added. “Marci was on an undercover assignment for our old boss Victor Kirkland. He was willing to speak off the record because I’ve still got my security clearance. He says he’s sorry, but he can’t do anything to help her because State can’t acknowledge her mission.

“Can the U.S. State Department really operate that way?” The question came from a woman sitting in the corner. Small and delicate, she had curly brown hair and big brown eyes that seemed to stare right through Cassie. Her name was Jenny Larkin, and she was blind. Jed had wondered at first what she was doing at the meeting, since it was obvious that she had less experience than the others with the unofficial workings of government or with detective work. But he’d quickly discovered that her analytic mind and phenomenal memory were an asset to the group.

“I’m afaid they can do whatever they want to, as long as they don’t get caught,” Cassie explained. “But I’m not going to let Victor get away with stonewalling me.”

Jed admired her defiant posture, but he didn’t hold out much hope from that quarter. He knew the rules. And so did Marissa. She’d taken a job where it was understood she was on her own if there was trouble.

Until now, Abby Franklin had been silent. “What else have you got for us?” she asked him.

“After the scam at Immigration, I didn’t expect to find a record of a Marissa Devereaux checking in to a hotel. But I put it around that I’d be at the Caf'e Primo and that I was willing to pay for information about a blond gringa travel agent who might have been in Santa Isabella within the past few days.

“I got lucky with a portero from El Grande who remembered commenting on Marissa’s snorkeling equipment. He took her to room 345.”

“So you let yourself in and had a look around the premises,” Jo guessed. Jed was pretty sure she’d have done exactly the same thing. Before her pregnancy, anyway.

“Right. The room had been ragged out. But the maid had forgotten to replace the notepad by the phone. The top sheet looked clean. But I could make out the impression of the previous message, which was the name of a taxi company and Miguel Sanchez’s address.”

“I couldn’t go into court with that,” Dan Cassidy muttered. As an assistant state’s attorney, he knew the rules of evidence.

Cassie slammed her fist against the arm of her chair. “I’ve been begging Marci for years not to keep taking these assignments. I told her this one was too dangerous. Damn her. What’s wrong with her? Does she want to get herself killed?” She shot Abby a pleading look.

The woman shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “There are reasons why she takes risks other people would consider unacceptable.”

Startled, Jed stared at the attractive brunette. She’d been introduced as a psychologist. And, like most headshrinkers, she’d shut up and let everyone else do the talking. It sounded as if she’d been seeing Marissa professionally. Remembering the way Marissa had always struggled to hide her emotions from him, he was seized with sudden regret that he’d never tried to understand her; he’d only reacted to what he perceived as her cold arrogance.

“Is that all you’re going to say?” Cassie persisted, her voice fierce. “Won’t anybody stick their neck out for Marci?”