I walked into the kitchen and found the newborn I cared for lying in the sink under a metal colander, with flour dust on his blanket and one sock missing.

I stared at Miller, the cold realization washing over me like a wave of ice water. "Leo... he was your assignment?"

"His real name is Ethan Vance—no relation to Mark," Miller whispered, his voice deadly serious as he typed a rapid code into the satellite phone. "His mother is Maya Vance, a senior accountant who turned state's evidence against the Moretti syndicate in Chicago three weeks ago. She gave birth under federal guard at St. Jude's."

"How did Mark and Brenda get him?" I asked, pushing myself up to sit against the island cabinet.

"Corruption at the state social services level," Miller spat, his jaw tight. "They didn't kidnap him with guns. They used forged custody transfer documents signed by a crooked family court judge. By the time my team realized the transfer order was fake, the baby had been moved through three different private transport vehicles. We lost his RFID signal two days ago."

"Because of the colander," I breathed. "Brenda knew the hospital RFID tag was still active under the skin or in his clothes. She was trying to locate the exact frequency or deaden it before cutting it out!"

"Exactly," Miller said. He raised the satellite phone to his ear. "Tactical Team Alpha, this is Miller. Code Red. Target location confirmed at 1144 Oakridge Lane. Federal witness child located. Suspects are armed and hostile. Initiate perimeter lockdown immediately."

A crackle came through the speaker. "Copy that, Agent Miller. SWAT units are four minutes out. Stand by for breach."

Miller lowered the phone and looked at me. "Four minutes. That's how long we have before heavy tactical units surround that house."

"We can't wait four minutes," I said, my voice rising in panic as I grabbed his wrist. "Miller, you don't understand how frantic Brenda was! When I left, she had that baby pressed against her chest like a shield! If she hears sirens, if she realizes the house is surrounded—"

"Mark and Brenda aren't stupid enough to execute a federal asset," Miller said firmly. "They want the money from the syndicate. The baby is their multi-million-dollar bargaining chip."

"You didn't see her eyes, Miller!" I screamed softly, tears finally breaking past my lashes. "She isn't acting out of greed! She was staring at the pantry! She was staring at the basement door like she was terrified of what was down there!"

Miller paused, his eyes narrowing. "What do you mean, down there?"

"When I attacked her with the mortar, she didn't run for the front door. She didn't run for the baby's nursery upstairs," I remembered, the scene replaying in my mind in terrifying detail. "She backed into the corner right next to the basement latch. And when Mark walked in, he didn't look at her injury. He looked at the floorboards!"

Miller’s face turned deathly pale.

"There's someone else in that house," I whispered.

Miller stood up instantly, checking his sidearm once more. "Mark and Brenda aren't the primary buyers. They're the holding cell."

"If the buyer is already in the basement," I said, pulling myself up to my feet despite the excruciating pain in my ankle and wrist, "they aren't waiting for four minutes. They're taking Leo through the underground utility tunnel right now."

Miller looked at me—at my swollen face, my torn clothes, and the fierce, unyielding light in my good eye.

"Can you walk?" Miller asked.