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candle and lit the wick, offering prayers not to the stone god, but to the Christian God. He’d always helped her parents. If you’re there, God, I could use some help . Would He listen or even care?
    The sanctuary darkened. They were here! Her pulse quickened. She ducked her head and pressed her palms together. God had never answered before. Why would He now?
    The woman next to her chanted. Shiloh moved her lips and hoped it looked convincing.
    Air stirred nearby.
    The soft rustle of fabric snapped open her eyes. The woman stood. So did Shiloh. As the bent woman attempted to shuffle around, Shiloh hooked her arm through the fragile arm. Though surprised by the help, the woman murmured her thanks. In this culture, helping one another was almost a duty, not an inconvenience as in the States.
    They neared the front doors, and Shiloh dared a glance back. The men stood at the side exit, scanning the alley as they spoke into walkie-talkies. She drew a breath. Just maybe she’d be okay. With a nod to the woman, she wished her well and sped away.
    The attack had happened only a few hours earlier, but it wore on her like a lifetime. She spotted a fifty paise lying on the sun-baked ground and surreptitiously picked it up. A few more coins, and she could ride the bus to the beach. Easy. Perhaps too easy.
    She scoured the ground as she walked, sure nobody would notice her down-turned gaze. Women here were still lower life-forms.
    Someone's watching . Of course someone was watching. Jaw set, she kept moving. Her fair skin drew attention no matter how hard she tried to fit in.
    Shiloh paused. Her gaze tracked over the reflected images on a dirty shop window. A woman, hunched slightly from the crying child secured to her back with a stretch of fabric, pushed Shiloh aside. His screams punctuated the thick hum in the clogged street. Laughter trailed a small girl as she wove through the tangle of bodies. Amid the chaos, the delectable aroma of curry teased Shiloh's hunger. Just as fast, incense stung her eyes and nose.
    She lifted her chin for a clean, clear breath. Instead, rank sweat and a smell she could not identify assaulted her. A car honked, and she flinched at the sudden noise. Her senses buzzed. Yet … this was normal. This was India.
    She adjusted her choli and continued down MJ Market Lane.
    Cross the street . Heeding her instinct, she pivoted and peered around the edge of the sari to check for traffic. Maybe anonymity had found her after all.

    “I need a trace.”
    “Why?”
    Sweat dribbled down Reece's temple as he looked out the passenger window. “I’ve lost her.”
    “You what?” Ryan's voice bordered on outrage. “I don’t have to tell you—”
    “When was the last time you were in the Mumbai markets? An elephant could get lost in here!” He craned his neck forward, assimilating every detail of the busy street.
    “Do I have to remind you that your job is at stake?”
    “How about you get your boys on that tracer?” His white-knuckled grip did not help the ache in his shoulders. “And get the link to my satcom so I have immediate feedback. We don’t have time for runaround. If they’ve captured her …”
    “Already on it.”
    Steering around a corner, he let the car idle as a stream of pedestrians crossed the hot pavement. His gaze struck every person as he searched for the blue scrubs Shiloh wore. How hard could it be to spot her?
    “Okay, we’ve got her signal. She's on … uh … looks like Market Lane.”
    “ I’m on Market Lane, Nielsen!” His temples throbbed as he finally got a break in traffic and pressed the gas pedal. He cruised past one shop. Nothing. Another.
    “She's right there.”
    “Where?”
    A blur of green flashed into his path. Reece nailed his brakes and hammered the horn at the sari-clad woman he’d nearly creamed. Heart racing, he hissed his frustration.
    “Reece, your signals are overlapping.”
    He pounded his horn again as he searched the busy street, the shops, the