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Danny’s brow lifted. “So… what’s the play? Capture and hand him over to the police?”
Caleb let his silence speak for him.
“Got it.” Danny scanned the horizon. “If anyone’s going to disappear, this is a good place for it.”
Both men straightened at the sound of a vehicle.
A white Tahoe barreled toward them, tires flinging mud instead of dust thanks to the thawing snow. The temperature had begun to climb and was supposed to reach seventy, but as soon as the sun dipped below the horizon, it would plummet.
Danny’s hand hovered over one of the Glocks. “You expecting anybody?”
“My cousin.”
Zach parked behind the Charger and stepped out, dressed in desert camo pants and a tan T-shirt. His gaze flicked to Danny, narrowing.
“Danny Mayhew,” Caleb said. “From Dìleas. He’s here to help. Danny, my cousin, Zach Blackwater—Navajo Nation Police.”
The two men shook hands.
Caleb gestured to Zach’s outfit. “Take the day off?”
“A couple of days,” Zach said. “I can’t do what we’re about to do in uniform.”
The words hit harder than expected. Caleb hadn’t fully let himself feel it until now—the risk his cousin was taking. The line he was crossing.
“Maybe you shouldn’t be there when this goes down.”
Zach’s eyes flared. “Maybe you should go fuck yourself.”
Danny barked a laugh. “I like this guy.”
“You would,” Caleb muttered, then turned and led them inside.
Gia stepped out of the bedroom, her damp hair pulled into a ponytail, wearing the same jeans and blue sweater—both hugging her frame.
Still no makeup. Still gorgeous.
Her expression tightened as she took in the three men in the cramped living room. “Do we have a meeting site?”
Even with fear in her eyes, she stood tall—ready to face Lopez again if it meant getting Jennie back.
It made Caleb’s chest swell with pride.
She was tougher than she gave herself credit for.
Zach spread photos across the coffee table. “Aerial shots.”
Caleb leaned in and tapped on one. A crumbling hogan of piñon logs and packed earth sat tucked in a valley between two plateaus.
“Isn’t that Old Joe’s place?”
The mud-thatched roof had partially caved in, exposing wooden beams. Scrub, cactus, and tumbleweeds pressed in on all sides.
“It was,” Zach said. “He died there.”
“So it’s abandoned.”
Caleb remembered the old man—Vietnam vet, hair-trigger temper, haunted eyes. The kind who only came into town for liquor and supplies.