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“Let’s end this so we can start the rest of our lives.”
Caleb steered Zach’s Charger down a narrow dirt road, winding into a valley hemmed by twin plateaus. The track ended at a clearing, where Old Joe’s hogan slumped on a gentle rise about fifty yards from the dry riverbed they’d seen in the drone footage.
Low mesquite, saltbush, and yellow-tipped cactus blurred the edges of the arroyo, perfect concealment for Danny and Zach’s friends, Roy and Ford. The hogan looked even worse up close than it had from the air—sunbaked dirt crumbling off its sides, rotted wood exposed beneath, the door sagging on its hinges like a drunk mid-stumble.
Beside him, Gia twisted her fingers in silence.
“You doing okay?”
He’d asked her that too many times.
“I’m hot.”
She had on the vest beneath her shirt. Dark sunglasses shielded her eyes. A black ball cap, embroidered with the Arizona state flag, kept her ponytail tucked out of sight.
“Me too.”
Sweat already formed between the vest, his undershirt, and skin. He’d known worse—Iraq in full kit in one hundred twenty-degrees.
His Glock rode his belt beneath his untucked shirt, a folding knife in his pocket, Danny’s conceal-carry Sig snug at his ankle. Armed as he could be without tipping Lopez off.
He’d be standing in the open with his balls hanging out, relying on Zach, Danny, and a pair of Army vets to watch his six.
And praying Lopez didn’t give the order to open fire—with Gia or Jennie in the crosshairs.
Caleb parked behind the hogan and rolled down the window.
Mild air drifted in, laced with the mineral scent of lingering snow from the shadows and the sun-warmed tang of dormant grass and old hay.
A low-pitched, plaintive cry broke the quiet.
“What was that?” Gia’s eyes rounded. “Sounds like a cow’s in trouble.”
“It’s the call of a Capuchinbird.”
“A bird makes that sound?” She narrowed her eyes. “Why are you grinning?”
“It’s Zach.We learned the call from a nature documentary when we were kids. Drove our family nuts.”
He opened the door. “We use it as a signal. You won’t hear a real one unless you’re in northeastern South America.”
Zach stood nearby, Remington 700 slung casually across his shoulder, the black carbon barrel catching a gleam of sunlight.
Behind him, Danny, Roy, and Ford emerged from the arroyo.
Danny wore a Glock on his thigh and a SCAR rifle slung over his shoulder.
Roy and Ford sported lightweight camo and Winchester rifles—the same ones they’d used to fend off Ortega and his crew when they ambushed Caleb.
Danny joined Caleb and Gia by the hogan while the three Diné kept a respectful distance.
“There’s a dirt road on the west side.” Zach pointed toward the plateau, eight hundred yards out. “We’re parked just beneath the ridgeline.”
His finger shifted, tracing to a cluster of boulders halfway up the eastern slope. “That’s where I’ll be posted.”
“Jennie and Gia will meet here.” Caleb gestured to a spot near the right side of the hogan. “Keeps them close to the car and clear of any crossfire.”
“Then what?” Danny asked.