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She’d done her research. Vincente’s father—El Víbora—ran the cartel from a fortified compound in rural Sinaloa. Not even the Mexican government dared raid it.
“You should have shot Varella in the head,” Vincente snapped.
Gia’s eyes flew open.
“Head shots on the run are difficult, cousin,” Juan said, unbothered. “I was more concerned with securing your prize.”
Prize.The word made her stomach turn.
“He killed Leo and Javier,” Juan added. “Gianna will say she came willingly. Varella’s got dead bodies to explain.”
Blood. Bone. The spray on the SUV window. The way Caleb had moved—precise, deadly.
He’d killed for her.
Her stomach lurched. Bile rose. She clamped a hand over her mouth.
Juan’s explanation appeared to do little to soothe Vincente’s temper.
“We should have brought more men.” He turned on Mustache Man. “Matteo, the Aztec Kings say they aren’t working with Los Coyotes, but I don’t believe them.”
The cartel soldier threw up his hands. “Jefe, they insist they are working only with Espina Negra. And they cannot risk conflict with the Navajo if they want to distribute your product there.”
“We’ll keep an eye on them,” Juan cut in. “For now, you can tell your father that everything is under control. We’ll be landing soon in Albuquerque.”
“Dios,”Vincente snarled. “Albuquerque? We left the plane nearby. We need to be out of American airspace as soon as possible.”
“I understand,primo, but that soldier and his friends will alert the authorities in Gallup. Our plane has already left for Albuquerque, where this helicopter flew in from to avoid any spies watching the Gallup airport. Range is limited without refueling. Our pilot will have the jet ready for departure to Mexico without delay.”
Albuquerque.
Inside Gia, a tiny flame of hope ignited to carve a circle of light out of the darkness.
She had one last chance. Once they landed, she had to act—fast.
Because once they got her on that plane, it was over.
Vincente thought he’d won.
He was wrong.
Caleb was alive. Hehadto be.
She’d get free.
Or die trying.
Chapter Thirty
Calebmanagedtogethis breath back.
He hobbled around the outside of the dilapidated hogan, stretched to keep from stiffening up, and compartmentalized the pain, because there was no way in hell he was sitting out Gia’s rescue.
He’d stripped off his shirt, tactical vest, and undershirt, letting sweat evaporate in the dry desert air. A swollen red patch, roughly the size of his fist, decorated his sternum, and the ache in his mid-back told him he had a matching one there.
The vest had done its job, though. The sun beat down on his bare shoulders, and though his naturally tan skin could take more than some, he’d burn if he stayed uncovered too long.
Flies swarmed the two corpses, the stench of blood and brain matter churning his gut, dragging him back to war memories he’d rather leave buried. He yanked the tarp from Zach’s car and dragged the smaller driver toward the bodyguard. Pain flared through his torso and shoulder with every strained movement, but he gritted through it, covering both bodies.