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In the seat facing Lachlan was Ryder Montague, head of executive protection, and Caleb’s direct superior. The last time they spoke, Ryder had been in London. Like Lachlan, Ryder wore dark trousers and a button-down—his in pale pink.
“Sorry we’re late, pal. But we’re here now.” Lachlan’s emerald gaze swept over Caleb, his Caithness accent slightly thicker than usual. At first glance, the former British SAS officer looked like he belonged on the cover ofGQ—until you noticed the white scars on his temple and chin, and the hard glitter in his eyes.
Caleb blinked furiously, swallowing hard against a swell of emotion. “Thanks.” It was all he could manage. Anything more and he might choke on the words.
His colleagues—hisfriends—had come.
“Let’s get moving,” Lucas said. “I have a joint FBI and DEA task force at the Phoenix airport. They’re waiting to execute an arrest warrant for Vincente Lopez Garcia for the murder of DEA agent Antonio Cardenas. Doctor Barone will need to testify as a material witness.”
“I want in on the assault team.” Caleb carefully lowered himself into one of the plush leather seats, his body stiffening.
He ignored the Assistant Director’s glare. No way would Caldwell leave him sitting on his hands while Gia was still in danger. The Feds could have Lopez, as long as he got Gia safely back.
Nathan chuckled. “Come on, Lucas. You’ve got an elite international special operations squad right here.”
Caldwell’s glare shifted to the big Texan.
“If we could track the helicopter, we’d know exactly where they were headed,” Ryder added.
Track.
Caleb straightened, pulse spiking. “Nathan, how close do you need to be to track one of those skin tags you gave me?”
Nathan side-eyed Lucas, lips pursed. “Well…” The word dragged out slow.
Lucas sighed. “I have to use the latrine.”
He headed for the back of the plane, passing the lone male flight attendant in a navy-blue uniform, who lingered at a discrete distance.
“The smallest dual-frequency GPS tags officially on the market are the size of a credit card or key fob.” Nathan lowered his voice. “What I’ve got? Same tech, military grade, in a microchip. Off the books. Not even the government has these.”
“Meaning?” Caleb pressed.
“Meaning if you tagged her, and she’s still wearing it, I can track her anywhere she’s in GPS or satellite range.” Nathan swiped and tapped on his tablet. “I gave you three tags. Two are pinging at the safe house. The third,” he paused.
Frowned.
Swiped again.
Caleb’s shoulders went rigid. “What is it?”
Lucas reappeared just as the flight attendant stepped forward. “Gentlemen, the pilot needs you seated for departure now.”
The plane started to taxi.
Nathan looked up. “She’s still in the air.” He glanced at Lucas. “But she’s not heading toward Phoenix.”
“That can’t be right,” Lucas snapped.
Nathan angled his screen. “She’s tracking toward Albuquerque.”
Lucas whipped out his phone.
“Gentlemen, please,” the flight attendant tried again.
“You’ve confirmed Vincente Lopez Garcia is heading to Phoenix?” Lucas said into the phone, then listened, his eyes narrowing. “And you’ve got eyes on the aircraft. The N-number matches the one that left Miami this morning.”
Another pause. “I’ll be there in an hour. Donotmove in until I give the order.”