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Chapter Thirty-One
GialeanedpastJuanjust enough to peer out the helicopter window at the dark gray strips of tarmac cutting through the dusty brown desert. Albuquerque’s urban sprawl lay farther east, the late afternoon sun dusting the granite peaks of the Sandia Mountains in pink as it slid behind the horizon at her back. Closer to the airport, the barren, rugged slopes of Petroglyph National Monument stretched like a moonscape.
Sweat beaded along her hairline. This wasn’t Albuquerque’s main airport. It was much smaller, and from the air, far more isolated.
As in, middle of nowhere.
Her plan to escape into a crowded terminal crumbled. She fought to stay present, resisting the protective pull of numbness.
Caleb hovered in her mind. A constant presence.
What if he was—
No.
He’d been alive when Juan dragged her away. She refused to believe anything else.
Whatever happened to her, she had to believe Caleb would survive.
Her hand strayed to the collar of her shirt. The vest was stiff and hot, her skin underneath sticky with sweat. She wanted it off. But Vincente and his men either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care that she still wore it.
Maybe it would keep her alive long enough to escape.
The helicoptertouched down in front of a sand-colored building. Its bay door lifted, revealing a sleek, white private jet beneath a two-story ceiling of steel beams and corrugated metal walls.
The jet faced out, and in the cockpit, she could just make out the silhouettes of the pilots.
Vincente yanked her forward by the arm. “Let’s go.”
She stumbled from the helicopter, crouching instinctively as the rotor wash whipped her hair across her face, thewhompof blades overhead deafening.
Vincente dragged her toward the plane, Juan and the two cartel soldiers falling in behind them.
Think, Gia. Stall.
“I have to go to the bathroom.” She shouted over the din.
“There’s one on the plane.” Vincente’s tone was flat. Final.
Behind her, the helicopter lifted, rising into the sky.
Cool air hit her face as they entered the hangar.
The silence slammed into her. The rap of shoes on concrete echoed like gunshots.
“Why is the plane still in the hanger?” Vincente’s sharp voice rang through the cavernous interior.
“I thought you’d prefer to board Gianna without prying eyes.” Juan appeared unruffled by Vincente’s anger. “In case she’s not cooperative. I’ll have the pilot radio for a tow to the ramp. We’ll be ready to depart as soon as we’re aboard.”
Panic clawed up Gia’s throat.
Her heels scuffed against the smooth concrete. She tried to plant her feet. Resist.
She couldn’t get on that plane. Shecouldn’t—
A sudden jolt threw her off balance.
Vincente had stopped.