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“Once the Federales realize Vincente’s plane isn’t in Phoenix, they’ll trace its path here,” Ramón continued. “We need to be over the border before they do. Now, finish it.”
“Emilio,vámanos,” Juan barked. Color flared in his cheeks as he glared after his father’s retreating back.
He made an impatient movement with his gun.
Emilio gave her a shove.
She shook him off.
Held her head high
Edged one foot down the metal stair.
She’d die with dignity, not dragged kicking and screaming to meet her fate.
I love you, Caleb. And I’m so sorry.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Thesundippedoverthe horizon, casting the mountains in shadow. A fiery band of orange bled into pink, then cooled into the deep blue of the evening sky.
Caleb eased from the back seat of the rental SUV, exhaling against the throb in his chest and back. The over-the-counter pain meds Danny had given him dulled the worst of it.
He adjusted the new tactical vest Ryder had handed over to replace his compromised one.
The air was crisp but not biting. They’d parked, tucked beside a cluster of sagebrush, a quarter mile from the small general aviation airport. Lengthening shadows cloaked their approach.
During the flight, they’d reviewed aerial photos of the facility, and decided security consisted of badge access for vehicles at the gate and a five-foot perimeter fence that was easily scaled.
For once, something was going their way.
Lachlan had opted for handguns—easy to conceal if spotted and easier to explain to law enforcement—but a disadvantage if Lopez had cartel muscle toting semi-autos.
Nathan was the exception. His new toy—a disassembled precision long range AR-15—rested in the backpack slung over his shoulder.
Once they pinpointed Gia’s location, he’d take position on a nearby rooftop, the gunner of last resort. If Caleb and the others failed—if the plane left the hangar—it would fall to Nathan to make sure it never reached the runway.
Stars blinked to life in the deepening sky as they crossed open ground, angling away from the runway zone and the control tower’s line of sight.
The airport was quiet. At this hour, sparsely populated. A few workers moved between the maintenance hangar and fuel depot.
Nathan tracked Gia’s tag to a small metal hanger at the far end of the compound, wedged between larger rectangular buildings built to house multiple aircraft.
After testing their comms, Danny crouched low and crept toward the target hangar.
His whisper crackled in Caleb’s ear. “No movement outside. Bay door’s a single panel hydraulic—no way to lift it from out here. Only other access is a standard pedestrian door at the back, right side. That’s our way in unless we wait for them to open the bay.”
Caleb lowered his gaze to his boots. Even with his poker face, the fear pressing against his ribs was hard to mask.
Not for himself. Not for his team—all former special operators.
For Gia.
“One entry point,” he murmured. “No intel on the number of hostiles. No idea what they’re carrying. No sightline inside. We’re packing pea shooters, and don’t even have flashbangs.”
“Did someone say flashbang?” Nathan unzipped a side pocket, pulled out a black cylinder the size of a shaving cream can.
“Christ.” Lachlan gave a quiet chuckle. “The lad and his toys.”