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To his left and right, Danny and Ryder cleared the hangar.
“Let her go.” Caleb’s voice was cold, thrumming with rage he didn’t bother to hide.
Juan’s grip didn’t loosen.
“Why would I do that?” His voice was steady, but sweat glistened under the overhead lights. “She’s my ticket out.”
A figure stepped forward. Older, five-eight. Graying hair.
Cold, dark eyes flicked over Caleb and his team like they were nothing more than lint to be brushed away.
“Open the hanger door or she dies.”
Mexican,judging from his accent.
Caleb’s response was instant. “If she dies, you die.”
The man gave him a shark’s smile. “If I live, she lives.”
Juan held the gun, but this man was in charge.
Caleb studied him. He appeared unbothered by the dead men at his feet—two of whom had been his protection.
A killer. The kind who gave orders, not took them.
NotEl Víbora.
Caleb had studied Diego Lopez Becerra’s photos. But the resemblance was there in the remorseless eyes, the straight-edged nose, the cruel line of his mouth.
The brother.
Ramón Lopez Becerra.
“No hostiles outside. I’m in position.” Nathan’s voice was calm and steady in Caleb’s earpiece. “Let him think he has the upper hand.”
“Chaos,” Caleb said, using Danny’s SEAL team call sign. “Open the door.”
Danny backed to the wall, found the controls.
The hangar filled with airport noise as the door lifted.
“Hello, fellas,” Nathan’s voice returned. “Looks like you had fun without me. Eyes on the target.” A pause. “No shot.”
Caleb gave the faintest nod.
Juan was too close to Gia for a clean head shot.
He glanced at Vincente’s body.
Eyes open. Frozen in surprise. Crimson blooming on his once pristine shirt.
Relief punched through Caleb.
Someone beat him to it.
Whether or not Gia admitted it, if he’d killed her ex, it would’ve always lived between them.
Caleb’s gaze shifted to Ortega.