Page 67

Pink cap. Winnfield mustache.
Ortega and his buddy, Emilio.
“Son of a bitch.” Caleb’s gut clenched.
Emilio, smirking in the passenger seat, extended his middle finger toward the glass.
The pickup ahead braked. Ortega blocked him on the left. The Mustang closed in on the rear.
A kill box.
Adrenaline hit like a lightning strike. Operational readiness 101 and he’d failed the test. Thinking about a woman instead of being alert to his surroundings.
He hit the hands-free button. “Call Zach Blackwater.”
Emilio’s window dropped. Sunlight glinted off the barrel of a 9mm.
Caleb ducked.
His window exploded, showering glass over his jacket and seat.
He yanked the wheel right, blasting over the shoulder, through scrub and gravel, clipping the pickup when it veered to force him further off-road.
The window behind him cracked in a starburst.
“Caleb?” Zach’s voice barked through the speaker. “What’s going on?”
“I’m almost to Tse Bonito.” Caleb rattled off a mile marker. “Ambush. Under fire.”
He floored it, weaving around traffic. “Three vehicles.”
“I’m on the way.”
Crack.A bullet punched into the back windshield.
“I need to get off the highway. Now.” Heading into town would endanger innocent people.
Zach gave him directions. “There’s a dirt road three miles ahead, on the right. Can you make it?”
“Not like I have much choice.”
“Turn in, follow the road. When it forks, go right.”
Caleb gunned the engine and slid between two semis. Three miles felt like thirty.
There.The Jeep’s tires skidded, scrambling for purchase on loose gravel before rumbling over the cattle guard.
He barreled past several single-wides terraced up the hillside. “Am I leading these guys into a populated area?”
“Keep coming,” Zach said.
Fork.Caleb went right.
Onto a rutted dirt road, more narrow than the last one. No homes, only junipers and rocks the size of a Humvee.
The Mustang would never make it.
One down.