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Caleb reached the clearing. A natural rise with a view of the road. Cover available behind sandstone boulders, junipers and sagebrush.
Up ahead, three long guns trained in his direction behind Zach’s Tahoe and a black pickup.
Perfect.
One way in. One way out, and they controlled it.
His respect for his cousin shot up—and he didn’t know how Zach had rounded up two more gun-toting friendlies in such a short time, but he could kiss him right now.
He hit the brakes and slid to a stop next to the pickup, diving for cover just as the GMC burst into view.
Caleb slipped into battle mode. Slowing heart rate. Heightened senses.
He trained his gun on the driver’s side—Ortega.
Surprise, assholes.
“Navajo Nation Police,” Zach bellowed. “Put down your weapons and exit the vehicle, hands raised where I can see them.”
The GMC screeched into reverse. Tires spun, churning dust clouds. Caleb could read the fury on Ortega’s face before he sped back down the road.
“You good?” Zach called. He leaped into the Tahoe.
Caleb’s world narrowed to a single, visceral thought.
Gia.
“Hold up!” He sprinted over. “We need to get to the clinic.”
“One of my officers is already there.”
“Armed?”
“Yes. I’ll tell her to be on alert.” Zach threw the Tahoe into Drive.
Caleb gripped his cousin’s shoulder through the open window. “Don’t go after them alone. There were three vehicles. At least four men. Probably all armed.”
Zach’s lips pulled back in a snarl. “They attacked you. On Navajo land.”
“And they’re probably headed for the interstate. Alert the Arizona and New Mexico state police.” Caleb gave his cousin a description of all three cars and, as best he could, descriptions of the men. “We need to get to Gia in case they’ve discovered where she works.”
Zach gave him a furious stare before barking into his police radio.
Caleb returned to his Jeep. Pieces of tempered glass littered the inside and the ground. His leather jacket had shielded him from most of the flying shrapnel.
He found a bullet embedded in the driver’s side passenger door, and another in the back passenger seat. Hollow points. Meant to expand on impact and cause more damage.
“You got lucky.” The elder of Zach’s friends, dressed in jeans and red flannel, and sporting a Gulf War Veteran cap, pointed to a round hole in the driver’s door, then to the armrest on the interior door panel. “It stopped the bullet. Doesn’t always happen.”
“No. It doesn’t,” Caleb said with a grimace.
He shook hands with the man, then with his younger companion in faded jeans, a white Henley and Phoenix Suns ball cap. “Caleb Varella. Thanks for the assist.”
“Roy.” The older man said, then gestured. “My son, Ford. He served in the Marines with Zach. We live down the hill. Don’t usually get this kind of excitement on the rez.”
“Not the kind of excitement I wanted to bring.”
Zach joined the group. “Not even here a week and already you’ve got people trying to kill you.” He arched his brows. “Your visit with Ortega must’ve rattled someone.”