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What felt like twenty minutes—but, according to the clock on the dashboard, wasn’t more than five—Caleb reappeared.
He motioned for her to turn off the engine and join him. His gun had disappeared.
He looked good on her doorstep. Handsome. Capable.
Like he belonged here, among the rugged sandstone buttes and mesas that blazed orange and red during the golden hour—just after sunrise and before sunset—in this stretch of the Colorado Plateau.
With her.
A fantasy. She had a week to decide whether to run or turn herself in.
Either way, despite the promises she’d made, her time with Caleb was short.
Caleb’s phone belted out the hard-driving bass drum that kicked off a Metallica song.
Nathan.
The former SEAL got his kicks assigning custom ringtones to everyone’s company-issued phones. Caleb’s was“Desperado”by the Eagles—not exactly subtle, but better than Danny’s, which was“Crazy Train.”
He ushered Gia out of the cold and into the warmth of the house, locking the door before answering. “Did you find a place?”
“It’s not like there are a lot of options in no-fucking-where Arizona and New Mexico, amigo,” Nathan said. “Especially on short notice.”
Hell. “So you didn’t find anything?”
A nearby hotel, then. Not the best option given the circumstances, but it would have to do.
Nathan snorted in his ear. “You insult me. Of course I did. I’m texting you the address. It’s on the outskirts of Gallup and remote enough that if shit goes down, you won’t have neighbors caught in the crossfire.”
Caleb’s shoulders loosened. “Thanks, man.”
Gia stood in the living room, watching him.
He put the phone on mute. “Pack enough clothes for a few days.”
Once she’d disappeared down the hall, he returned to his conversation with Nathan.
“What can we do to help?” Gone was the banter. Nathan’s tone settled into mission mode.
“I appreciate everything you’ve already done. But this business with Lopez could get messy. I can’t ask you guys to put Dìleas in a cartel’s crosshairs.”
“Caleb,” Nathan growled. “I know you’re just an Army grunt but listen up—we’ve got your six. Always.”
Unexpected emotion clogged Caleb’s throat. “Thanks, man. Send me that address.”
Gia appeared, suitcase in a death grip that bleached her knuckles white.
He ended his call. “You ready?”
“Since I left Vincente, all I’ve done is run.” She glanced around her home, her gaze deliberate as it moved from place to place.
Almost as if she didn’t expect to see it again. It was in her body language.
Flight mode.
She wasn’t going anywhere without him. “We aren’t running, sweetheart. We’re relocating to a safe base of operations while we figure out a plan.”
Caleb’s colleague had rented them a seven-hundred-square-foot adobe casita on the outskirts of Gallup. It sat down a long dirt road, about a half-mile from a contemporary two-story home made of brick, steel beams, and glass—likely the owner’s place. That house, perched at the top of the drive, reminded her ofthe East Coast.