Page 39 of Deadly Force

Mateo’s already moving. “Want the hood up?”

“Yeah. Sell it.”

I pop the latch, then jump out and flip the hood open fully, letting the engine tick and steam under the sun. It’ll look like we overheated on the climb. Classic misdirection. Let them think we’re stuck.

Brooke opens her door halfway. “What do I do?”

“Stay low,” I say, my voice low but steady. “Don’t move unless I say.”

Her face goes pale, but she nods and crouches in the back. Legs tucked under her, spine pressed to the seat, eyes wide and alert.

Mateo disappears into the brush beside the pullout. He moves like a shadow—silent, deliberate,vanishing between the paloverde and mesquite without so much as a rustle. He’s running a flanking route, keeping cover, keeping us in sight.

I crouch near the tire well, just visible from behind the hood. My sidearm’s already drawn, angled down, out of sight. My back is tight, knees coiled, watching the bend.

The Tacoma rounds the corner. Slows. Pauses. Tension curls inside me. Blood starting to rise. I’m blind, but I can see the tires and dust as the Tacoma slows. Its idle is too long. Too calculated.

Seconds tick by. He doesn’t exit.

Every instinct I have wants to confront him. But I stay where I am. Strategy is everything.

Without warning, the driver slams the car into reverse and floors the accelerator.

Smothering a curse, I slam the hood down and yell, “Mateo—exfil and pursue! Keep visual, maintain distance.” He’s already sprinting.

I round the vehicle, yank Brooke’s door open, and gesture for her to get out. “Get behind me.”

She scrambles from the back seat, eyes wide, and slips in behind me. We both watch as the dust hangs in the air, the curve of the road swallowing the Pathfinder as Mateo gives chase.

I lower my weapon, but the tension doesn’t go anywhere.

“We’re splitting up?” Brooke asks.

I nod, scanning the tree line. Too open. Too quiet. “Vehicle’s blown. Motel might be, too.”

She’s quiet for half a beat. “I might know somewhere we can lay low for a few hours. I can even get us a car.”

I raise a brow. “We can’t just go rent one.”

That earns me a frown. “I know that. I know a guy. He won’t ask questions.”

“What guy?”

She doesn’t look away. Just lifts her chin a notch. “Someone who owes me. He’s not exactly legal, but he’s solid. And discreet.”

Why am I not surprised.

This woman moves through gray like she was born to it.

I’m starting to see why someone wants her out of the picture.

Brooke

My mind is already jumping into action before Caleb can disagree. "I'll call for an Uber. I have a couple regulars I use."

Caleb doesn't protest. He's too busy scanning the area, positioning himself between me and any line of sight from the road—a human shield that somehow makes my pulse quicken instead of slow. "Pick the one you trust most and call that person."

Strangely, Larry's name is the first I think of.