“Good. Drive on, Mill.”
Miller puts the van back in gear and pulls out.
As we drive, Callahan talks casually. Miller does not.
When Miller parks the van at the designated spot, I glance over at him. He and I are the ones going in. For the first time in C Crue history, on a two-man job that requires exceptional finesse and stealth, it isn’t me and Anvil going in. Anvil was not in favor of the plan for Miller to join me instead of him, but I convinced him to let it play out this way. There’s no way to know how Miller will perform on this kind of operation unless we test him. ‘Vil’s close enough to roll in if things go seriously sideways. But I’m hoping things go to plan, and all he’ll need to be is the driver who picks us up.
Miller understands that coming in with me is life-and-death business, and the gravity of his expression says so.
“You good?” I ask him.
“Yeah. Ready.”
All three of us put on our black ski masks before we get out of the van. When I unlock the armored trunk full of gear and lift the lid, Callahan looks over my shoulder into it.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Who are we? The goddamned army?”
Flashing a smile he probably can’t see through the mask, I say, “The best money can buy. Where do you get your gear? Walmart?” I hand Miller his night vision goggles and an ear piece.
“What is that?” Callahan asks, nodding at a night scope.
“Something I shouldn’t need if you do your job.”
Callahan sobers. “No one will get by me.”
I nod. “Just be as quiet as possible.”
Callahan touches the sheath of the large knife that’s strapped to his thigh.
When I’ve got what I need on me, I whisper into the mic. “We’re going to work.”
‘Vil’s voice is low through my earpiece. “Go.”
Those are the last words anyone speaks before Miller and I enter the house, and Callahan stations himself at the back. I’ve already cut the phone line and security feed. It’s dark inside, which is good. We move room-to-room, our silencers muffling the sound of the shots we fire.
The three inside are accounted for and dispatched, and we don’t find anyone unexpected. I light a small fire several feet from where I pour an accelerant. I want the house to burn, but not too fast.
The girl is a different story. When I open the bathroom door, she curses at us in Spanish.
“Cálmate,” Miller murmurs.
Seeing we’re not her captors, she falls silent.Good girl.
He uses a bolt cutter on the chain that hooks the girl’s leg shackle to the sink. Her ankle shackle is tight, and the skin peeking out from under it looks swollen.
“¿Quién es usted?” she whispers.
“Un amigo.”
Miller helps her up, but she can’t walk. He looks at me and taps his holster. I nod. He holsters his gun and then scoops her up.
She grabs the chain attached to her shackle to keep it from rattling, which is smart. But there’s no one to hear it anymore.
We move down the hall quickly and quietly. Leaving through the back door, I step out first. When Callahan sees it’s us, he emerges from behind a tree. Miller hands the girl over to him wordlessly.
“Gracias,” she whispers to us.
“De nada,” Miller says.
