Viper dropped down the far side of an incline, and Titus scrambled after him.
“Call Law!” Viper barked.
Titus yanked out the phone as Viper came to a halt.
“Law,” he said, holding it out while Viper punched the speaker.
“What’s the situation?” Viper growled into the phone.
Static—then Law’s voice, thin under interference. “Pilot’s gonna take a chance and get to you. Winds dropped to twenty-five knots. He thinks he can make it.”
“Okay, head due west, we’re coming east.” Titus scanned the horizon. “Where the hell’s a landmark?”
“There—dry lake bed about a mile out,” Viper growled, pointing. “Flat, pale—looks like cracked glass from the air. We’ll light the strobe on the east edge.”
“We gotta move,” Titus hissed; he could hear engines closing fast.
He pulled at Viper, and they broke into a run, full out—up one rise and down the next.
“Why’re you running?” Law’s voice edged toward panic.
“Cartel on our ass,” Viper said, “Get here fast.”
“Copy that,” Law said through static.
Viper killed the call. Titus was already moving, phone shoved away.
“How do we lose these fuckers?” Titus lifted his voice over a gust of wind.
“We don’t.” Viper grabbed his arm and shoved him forward. “Run faster.”
Five more minutes—max. Titus thought he could hear rotor blades somewhere beyond the wind, but he couldn’t be sure.
They didn’t have much time. The cartel had closed the two miles between them.
Gunfire split the air, sharp and echoing—bullets bouncing off the desert at their feet. Rocks sprayed as they ran up a short hill and leaped over the rise.
On the downslope, rounds chipped stone.
A rock gave way under Viper’s boot, and he went headfirst down the hill.
Titus poured on speed, full sprint, reached him in seconds, crouched low, and shielded the man with his body. One by one, he fired, dropping cartel gunmen as they crested the rise.
The chopper came in hot—fast and low.
“Hang on—they’re here,” he growled, dragging Viper behind a cluster of rocks.
His hands shook. He never fucking shook.
Blood ran down Viper’s forehead.
“Hey,” Titus said, gripping the back of his neck.
He fired again, catching a shooter in the knee, sending him tumbling down the slope. When the man stopped in a heap, Titus shot once more—throat hit—blood sprayed.
“You still with me?” he urged, tightening his hold.
“Y…yeah.”
