Those three words soften something feral in me. Something I thought might be gone forever. I picture Reyes in his clinic. His weary smile. The way he cared for Grace. Protected her. Even from me until he was certain I could be trusted. He’ll do this for Grace. And maybe…we’ll have a chance.
After a few moments, there’s a click, and a new voice rumbles over the line. Measured. Ancient in a way. The voice of a man who knows loss.
“This is Miguel Sandoval. Alejandro says you come to me for a favor?”
“More of a…trade. My name is AJ Stone. I’m a captain with the Texas Ranger division. I won’t waste your time with my resume. I reckon you can find that out on your own. My wife, Grace, and one of my lieutenants, Parker Elmore, were kidnapped by some assholes callin’ themselves the Blessed Flock. They’re in deep with the Cordova Cartel, manufacturin’ ghost guns on cult lands that they send right into Mexico. But their leader is convinced Grace is the key to his eternal salvation. He’s plannin’ on sacrificing her tonight. Nine p.m. I’ve got an infil team ready to go, but these bastards are prepared for anythin’.”
“That is an interesting story, Captain Stone. But I do not know what you need from me,” Miguel says, his tone warning me he’s growing weary of listening.
“We need a distraction. Noise. A show of force at eight-fifty-five p.m. Big enough that their Prophet stops the ceremony and to distract his sentries so they never see us comin’.”
“Tonight?” He laughs. “The United States is not my territory, Stone. And if I were to make it so, it would take weeks—if not months—to prepare such an invasion.”
“We’ve done the work, Miguel. We can send you drone footage of the entire compound. Provide intel on every possible escape route. All you have to do is show up. Threaten this Prophet asshole. His whole fuckin’ flock. Do anything but burn the place down. Once we get what we need—Grace and Parker—you can have the 3D printers, whatever you find in the cult’s coffers, everything in the compound.”
“I want the head of the Cordova Cartel.”
“I can get him there,” I say before Jasper, Connor, or Hardison can argue with me. “I’ll get Jefe to show his face. You can have him too for all I care.”
After a long beat, Miguel hums. “You can summon a rival to my doorstep? How will you do that, Captain Stone?”
“That’s my business, Miguel.”
Miguel is quiet long enough I can almost hear crickets. “You would bring two predators into a single cage. You understand what that means?”
“I do. But there are rules, Miguel.” This is the moment when we win or lose. Right here. Miguel could call for my head as easily as most men would order a club soda.
His dry laugh worries me, but there’s no turning back now. “Go on.”
“You promise me that no woman or child—no matter how deep their indoctrination—will be harmed by your people. You promise me that Grace, Parker, and my four-man infil team will be safe and free to walk out of there. Do that, and I don’t give a damn about anything else.”
“I lost my family to men like Cordova,” Miguel says at last, his voice rough with grief and a lifetime of blood. “I am not blind. Those who traffic in suffering should never be tolerated. Your terms are acceptable. I will not harm the women or children. My men will be punished if they do. As for Cordova’s head—I want him to know the meaning of fear. I will take his machines. I will take his pride. If he is foolish enough to come, I will take him.”
I let the anger out of my chest in a single, ragged exhale. “Thank you. Eight-fifty-five. On the dot. If you’re a minute late, my wife is as good as dead.”
Miguel’s voice softens in a way that almost sounds like pity. “You are a dangerous man to ask this favor of me, Captain Stone. Do not expect me to be your saint. Expect me to be efficient.”
“Efficient is exactly what I need.” I sweep my gaze over the men who’ve been standing at my side for weeks now. Jasper. Connor. Hardison. Each of them nod in turn.
On the other end, Miguel’s voice takes on a low, dangerous edge. “For your women,” he says, “we will make it swift. For Cordova…we will make it unforgettable.”
When the call drops, we sit in the thicket of trees with the radio static buzzing in our ears, the knowledge of what we’ve asked and what we’ve been given forging a new kind of quiet. My stomach is hollow and heavy all at once.
Hardison pockets the phone like it’s contraband and looks at me, his face a map of too many lost nights. “We just rented time from a man with better reasons to kill than to forgive. Hope he’s in a charitable mood.”
“I hope he keeps his word,” I say, because hope is all I have right now. “And if he doesn’t…” My voice hardens. “We burn the world down around him.”
Chapter Eighty-One
AJ
A subtle beep in my ear is all the warning I get before Zephyr chimes in with an update. “Jefe is primed. I sent him the footage of the trigger assembly and Marvin’s…err…confession. Indicated Marvin was on his way to the compound, and spun the story about Prophet believing that since Grace survived the last time, she’s to be revered. Not murdered.”
Hardison tugs on a black, long-sleeved t-shirt and pulls his gloves from his pocket. “Good. Poke the bear. But only a little. Because they’re bigger and meaner, and think we taste great with some ketchup. Too much and this could backfire on us in a heartbeat.”
“Marvin’s confession was a deep fake,” Zephyr says, a hint of exasperation in her tone. “None of you are implicated. All Jefe saw was Marvin boasting to one of his buddies about how the boss would never find out he failed to make sure Grace was dead. Or that he was the one who left the trigger assembly in the bag.”
“The jig is up the second Jefe sees Marvin.” Hardison cracks his knuckles, one at a time. “Dude is gonna look like roadkill for weeks.”
