Connor grimaces. “He can’t walk into the compound under his own power. Not tonight, anyway. We could arrange a drop at the edge of cult property, but that puts whoever makes it at risk.”
Zephyr breaks in. “Um, hello? Tech genius here. Marvin doesn’t need to be anywhere near the compound. I can spoof his phone so if Jefe does trace it, he’ll think Marvin’s dead center at that altar.”
Hardison’s expression goes flat. “Time for moral calculus class. If we hand him to Jefe, Marvin is gonna point the finger right at us. Maybe Jefe believes him, maybe not. But even if he does, he isn’t going to let Marvin live. He’s too much of a liability. He’ll gut him for sport before Sandoval even gets there. And in the end, he’s the reason we know where Grace and Parker are.
“Option two. We could give him to the feds. Connor might be able to pull some strings to shut him up. Or we make sure he knows if he keeps his mouth shut, he’ll end up in a much better prison than if he tries to implicate us.
“And behind door number three… We keep him off the board entirely until Grace and Parker are safe. Then” —he shrugs— “we decide what justice looks like when we’re not bleeding out from every artery.”
I drop my head into my hands, scraping my fingers over my scalp hard enough to feel the bite of pain. “We don’t hand people over to monsters.”
“Says the man who strung Marvin up by his wrists and drove a knife into his shoulder,” Hardison says softly.
Fuck.
He’s right. My hands will never be clean. How the hell am I supposed to face my wife and tell her what I had to do to get her back?
“If we turn him over to Jefe, I won’t be able to look Grace in the eye ever again,” I say. “We’ve all done things on the job we regret. But last night, I crossed a line. One I won’t ever cross again. He’s secure for now. He’s got water, a handful of protein bars, and a half ton of sheet metal covering the repair pit we left him in. Once Grace is safe, Connor can call some of his buddies to come get him. If he names me…I’ll take the heat. I won’t let it come down on the rest of you.”
“Fuck that,” Jas says. “Whatever happens, you don’t face it alone, AJ. Not now. Not ever.”
“All for one and one for all,” Hardison chimes in. “Look at us. The Four Musketeers. Which one of us is D’Artagnan?”
“That’d be you, dumbass,” Connor says. “You’re the youngest.”
Hardison looks almost offended. I chuckle, but when I blink, I see the terror in Grace’s eyes through the drone’s high-resolution camera. She’d want me to be ruthless. But not vengeful. I have to give her that.
“We need to move. It’s at least a five-hour hike to the top of the cliff if we expect to stay out of sight,” I say and heft my rucksack onto my shoulder.
Hardison follows suit. “All right. Let’s go break into a cult and try not to get ourselves killed. Sound fun?”
Connor snorts. “Fun would be different.”
“There’s somethin’ wrong with both of you,” Jas says. “When this is over, we’re all gonna need a few sessions with a very trustworthy shrink.”
We move, silent and tight, each of us heavy with choices we can’t unmake.
At eight forty-two, we crawl on our bellies to the edge of the cliff. The world narrows to ropes and belays and the handful of weapons we’ve each strapped to our bodies.
Connor goes through his checklist like it’s a standardized test. Hardison is more zen about his preparation. Jas and I mirror one another, checking our carabiners, tugging on gloves, patting each holster and testing each rifle strap.
There’s a beep, and Zephyr’s voice is whisper-quiet in my ear. “Sandoval’s men are visible on the east road. Four trucks, headlights off, moving like molasses. They’ll be at the gate in ten,” she says.
“Great. I was worried we’d have more time to second guess all our life choices.” Nate grins, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
We hook in. The ground looms two hundred feet below us. Loose gravel falls like rain.
Connor goes first, the rope singing through his glove. He moves like he’s done this a hundred times before, even with a bum leg. Jasper follows, but he’s slower. The explosion that almost killed him destroyed his right rotator cuff.
Hardison casts a quick look up at me before he steps off. “If we survive this, Cap—” But he drops before he can finish the sentence.
The wind slaps my face as I push off. Mid-descent, my earbud beeps again.
“Sentries just spotted them. Towers are on high alert, but the two closest to you are focused on Sandoval’s men. Get a move on.”
“Copy,” Connor says, his voice as calm as always. He hits the ground first, drops into a crouch and scans for threats. Jasper lands two breaths later. He cuts for the first tree, rifle up. Hardison weaves back and forth like a ping pong ball until he finds his own tree to hide behind.
I hit the ground with a roll, breath ripping out of me, and take off at a run. There’s no path. Just rocks and tumbleweeds. No cover. But Zephyr’s drones are in the air, and she calls out updates every minute.
