The man who stepped into frame was quite the HVT. His hands clasped behind his back, posture relaxed, eyes scanning the perimeter like he owned the land beneath his boot stood there talking to Ramos like this was routine.
Ayla stared at the tablet, disbelief locking her in place for a beat too long. Another vehicle rolled into the clearing, flanked on all sides by rough riders on bikes built for brutal terrain, engines idling low and predatory. Hell’s Eight hounds, every one of them, and that kind of protective force could only mean…
The doors opened and a second man emerged.
Her jaw dropped. “Guys,” Ayla said sharply, already moving. “You need to see this.” She pushed the feed to the main screen.
The room went silent.
No chairs. No breath. Just images and the low hum of electronics as the full scope settled in.
Ayla didn’t bother modulating her voice now. Excitement threaded it, bright and unmistakable. “Talk about multiple jackpots. That’s the King of the North himself. Hector Manuel Torres. The man near the vehicles is the Road King. Joaquín Montoya. Overseer of logistics, routes, transport.”
Iceman stepped closer to the screen, eyes narrowing as another figure shifted at the edge of the frame.
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he growled, “but isn’t that the Money King?”
Esteban Valdivia.
Carver and Jones exchanged a look, then grinned like men who knew exactly what this meant.
“Talking about hitting three birds with one joint task force stone,” Ayla said.
The room buzzed, energy crackling now, plans already beginning to form.
Iceman turned back to Ayla, that steely gaze as cold and sharp as the Arctic. “We got lucky with our logistics analyst, people. Damn lucky.”
Blair stepped in beside her, confidence solid and unshakable. Breakneck nodded once in agreement.
“It’s not luck, Ice,” Blair said. “Not luck at all.”
Ayla smiled faintly and dropped her gaze back to the tablet, fingers already moving again. “It’s always a team effort.”
For just a moment, before the weight of what came next settled in, she let herself feel the thrill of it.
Tyler’s gaze met hers across the table. Steady, as if he understood the weight she’d just dropped and accepted it without flinching. The look grounded her more than she expected.
“Now we’ve got ourselves the kind of HVT missions we can sink our teeth into,” Iceman said finally.
“Yes,” Ayla replied. “We came for one HVT. We found four.”
Around her, the room began to move again, questions, adjustments, plans forming in low, controlled voices. Ayla stepped back, returning to her quiet place at the edge, tablet warm in her hands.
The map had changed and so had everything else.
Lindstrom’s gaze flicked from the screen to Iceman. “This just turned into a larger rodeo. Let’s get the planning down while Sergeant Brown?—”
“Staff Sergeant Brown,” Breakneck interjected.
Lindstrom nodded his approval. “Staff Sergeant Brown, the DEA, and I brief the higher-ups. You keep this tight and be ready to execute the moment we get the green light.”
Ayla watched Blair accept the moment with steady grace, and she knew, with absolute certainty, that this would follow her long after today was over.
Blair stepped inside the armory with her hands shielding her eyes, the low thrum of helicopters bleeding through the walls like a second heartbeat. “Your rides are here,” she announced.
“Afraid you get shocked and awed if you peek?” Skull asked with a sly dig in his tone. A low ripple of laughter moved through the room.
“Ma’am,” someone drawled, “this is a perfectly respectable jock-up.”
