Blair continued. “Ryker identified a leak. Someone on the inside of the border post. The cartel knew things they shouldn’t have. Someone fed them intel.”
She clicked to the next slide. The RCMP badge and the DEA crest glowed side by side, uncomfortably close. “We have no idea where the breach is coming from. That means we keep this operation as tight as possible,” Blair said.
Carver nodded. “Sergeant Brown, that’s a smart move.”
Ice stepped forward, voice low and deadly. “You let my operator go in blind. Your mistake nearly got him killed. I suggest you understand who’s in charge now”
Jones swallowed hard.
“We didn’t know the intel was compromised,” Jones said, his voice tight. “That wasn’t on him.” His gaze flicked to Breakneck for half a second, the blame and challenge gone, nothing but apology left.
He had to wonder if this was just the agent covering his own ass.
Blair didn’t raise her voice. “We’re going to identify the leak. We’re going to stop Ramos, and we’re going to do it together. But from this point forward—” Her gaze sharpened like a knife’s edge. “—I lead the Canadian side. Master Chief Snow leads the American side. My people are not dying because someone in DC forgot how to share a goddamn briefing.”
Breakneck felt something coil hot under his sternum, running like wildfire to his dick. Fuck, he wanted this woman, but something in him resisted like hell, tasting a lot like trouble.
Darrow huffed. “You don’t have the clearance for cross-border?—”
Blair turned her head. Slowly. Beautifully. “I will. I’ll be speaking to Ottawa. I’m not only going to get that clearance, but I’m going to let them know that I’m taking on this op, while you handle your normal workload.”
His eyes narrowed, and he looked away. “Yes, ma’am.”
Boomer muttered under his breath, “She’s going to make Ice look like a guidance counselor.”
Ice crossed his arms. “I like her.”
Breakneck liked her too in a way that made his chest tight and his blood run hot.
In a way that made him feel something he had no business feeling with a cartel breathing down his neck.
Blair tapped the screen again. A grainy satellite video flickered to life. “This is the Stone River Ranch,” Blair said, “one hour ago.”
Break’s stomach dropped. There was no movement. None, not even horses or cattle.
“There’s nothing to see.” Boomer said.
“That’s because they’re gone, lock, stock and barrel. They’ve moved their base of operations,” she answered. “My guess? To a secondary site deeper in the backcountry. Harder terrain. Fewer access points.”
“How do you know?” Carver asked tightly.
“Because,” Blair said, “that’s what I would do.” Her phone rang and she answered. Her mouth tightened. “When? You have footage?” Her eyes flicked to Breakneck. “Send it to me.”
He leaned forward when she hung up. “What happened?”
“The cartel is striking back.” Blair clicked several buttons on her phone, the big screen came to life, and she picked up a remote and zoomed in on a big 4x4 speeding away from a border patrol shack, bodies on the road. “This is one of our border patrol checkpoints.”
The room quieted.
“Attack?” Ice asked.
Blair’s jaw tightened. “Worse than that.”
Breakneck’s blood iced.
Boomer swore. “Focused attack?”
Blair nodded her head. “Yes, very focused.” She dropped a photograph onto the table. A bruised face. A uniform. Terrified eyes. “Border guard Jacques Marques,” Blair said. “The one Breakneck was told to blackmail.”
