The sound of spinning propeller blades grew louder.The wind buffeted his car and pushed it toward the shoulder.Pebbles kicked up from his spinning tires.Mierda.He jerked the wheel and steadied the vehicle as a low-flying helicopter zoomed down the roadway.The evening light shone off its white paint in blinding flashes.He squinted against the glare.
Traffic thinned.Civilians pulled off the road, and several of them abandoned their vehicles to gawk at the chopper.
Enrique surged past the stalled cars.His headlights reflected in the van’s rear window.Up ahead, two gorgeous hot rods swerved and parked sideways to blockade the road in a striking cascade of chrome and steel.
The van skidded.Tires screeched, burning rubber.Brake lights glowed.The van whipped around and reversed course.
“¡Carajo!”Enrique jerked the gearshift and slammed the brakes as the vehicle barreled past him.He cut a sharp turn and sped back down the road.Like the all-seeing eye, the helicopter hovered with its rotor blades beating the sky and deafening the roar of Enrique’s engine.The hot-rods closed in behind him.Loud.Flashy.Unsubtle as hell.As if he had room to judge.He should’ve driven his SUV, not his muscle car.
Two souped-up trucks now barricaded the road at the next kilometer marker.
“We’ve got you,” he muttered, hunching over the wheel.With his Nogales brothers as backup and Rubén’s chopper causing chaos, he honked the horn in sharp blasts to warn off any foolish civilians who intended to return to the road.Some of them were probably calling the police for all he knew.
The van zoomed across the wide expanse of patchy desert.
Enrique smashed the gas and followed.
The car jerked and clanked across the cracked earth.Shrubs scraped at the paint job.Cacti blurred past.Dust exploded from under the tires and cloaked the air in a thin red haze.
Around him, his Nogales brethren fanned out in four vehicles across the open country—unregulatedcountry, if luck was on his side.The helicopter roared above, on the verge of breaking even more federal laws if it landed in public space.Flying low over the road was already going to cost the pilot a huge fine or worse.His pulse hammered in sync with the whirring blades.The knot in his middle tightened as though Zayas fisted it.Taking Lourdes.Shooting bystanders.The man had sullied the name of the Lozano Cartel for the last time.
The van pitched onto an old dirt access road and gained speed.
Grunting, Enrique traveled farther from the highway in pursuit.Thank God for that.The farther he got from civilization, the less likely the police were to show up.
On a sharp curve, the van skidded off the road and zigzagged into bushes and brambles.It bounced over a hole and crashed into a towering cactus, the thick trunk jamming under the chassis and hoisting the right rear tire into the air.The engine revved.Tires spun, dirt pluming.Shadows encroached over the gold-streaked land and deepened the crimson of the glowing cockeyed brake lights.
“Got you.”Enrique yanked the wheel and the stick shift hard.Tires screeched.Gears groaned.The car reeled, then jerked to a stop a fair distance from the van.The momentum slammed him forward before the seat belt yanked him back against the seat.His head struck the headrest.Spots flashed in his vision.Pain seared his chest.
Parallel parked with the passenger side facing the van, he gnashed his teeth and slid out of the driver’s seat with his duffel in one hand and his pistol in the other.Half ducking behind the car, he spread his feet and braced his arms against the hood to aim.Tension buzzed through his veins like electricity.
The other vehicles spanned out from his and encircled the enemy.Dripping with weapons and bling, the Nogales team climbed out and took up the defensive with glares hot enough to kill.
The van’s side door slammed open.
Enrique’s breath stopped.His heart stilled.
Arms up, Lourdes stepped out in a bulky brown vest.A vest strapped with explosives.Her tangled hair framed her pale face and wide, terrified eyes.
Fear constricted his throat.One wrong move and she would die.They all would.There was enough C-4 to blow a crater in the earth.Zayas had lost his fucking mind.
The coward clutched her in a stranglehold like she was a living shield and held up a small remote.
Weariness and anger radiated from each of the shifty-eyed henchmen as they poured out of the van, guns at the ready.
Waves sour enough to turn Enrique’s empty stomach would’ve bowled over a weaker man.Just one good shot.That was all he needed.
Zayas grinned, a maniacal tilt to his lips.The whites around his veined, bulging eyes nearly gleamed.“Back the fuck off or I’ll blow her all over the sky!”
Enrique shuddered.His trigger finger tensed.The urge to pull it clutched at his chest.Not yet.Every second was a balancing act.Playing the game.Bargaining for time.Lourdes was alive, and he would keep her that way.
But Zayas was already dead.He just hadn’t hit the ground yet.
