McGuire glanced at him. “That might be hard since you two aren’t talking.” He hit the button. “Savvy.”
Savvy groaned into the phone. “Can’t you answer like a normal person?” She waited a couple beats. “How’s Riven?”
“You’re on speaker, so…”
Riven sighed. “I’m fine.”
Savvy’s breath sounded over the line. “Good.”
McGuire huffed. “We’re good, too. Thanks for asking, sis.”
“Is the rest of your team there?”
McGuire glanced at Patch, whispered his apologies. “Just Patch. Cross and Stone are on overwatch. I’ve got them staking out the tiki bar in case Herrera has any of his goons hanging around. Patch also talked to Remy. He didn’t tell the guy anyspecifics, just let him know the situation’s personal. That we need some latitude for a while.”
Savvy hesitated for a bit, her breath choppy, shallow. “Good. We might need Remy’s resources in the end. But for now, it looks like coming after you was Herrera’s first major mistake, Riven. Your Madero shell name lit up a gas pump at the marina two days ago. The guy wielding the card is a Belle Chasse Army Reservist who has contracting ties to Langley. He’s probably the asshole who spotted you and notified his boss. But that’s where this gets interesting. Turns out that card also paid for short-term leases on six riverfront warehouses in three different pier districts. I pulled the dock cams on all of them. A black Escalade has been parked outside their Poland Avenue location for the past three days. Guess whose company it’s registered to?”
Riven perked up. “If you say it’sMartillo’sshell company Titan Logistics, I might just have to kiss you.”
Savvy laughed. “I’ll get some new lipgloss, then.”
“Christ. You know what this means?”
“We’ve got him. Not only that, Titan also owns a trawler called theSanta Rina.It showed up last night right beforeMartillo’scar pulled in. He got out, walked onboard with a heavy leather case, never came back out. An hour later, the boat vanishes from AIS after moving berths.”
Riven inhaled. “Which means, the ledger’s on that boat. And if we can get the passphrase, grab the shadow ledger…” She let out a breathless sigh. “We can finally tie Langley to everything.”
“The trawler’s scheduled to leave port tomorrow morning. You’ve only got tonight to access it before we lose track.” Savvy tapped on a keyboard in the distance, the rhythmic sound echoing through the speaker. “Weatherman’s predicting a squall line at twenty-one-thirty. If you’re lucky, it’ll cover your approach. Assuming my brother’s onboard?”
McGuire grunted. “Do you even have to ask?”
“Just checking. Keep the circle tight. I expect a call once you’re clear. And McGuire… One last thing. There’s a ghost on the board. Langley’s personal cleaner, a man named Bram Keane, just landed at a private strip in Lakefront. He’s not cartel. He’s ours, gone rogue. If he’s here, it means Langley knows something’s about to break, and he sent his insurance policy. I’ll send a photo but be advised — Keane is far more dangerous thanMartillo, and a lot quieter.”
Savvy ended the call, no goodbyes just her expectations hanging in the dead air.
McGuire shook his head as he pushed the phone to the side. “Sounds like we’ve got a plan. We’ll board the boat while Cross and Stone run overwatch. We’re in and out before anyone misses a breath.”
Patch leaned in, tapped McGuire on the arm. “And no hero shit.”
“Don’t look at me.” McGuire winked at Riven. “She’s the one who pulls the hero shit. But I’ll keep it in mind.” He palmed the table, stood. “Let’s go hunting.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Dark clouds rolled across the concrete pier as low-lying scud shrouded the derelict vessel in a gloomy gray. A navigational buoy clanged somewhere in the channel, the bell echoing across the black, choppy water like a mournful cry. Up ahead, a grimy, seventy-five-foot shrimp trawler listed against its moor lines, rust streaks running down its stained white hull.
Riven sat low at the bow of their silent skiff, the wind whipping her hair in the strong breeze. Cold, spitting rain needled against her skin, the incoming squall line dimming the sodium lights dancing along the distant wharf.
She glanced at McGuire, tiller in one hand, his face calm, unreadable. He met her gaze, a tentative smile easing the hard lines for a moment before he focused on the horizon. He looked strong, imposing, just like that night in Colombia. A familiar silhouette that eased the nervous roil of her stomach.
She still couldn’t believe he was the voice she’d directed that night. The ghost who’d drawn her attention and refused to let go. Knowing that he’d been thinking about her — had worried if she’d escaped — had shifted something inside. Softened a part of her she’d steeled against the pain. The loss. She only hoped this wasn’t their last mission together.
Stone’s voice rang through her comms a moment later, his deep voice calm and quiet. “Two on the aft rail, one smoking in the wheelhouse. Maintain your line, then swing into that shadow along the stern.”
She scanned the deck, night-vision scope pressed against her cheek as she marked the men’s position. How they swayed with each incoming swell. They’d take the two at the stern out first — work their way to the main stateroom next.
She glanced at Patch. Head bent low, he checked their gear one more time — wedge and spreader, compact jammer for the safe in case it was wired, and enough firepower to infiltrate a fully staffed cartel outpost. More than she’d ever carried, and yet, it might not be enough.Martillowasn’t just Herrera’s logistics guy. He was an enforcer. Had earned the position through blood and violence — an unyielding, explosive force with zero subtleties. The reason he’d garnered the nickname, The Hammer.
McGuire slowed as the hulking trawler rose up in front of them like a monolith, eventually cutting the skiff’s engine and gliding the last several meters. He angled the boat toward theSanta Rina’sstern’s shadow, gently nosing the bow against the hull where the curve of the boat created a dark void. The skiff rocked with the next wave, the sound muffled as Patch snagged a rear line, kept the boat from swinging into the side.
