Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 45785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 229(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 229(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
“But you don’t think he’s there right now,” Reese guessed.
“Not a chance.” I shook my head. “He’s paranoid by nature, and after what happened today… Word gets around fast. Twenty low-men associated with Carillo’s crew undoubtedly run into Vincente’s eyes and ears here and there. He would’ve known about the attack before we made the evening news.” Which reminded me. “You better be careful out there, Reese. On your own, you can probably blend in fine, but the second they see two of you, it’s easy to—”
“The dead don’t talk.” It was River’s quiet voice that cut me off. “We don’t plan on leavin’ anyone alive to identify us.”
I looked at him over my shoulder and swallowed the gravity of what he was saying. He was just lying there, looking up at the top bunk mattress.
Then I involuntarily slid my gaze to Joel, finding him already watching me. And we’d do the same, wouldn’t we? This was our little Blake we were talking about. They’d kidnapped her. We were gonna push our personal problems aside and kill anyone who stood in our way of finding her and bringing her home.
It was settled.
“Joel and I head out at dawn,” I said. “We’ll take one of the SUVs and drive to another safehouse, where I have an old car stashed away. The rest of you will reach out to Ramirez, and don’t forget to leave your number with Darius. He will forward them to Squeezy. Also, make sure you have cash. I have a few hundred bucks in both dollars and pesos if you’re short.”
“And if you cross the border, don’t use your own ID,” Ortega said.
That was why I had to get to another safehouse. I had an old Chevy there registered under a fake name, courtesy of Hillcroft. I was gonna have to scramble a bit. Going undercover wasn’t as easy as it once had been. I didn’t have a big PMC agency behind me that took care of everything. But I did have this one identity left, and I’d used it before.
It was ironic. For the first time, I needed a cover from law enforcement, not the cartel member I was looking for. Vincente knew me by my real name these days.
“We should eat.” Crew ran a hand through his hair and looked to me in question. I nodded. No appetite whatsoever, but we needed the energy. “All right—I saw spaghetti and tomato sauce in the pantry, so brace yourselves for a feast. And let’s hope our new enemies dine on lobster and steak tonight, ’cause we won’t give them a last supper.”
I mustered a faint smile, appreciating that kid a whole lot. No matter how fucked things appeared, he tried to brighten everyone’s mood.
“Found it.” Joel came out of the house with my wallet. Or Frank Rivera’s wallet, rather. I had a driver’s license, an SDPD police ID, a passport, a debit card, and two credit cards under that name. “How many safehouses do you have?”
I reattached the gas cap and tossed the now-empty fuel can onto the porch. “Can’t really consider this a safehouse anymore. There’s nothing here except the truck.” And the wallet I’d concealed under a couple floorboards. This run-down little house right here had been there for my PMC heyday, when I’d had a lot of contracts in Mexico and South America. We were close to the border, just north of Brawley, with no neighbors around for a mile or two. Partly thanks to the nearby Salton Sea that graced the area with the smell of rotten eggs every now and then.
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
It was all the answer he was getting.
With our gear hidden under a haphazardly folded tarp in the bed of the truck, and our guns secured underneath our seats, I got behind the wheel and hoped to whatever deity my old trusty Silverado worked. It’d been a year since we’d last crossed the border together.
Come on.
She protested, coughed and spluttered, as I turned the key a few times.
There we go. Good girl.
Nothing an oil change and fresh gas couldn’t fix.
I backed out of the overgrown driveway and turned around. Next up, wardrobe. Joel would have to stay in the truck while I picked up some pants and tees for us. He was wearing that now too, but I had to get out of my hoodie and sweats, and we needed to be able to change.
“Give me your cover story again,” I requested. Just in case we got stopped at the border. It was highly unlikely.
“I’ve been off the grid for a couple days, fishing and hiking along the Colorado, processing the passing of my ma,” he replied automatically. “On my way home, I decided to swing by my old buddy Frank’s place, and here we are. I haven’t checked my phone yet.”