“I’m telling you, Alexa, I have a gut feeling Kinkaid has got more up his sleeve than us. If we go in hot, it might get him killed or put my team at greater risk.” Garrett’s commonsense advice contradicted the concern on his face.
Alexa knew he was right. Garrett had more to consider than one man. Being in charge of the mission, he carried a great weight on his shoulders. And heaped on top of that, his guilt over what had happened to Jackson’s wife and little girl had been eating at him for years. Now this.
His training and his instincts were at war with the regret he had over the brutal annihilation of Kinkaid’s family. And from the pained expression on his face, she knew none of this would be easy. Before this day was over—no matter how it turned out—Garrett would pay a steep price for any mistake he might have made years ago, when he thought he had protected Kinkaid’s family and hadn’t.
“We got a read off the burst transmitter,” Hank emerged from the shadows and huddled next to Garrett. “Our boy’s in trouble again. His heart rate is up. Something is happening in there, but at least we know he’s still alive.”
Alexa breathed a sigh of relief. Even though the whole situation reeked, knowing Kinkaid was alive had taken the pressure off Garrett; but she still had no idea what he would do. Waiting was not Garrett’s strong suit either.
“Kinkaid had asked us to stay in the foothills and keep watch.” Garrett took another look through his night-vision binoculars. “But if anything happens to him, and Pérez leaves his estate in a hurry, we won’t be able to stop him in time, not from here.”
“What do you want us to do, boss?” Hank stared at Garrett, with half his face cast in shadows and the other half in moonlight. “My men are ready.”
“We move closer. I want us within striking distance.”
Garrett gave his order and pointed where he wanted his men positioned. They’d split up, with Hank and Alexa taking one team and Garrett taking command of the other.
Alexa waited for Hank to leave. When she was alone with Garrett, she took off her camo boonie hat and looked him in the eye.
“You watch your sweet backside. I don’t want to lose you twice.”
Before he came up with his usual smart-ass macho comeback, she kissed him on the cheek for old time’s sake. Feeling the warmth of his skin on her lips opened a floodgate of emotion that she hadn’t expected. She’d moved on, and she knew that, but a part of her would always love him.
“I wish you hadn’t followed me to Mexico, but now that you’re here . . .” His lips curled into a lazy grin. “ . . . I’m glad you did. Guess that makes me a selfish bastard.”
“One of your better qualities,” she said.
Giving her one of his devilish smiles made more seductive under the moon, Garrett left her and vanished into the darkness. This mission could cost her both of the men she loved. And no amount of training and experience would ever make her ready for that.
“Damn,” she whispered to no one.
2:20
A.M.
Pérez glared at Kinkaid as he clenched his jaw in silence, leaving Ramon Guerrero dumbfounded at the stupidity of the man he worked for.
“Surely you are not considering this.” Miguel Rosas stepped between his boss and Kinkaid, putting a hand on the man’s chest. “He’s simply goading you into letting him out of those chains. You have the advantage here. Give the order, and I will kill him for you. And I will take my time. He will regret his insults to you.”
Still, Pérez didn’t speak or take his eyes off the prisoner. Guerrero had a bad feeling this would not end well. The American—Wheeler or Kinkaid or whoever he was—had been tortured and was weak. But Guerrero had learned long ago not to count a man out who had just cause on his side. He slipped behind Rosas and moved closer to Estella, but not so close that it would draw attention. The girl hung from ropes and looked more frightened than ever. He could do nothing for her, not anymore, but he felt less like a bastard if he pretended he cared what happened to her.
“You should listen to him, coward,” the American taunted. “You wouldn’t want to ruin a good manicure, lard ass.”
Guerrero was close enough to see the spark of anger in his boss’s eyes. He knew the prisoner had hit the mark. He’d pushed as much as he needed to. Pérez would either order his men to kill the hostage—a long, slow death—or he would remove his restraints and free him to fight one last time. Neither of those options looked as if it scared the prisoner. The man was beyond caring.
Dead was dead.
“Don’t do this, boss.” Guerrero made his case, not wanting to be one-upped by Rosas. “Leave him to us. We will take care of this dog.”
“Us? You brought this man to my door, Ramon. Don’t think I will forget that.” The cartel boss scowled at him. “But I will handle him myself. Uncuff him.”
Guerrero was shocked by the man’s order. And so were the other men. No one moved. Each of them looked at the other until Pérez broke the stalemate.
“What’s wrong with you? Are you deaf?” he yelled. “I said free this man. And someone give me a knife.”
His boss shrugged out of his suit jacket, unbuttoned his collar, and rolled up his sleeves. Miguel Rosas was the only man who moved. He handed his boss a knife and stepped back, glaring at the American, who would remain unarmed. Even in the shadows, Guerrero saw the faint smile on the face of Miguel Rosas. The man didn’t care what happened or who died.
Like the sick psychopath he was, Rosas only wanted blood.
2:30
A.M.
Garrett’s team was positioned outside the front gates of the Pérez estate. When his men got into place, he found a spot behind a boulder and lay flat on his belly atop a slight rise near the main entrance. He communicated to the rest of his team, and each one checked in. When their voices came over his com unit, it sounded like he was beside them. Hank and Alexa were last to move into position.
“We have two lone wolves, taking high ground. They’re mine.” Hank’s cryptic message meant he had spotted a two-man sniper team in a tower overlooking the main residence. They had clear sight of the perimeter and the grounds.
“Two watchdogs every fifteen, front and back. Clockwork.” Alexa had been monitoring the guards walking the grounds. Two-man teams walked their territory front and back of the property every fifteen minutes, without deviation.
“On my mark. In three.” Garrett took one final look through his night-vision binoculars before he gave his order to launch their assault on the drug cartel’s stronghold. RPG rounds would take out the front gate and cause a diversion for Hank and Alexa to launch their simultaneous assault from the rear.
But something made Garrett stop. He lowered his night-vision gear and listened with eyes closed so he could focus. A distant sound droned in the background. Something familiar made him hesitate. And when he recognized the noise, he had no choice but to call off their assault.
“Stand down. I repeat, stand down.”
“What’s happening?” Alexa was the first to speak over the com, but Garrett didn’t have time to answer. Within minutes, they all heard it, and Garrett was the first to break silence.
“Fall back. I repeat, fall back,” he ordered. “And take cover. Now!”
If what he suspected was right, they’d have to find cover fast. From the sound of the turboprop engine and the brief glimpse he got of its sleek distinctive design, an MQ-9 Reaper UAV had targeted the drug cartel stronghold. The unmanned aerial drone had hunter-killer capabilities. With its sophisticated surveillance, it could hunt a specific target. And with its payload, it could definitely kill. It was loaded with up to fourteen Hellfire missiles and GPS-laser-guided bombs. In seconds, the UAV drone would be over the estate and dropping its payload.