Chapter Fifteen
After leaving Zach’s, Caleb drove Gia to the clinic.
She hadn’t said much—not since the night before, when he’d asked her to help take down Vincente Lopez and she’d refused.
He hadn’t pushed. Not then.
The tension coiled between them like a live wire—charged with everything unspoken and too dangerous to touch.
She needed time. But he could only give her a day or two at most before he needed to act.
With or without her.
Still, dropping her off alone at the clinic left a knot in his chest he hadn’t been able to shake.
He hit the road to Gallup, picked up a few changes of clothes, extra rounds of ammo, supplies to supplement the go-bag he'd brought from Phoenix.
By noon, he was headed back.
Back to Gia.
Three days had passed since his mother’s funeral, yet the weight of everything that happened since made it feel like a lifetime ago—like the grief belonged to someone else.
The dissociation was familiar. He’d felt the same shift during combat deployments.
Missions didn’t pause for mourning, other than a brief solemn acknowledgment before a rifle planted barrel-first into empty boots .
He checked the time in London and placed a call to Ryder Montague. His boss at Dìleas was the son of an earl who’d traded privilege for service, refined manners for a gun. He’d served in the British Special Air Service under Dìleas’s president, Lachlan Mackay.
The UK double ring tone pulsed in Caleb’s ear before Ryder picked up. “Back in DC, mate?”
“Not yet. I’m taking you up on that offer of more time.” Casual. As if they were discussing the weather. “There’s something I need to handle.”
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with the woman you asked Nathan to investigate?” Ryder’s voice stayed calm, but Caleb caught the edge of concern. “He told me what he found.”
“Doctor Barone might need relocation. A fresh start.” Caleb hesitated. “She can’t afford it, so I’ll personally cover the cost.”
Ryder made a dismissive sound. “We’ll handle it. But if this is personal, Caleb, I need to know.”
Shit yeah, it was personal, but he wasn’t about to admit that to his boss when he couldn’t even explain it to himself.
“I’m trying to do the right thing,” he muttered. “Even with a new identity, she’ll never be safe if Lopez isn’t stopped.”
Vincente Lopez Garcia. Cartel royalty. Power, privilege, and impunity were his birthright. He could have whatever he wanted.
And he wanted Gia. Because he loved her?
Or was it about control.
Didn’t matter. He couldn’t have her. He’d never have the opportunity to get close to her again. To lay his filthy hands on her delicate skin. To get off on the fear that still shadowed her eyes.
“What precisely do you intend to do?” Ryder’s voice had sharpened .
“Lopez oversees Espina Negra’s fentanyl trafficking in the Southwest.” Rage tightened his throat. “My mother died because of it.”
“Caleb.” Ryder’s voice softened. “Pick the winnable fight. Doctor Barone is within reach—Lopez isn’t. Not yet, anyway.”
Anger surged, hot and acidic. “Law enforcement can’t touch this guy. Lopez parades around Miami spending blood money, and no one lifts a finger. Did Nathan tell you about the DEA agent who went missing?”
Ryder’s tone turned guarded. “If the DEA’s involved, they may have an interest in your doctor.”
The puzzle pieces Caleb had been trying to fit together snapped into place. He should have seen them sooner. “Because if she knew he was a leader in Espina Negra, it stands to reason that she also knows things that could send him to prison.”
“So maybe she’s running not only from an abusive situation…” Ryder began.
“But because of what she knows,” Caleb finished. “She played me. Told me just enough.” Doling out only the information she wanted him to have—that she was fleeing an abusive relationship.
Once he discovered Lopez’s true identity, he should have known there was more to the shadows in her eyes, the evasiveness of her answers. Her lies made a mockery of his instincts, made him question his own judgment. The realization settled like a stone in his stomach.
“What are you going to do?” Ryder asked.
“I intend to find out the truth.”
“Watch your six,” Ryder warned. “If you don’t, one of you will end up in someone’s crosshairs.”
“Understood.” Caleb ended the call.
The highway unspooled ahead, a stretch of empty asphalt hemmed in by high desert. Towering in the distance, sandstone outcroppings marked the foothills of the Chuska Mountains, part of the Colorado Plateau.
Caleb’s knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. The memory of his confrontation with Gia last night still clung like smoke—gray and suffocating.
She’d called him a good man. He wasn’t, really. He’d try to protect her, but if she could help stop Lopez…
Leather creaked beneath him as he shifted, restless. He wouldn’t force her. Too many men had failed her already. While he might not be a saint, he could show her that some men were trustworthy.
Near the Arizona line, a low-slung, red Mustang filled his rearview mirror, its distinctive rumble reminding him of his colleague Danny Mayhew’s GT.
Military age male. Shoulder-length dark hair. Mirrored sunglasses .
Caleb kept to the right lane, waiting for the more powerful car to pass.
The Mustang slid in behind him.
A white pickup passed and cut in front of him—too close.
Single occupant. Mid-thirties, beard, sunglasses, bandana .
The license plate was caked in mud, but Caleb could still make out part of the motto: Land of Enchantment. New Mexico.
The hairs on the back of his neck lifted.
In the left side mirror, a silver GMC was closing in.
Pink cap. Winnfield mustache.
Ortega and his buddy, Emilio.
“Son of a bitch.” Caleb’s gut clenched.
Emilio, smirking in the passenger seat, extended his middle finger toward the glass.
The pickup ahead braked. Ortega blocked him on the left. The Mustang closed in on the rear .
A kill box.
Adrenaline hit like a lightning strike. Operational readiness 101 and he’d failed the test. Thinking about a woman instead of being alert to his surroundings.
He hit the hands-free button. “Call Zach Blackwater.”
Emilio’s window dropped. Sunlight glinted off the barrel of a 9mm.
Caleb ducked.
His window exploded, showering glass over his jacket and seat.
He yanked the wheel right, blasting over the shoulder, through scrub and gravel, clipping the pickup when it veered to force him further off-road.
The window behind him cracked in a starburst.
“Caleb?” Zach’s voice barked through the speaker. “What’s going on?”
“I’m almost to Tse Bonito.” Caleb rattled off a mile marker. “Ambush. Under fire.”
He floored it, weaving around traffic. “Three vehicles.”
“I’m on the way.”
Crack. A bullet punched into the back windshield.
“I need to get off the highway. Now.” Heading into town would endanger innocent people.
Zach gave him directions. “There’s a dirt road three miles ahead, on the right. Can you make it?”
“Not like I have much choice.”
“Turn in, follow the road. When it forks, go right.”
Caleb gunned the engine and slid between two semis. Three miles felt like thirty.
There. The Jeep’s tires skidded, scrambling for purchase on loose gravel before rumbling over the cattle guard .
He barreled past several single-wides terraced up the hillside. “Am I leading these guys into a populated area?”
“Keep coming,” Zach said.
Fork. Caleb went right.
Onto a rutted dirt road, more narrow than the last one. No homes, only junipers and rocks the size of a Humvee.
The Mustang would never make it.
One down.
Caleb reached the clearing. A natural rise with a view of the road. Cover available behind sandstone boulders, junipers and sagebrush.
Up ahead, three long guns trained in his direction behind Zach’s Tahoe and a black pickup.
Perfect.
One way in. One way out, and they controlled it.
His respect for his cousin shot up—and he didn’t know how Zach had rounded up two more gun-toting friendlies in such a short time, but he could kiss him right now.
He hit the brakes and slid to a stop next to the pickup, diving for cover just as the GMC burst into view.
Caleb slipped into battle mode. Slowing heart rate. Heightened senses.
He trained his gun on the driver’s side—Ortega.
Surprise, assholes.
“Navajo Nation Police,” Zach bellowed. “Put down your weapons and exit the vehicle, hands raised where I can see them.”
The GMC screeched into reverse. Tires spun, churning dust clouds. Caleb could read the fury on Ortega’s face before he sped back down the road.
“You good?” Zach called. He leaped into the Tahoe.
Caleb’s world narrowed to a single, visceral thought .
Gia.
“Hold up!” He sprinted over. “We need to get to the clinic.”
“One of my officers is already there.”
“Armed?”
“Yes. I’ll tell her to be on alert.” Zach threw the Tahoe into Drive.
Caleb gripped his cousin’s shoulder through the open window. “Don’t go after them alone. There were three vehicles. At least four men. Probably all armed.”
Zach’s lips pulled back in a snarl. “They attacked you. On Navajo land.”
“And they’re probably headed for the interstate. Alert the Arizona and New Mexico state police.” Caleb gave his cousin a description of all three cars and, as best he could, descriptions of the men. “We need to get to Gia in case they’ve discovered where she works.”
Zach gave him a furious stare before barking into his police radio.
Caleb returned to his Jeep. Pieces of tempered glass littered the inside and the ground. His leather jacket had shielded him from most of the flying shrapnel.
He found a bullet embedded in the driver’s side passenger door, and another in the back passenger seat. Hollow points. Meant to expand on impact and cause more damage.
“You got lucky.” The elder of Zach’s friends, dressed in jeans and red flannel, and sporting a Gulf War Veteran cap, pointed to a round hole in the driver’s door, then to the armrest on the interior door panel. “It stopped the bullet. Doesn’t always happen.”
“No. It doesn’t,” Caleb said with a grimace.
He shook hands with the man, then with his younger companion in faded jeans, a white Henley and Phoenix Suns ball cap. “Caleb Varella. Thanks for the assist. ”
“Roy.” The older man said, then gestured. “My son, Ford. He served in the Marines with Zach. We live down the hill. Don’t usually get this kind of excitement on the rez.”
“Not the kind of excitement I wanted to bring.”
Zach joined the group. “Not even here a week and already you’ve got people trying to kill you.” He arched his brows. “Your visit with Ortega must’ve rattled someone.”
“I doubt Ortega had the balls to come at me on his own.” Caleb slid into the wrecked Jeep. “If Lopez wants me dead, he’ll need to come himself.”
The man was dangerous. But he let his minions do his dirty work for him.
I’m willing to get my hands dirty.
“The hotel isn’t safe for you anymore,” Zach said. “It’s too exposed.”
“I’ve got to get to the clinic.” Caleb cranked the engine and sent up a silent thank you when the Jeep purred to life. “I’ll worry about my sleeping arrangements later.”
“You gonna show up in this?” Zach pointed to the battered Jeep.
“I need her to see. Understand the only way she’ll be safe is by helping us.”
Ford was crouched by the rear of the Jeep. “Your tire’s toast.”
Caleb stuck his head out where the window should have been. “Fuck.”
The bottom half of his rear tire was nothing more than a black crease of rubber folded in on itself.
“Leave it here.” Zach thrust his chin toward his cruiser, his voice steel. “I’ll drive.”