Chapter Twenty-Eight
Change of plans. We meet today. This afternoon.
Caleb stood at the sliding glass door of the safe house, phone in hand. He tugged the tarp aside, letting winter sunlight flood the room. Sixty degrees already—false spring, the kind that teased warmth before the temperature plummeted again.
Vincente Lopez’s text had arrived an hour ago.
Clever bastard.
Lopez was trying to catch them off guard by moving the meeting up a day.
Too late for Dìleas to send more support.
He’d called Zach and Danny immediately. They’d raced over.
Zach, dressed in desert cammies and tan boots, sat in the beige armchair, his Marine Corps cap turned backward over tied-back hair.
“A private jet from Miami landed at Gallup Municipal,” he said, ending a call. “Tail number belongs to Havana Sol Entertainment Holdings. Four men deplaned. My contact says at least two are muscle.”
“If Lopez is bringing more than four,” Caleb said, “he’s hiring local.”
“Aztec Kings? ” Zach leaned forward, fingers laced.
“Probably who Ortega used during the ambush. Same with the medical supply driver who grabbed Jennie—still no ID.” He exhaled.
“But I doubt they’ll risk open conflict on tribal land.
They don’t want that kind of heat.” His jaw flexed.
“I’ve checked with every local agency—no signs of a cartel presence. ”
A beat passed.
“I find that hard to believe.” His gaze met Caleb’s. “You were right to keep this off law enforcement’s radar.”
Caleb dropped onto the orange sofa beside Gia, in jeans and a plaid button-down borrowed from Zach covering his tactical vest.
He rested a hand on her thigh—comfort for her, an anchor for him.
She sat curled into herself, legs tucked beneath her, wearing an olive button-down he’d handed her earlier to cover the vest Danny brought. Her face was pale, her silence stretched.
“Gia thinks Lopez will underestimate us,” Caleb said. “Maybe he brings just his cousin and two enforcers.”
Danny snorted from across the room. “We’re never that lucky.” He wore mission gear—tan pants, beige shirt, tactical boots, his shaggy blond hair pulled into a stubby ponytail.
“Only one road in, one road out.” Caleb glanced at his cousin. “What about air?”
“No fixed-wing planes can land there,” Zach said, scrolling through his phone. “A helo could squeeze in, but it’s tight. Most in Gallup are med flights. Charter company’s tiny—no flights scheduled today.”
He looked up. “And the charter uses local pilots. If Lopez plans to kill you, I doubt he’ll leave a civilian witness who’s also his ride.”
Gia flinched.
Caleb gave her thigh a gentle squeeze. “Have your guy at the airport watch every bird. Even med flights. I want to know the second one lifts.”
Danny checked his watch. “We need to move if we want to be in position before Lopez and his boys roll in.”
The three men stood.
Caleb turned to Gia, offered his hand, and pulled her to her feet.
He brushed a knuckle down her cheek. “You ready?” He kept his voice soft—she was close to the edge.
“Yes.”
Shoulders drawn tight, face still pale, but her voice didn’t waver.
His woman was a fighter.
He grabbed the envelope Nathan had sent—tracker tags. Flesh-toned. Flat. Barely visible.
“Turn around,” he murmured.
She did. He parted her hair and pressed the tag firmly into place beneath her ponytail.
Then he kissed her. In front of everyone.
“Let’s end this so we can start the rest of our lives.”
Caleb steered Zach’s Charger down a narrow dirt road, winding into a valley hemmed by twin plateaus. The track ended at a clearing, where Old Joe’s hogan slumped on a gentle rise about fifty yards from the dry riverbed they’d seen in the drone footage.
Low mesquite, saltbush, and yellow-tipped cactus blurred the edges of the arroyo, perfect concealment for Danny and Zach’s friends, Roy and Ford.
The hoga n looked even worse up close than it had from the air—sunbaked dirt crumbling off its sides, rotted wood exposed beneath, the door sagging on its hinges like a drunk mid-stumble.
Beside him, Gia twisted her fingers in silence.
“You doing okay?”
He’d asked her that too many times.
“I’m hot.”
She had on the vest beneath her shirt. Dark sunglasses shielded her eyes. A black ball cap, embroidered with the Arizona state flag, kept her ponytail tucked out of sight.
“Me too.”
Sweat already formed between the vest, his undershirt, and skin. He’d known worse—Iraq in full kit in one hundred twenty-degrees.
His Glock rode his belt beneath his untucked shirt, a folding knife in his pocket, Danny’s conceal-carry Sig snug at his ankle. Armed as he could be without tipping Lopez off.
He’d be standing in the open with his balls hanging out, relying on Zach, Danny, and a pair of Army vets to watch his six.
And praying Lopez didn’t give the order to open fire—with Gia or Jennie in the crosshairs.
Caleb parked behind the hogan and rolled down the window.
Mild air drifted in, laced with the mineral scent of lingering snow from the shadows and the sun-warmed tang of dormant grass and old hay.
A low-pitched, plaintive cry broke the quiet.
“What was that?” Gia’s eyes rounded. “Sounds like a cow’s in trouble.”
“It’s the call of a Capuchinbird.”
“A bird makes that sound?” She narrowed her eyes. “Why are you grinning?”
“It’s Zach. We learned the call from a nature documentary when we were kids. Drove our family nuts.”
He opened the door. “We use it as a signal. You won’t hear a real one unless you’re in northeastern South America.”
Zach stood nearby, Remington 700 slung casually across his shoulder, the black carbon barrel catching a gleam of sunlight.
Behind him, Danny, Roy, and Ford emerged from the arroyo.
Danny wore a Glock on his thigh and a SCAR rifle slung over his shoulder.
Roy and Ford sported lightweight camo and Winchester rifles—the same ones they’d used to fend off Ortega and his crew when they ambushed Caleb.
Danny joined Caleb and Gia by the hogan while the three Diné kept a respectful distance.
“There’s a dirt road on the west side.” Zach pointed toward the plateau, eight hundred yards out. “We’re parked just beneath the ridgeline.”
His finger shifted, tracing to a cluster of boulders halfway up the eastern slope. “That’s where I’ll be posted.”
“Jennie and Gia will meet here.” Caleb gestured to a spot near the right side of the hogan. “Keeps them close to the car and clear of any crossfire.”
“Then what?” Danny asked.
Caleb turned to Zach. If it were his call, they’d already know the answer.
But this was Zach’s territory. His call.
Zach huffed out a breath. “I know what you want me to say, but we need to do this by the book. If they don’t put up a fight, we arrest them. Let the Feds handle it.”
“And if they do?” Caleb asked.
“We shoot bac k. Then it’s self-defense.”
Danny barked a laugh. “Nathan’s gonna be pissed he missed this. But with the wedding coming up, if he tried, Emily would cut his nads off.”
Caleb was still adjusting to the fact that his bosses were unofficially backing the op. If it went sideways, Dìleas Security Agency risked blowback—an inquiry, bad press, worse.
But they backed him anyway.
Family.
“So, this is normal for you guys?” Gia’s sunglasses hid her expression, but her tone dripped with incredulity. “Just another day?”
“Used to be.” Caleb didn’t miss war. He was proud of his service—but he’d seen enough hell for one lifetime.
Still, for Gia?
He’d walk straight back into the fire if it meant she stayed safe.
“I’m heading to my spot.” Zach checked his watch. “Comm check once everyone is in position. Ford, get the drone up—we’ll need eyes for the approach.” With a wave, he peeled off toward the plateau.
Danny bumped fists with Caleb. “Good luck, brother.”
Caleb watched them disperse. The quiet settled in again.
A chill crept down his spine, his sixth sense flaring.
Something didn’t feel right. The coyote’s howl from the day before echoed in his memory.
Just nerves.
He had more to lose now than on any combat op.
He brushed Gia’s arm, needing the contact one more time before Lopez arrived.
Needing her.
A traitorous thought whispered.
What if this is the last time you touch her?
The last time h e heard that smoky voice that hooked him the first night at Lucero’s Lounge.
Her answering smile was subdued. “Now what?”
He swallowed the fear clawing at his spine. Let none of it show.
“Now, we wait.”