Chapter Eighty
AJ
Hardison moves like a man who’s already lost patience with subtlety. He ducks behind one of the ATVs, his fingers flying over the satellite phone while Zephyr taps into the line.
The weight of what we’re about to do—this deal we’re making with a devil—presses down on me. I don’t know how to justify it, but I know at the end, Grace will be alive, in my arms. And Parker will be free.
“Nothing says good life choices like dialing up a cartel boss for a friendly chat,” Hardison says.
“Friendly?” My brows shoot up. “Ain’t nothin’ about this that’s friendly.”
Connor adjusts his rifle strap across his chest, jaw tight. He hasn’t said a word in ten minutes, but the way his eyes keep flicking toward me, I reckon he’s thinking the same thing I am—this is insane.
But Grace is inside that compound, and insane is the only card we’ve got left.
Zephyr’s voice is thin and tinny over the tiny earbuds. “You’ll have Reyes in three, two, one…”
I picture my wife’s face. The way she squints when she’s trying to make a joke land. How she rested her cheek against my chest that first night home, so relaxed I thought my heart would stop. That’s why we’re doing this. She’s why we’re doing this.
The doc answers, his voice low and measured. “Dr. Alejandro Reyes. Who is this?”
“Doc, it’s AJ.”
There’s a long pause. Long enough, I wonder if he’s going to talk to me at all. “Is Grace all right?”
I close my eyes for half a beat, because even through the crackle of the sat phone, I hear the worry in him.
The man who cut into her skull in a clinic that had no business handling brain surgery, and who kept her alive long enough for me to get to her.
“She’s hangin’ on. But she ain’t safe, Doc.
The man who…almost killed her… He’s about to try again.
And this time, he won’t fail. That’s why I’m calling.
You saved her. You gave me my wife back.
” My voice cracks, the desperation leaking through no matter how tightly I grit my jaw.
“I need your help again. One more time.”
Hardison mutters beside me, “Cue the part where we dial up Satan’s second cousin.”
Connor cuts him a look sharp enough to peel paint, but I don’t flinch. “You know Miguel Sandoval,” I say, forcing my voice to steady. “You run his clinic. And you swore that he was a good man. That he’d never condone…anything that was done to Grace.”
Reyes lets out a short breath, half-sigh, half-laugh. “He is the head of the cartel, AJ. His hands will never be clean. But yes. He is, at his heart, a good man.”
“I ain’t askin’ for clean,” I say. “I’m askin’ for someone willing to straddle the line between good and evil…
for the right cause. The Cordova Cartel is runnin’ a ghost gun operation out of land owned by a cult called the Blessed Flock.
Their leader, who insists his devotees call him Prophet, has Grace in their compound now.
Stole her right out of the hospital in Austin less than thirty-six hours after she’d had a craniotomy. ”
“Dios Mio. Only a monster…” Reyes lets out a string of curses in his native tongue.
“In twelve hours, he’s gonna poison her all over again, then bleed her out so his flock can have eternal life. The cult’s lands run from Alpine all the way to the U.S./Mexico border. Right to Sandoval’s territory.”
“And this is why you want to speak to Miguel? You think he can…somehow put a stop to these zealots? Even though they are not even in the same country?” Reyes’s thin laugh grates, but he’s got a point.
“I think Cordova’s been sending a fuckin’ tsunami of guns into Mexico. Undercutting Miguel’s operations, making him look weak. You know the next step is to try and wipe Sandoval off the map.”
Reyes is silent for a moment. “Miguel does not want a war.”
“Cordova does. If Sandoval looks like he can’t stop one, he’s already lost.”
“What are you proposing?” Reyes asks.
“Sandoval shows up at the front gates tonight. Loud and ornery. Provide enough of a distraction, enough chaos, for us to get Grace—and Parker—out of there alive. Once we’re clear, he can go in, guns blazin’, and take all of Cordova’s manufacturing lines. All the 3D printers, supplies…everything.”
Static hisses while Reyes thinks, and I swear my heart’s gonna pound out of my chest.
“Do you understand what you are asking of me?” He sighs, the sound carrying years—if not decades—of weight. “To call him…to vouch for you? It is no small thing.”
“I know.” I ball my free hand into a fist. “Doc, you found her. Kept her breathin’ when I didn’t even know she was alive. I’ll never forget that. I got no business askin’ you for a damn thing. But I’m callin’—beggin’ you because I’m out of options. And Grace is out of time.”
“Miguel trusts me. Even though I hid Grace’s existence from him until you were back in the United States. I explained how fragile she was. But also, her strength. The purity of her soul.”
“Doc…please.” My chest is tight enough I can hardly breathe. If he says no…we’re fucked. Grace and Parker will die. And I’ll have nothin’ left in this world but a dog who’ll, once again, lose her person.
“I will make the call. He will listen, at least. But I can make no promise that he will be willing to help.”
“Alejandro—”
“Make no mistake, AJ. Miguel is not a savior. He is not a man you control. He is a man you unleash.”
Hardison leans closer to the receiver, whispering, “So basically, we’re trading one devil for another?”
I glare at him, then steady my voice. “Understood, Doc. Just give me a chance. Give Grace a chance to live. Again.”
There’s a soft rustle on the other end, followed by the sound of a chair scraping. “For Grace,” Reyes says at last. “Always for Grace.”
Those three words soften something feral in me. Something I thought might be gone forever. I picture Reyes in his clinic. His weary smile. The way he cared for Grace. Protected her. Even from me until he was certain I could be trusted. He’ll do this for Grace. And maybe…we’ll have a chance.
After a few moments, there’s a click, and a new voice rumbles over the line. Measured. Ancient in a way. The voice of a man who knows loss.
“This is Miguel Sandoval. Alejandro says you come to me for a favor?”
“More of a…trade. My name is AJ Stone. I’m a captain with the Texas Ranger division.
I won’t waste your time with my resume. I reckon you can find that out on your own.
My wife, Grace, and one of my lieutenants, Parker Elmore, were kidnapped by some assholes callin’ themselves the Blessed Flock.
They’re in deep with the Cordova Cartel, manufacturin’ ghost guns on cult lands that they send right into Mexico.
But their leader is convinced Grace is the key to his eternal salvation.
He’s plannin’ on sacrificing her tonight.
Nine p.m. I’ve got an infil team ready to go, but these bastards are prepared for anythin’. ”
“That is an interesting story, Captain Stone. But I do not know what you need from me,” Miguel says, his tone warning me he’s growing weary of listening.
“We need a distraction. Noise. A show of force at eight-fifty-five p.m. Big enough that their Prophet stops the ceremony and to distract his sentries so they never see us comin’.”
“Tonight?” He laughs. “The United States is not my territory, Stone. And if I were to make it so, it would take weeks—if not months—to prepare such an invasion.”
“We’ve done the work, Miguel. We can send you drone footage of the entire compound.
Provide intel on every possible escape route.
All you have to do is show up. Threaten this Prophet asshole.
His whole fuckin’ flock. Do anything but burn the place down.
Once we get what we need—Grace and Parker—you can have the 3D printers, whatever you find in the cult’s coffers, everything in the compound. ”
“I want the head of the Cordova Cartel.”
“I can get him there,” I say before Jasper, Connor, or Hardison can argue with me. “I’ll get Jefe to show his face. You can have him too for all I care.”
After a long beat, Miguel hums. “You can summon a rival to my doorstep? How will you do that, Captain Stone?”
“That’s my business, Miguel.”
Miguel is quiet long enough I can almost hear crickets. “You would bring two predators into a single cage. You understand what that means?”
“I do. But there are rules, Miguel.” This is the moment when we win or lose. Right here. Miguel could call for my head as easily as most men would order a club soda.
His dry laugh worries me, but there’s no turning back now. “Go on.”
“You promise me that no woman or child—no matter how deep their indoctrination—will be harmed by your people. You promise me that Grace, Parker, and my four-man infil team will be safe and free to walk out of there. Do that, and I don’t give a damn about anything else.”
“I lost my family to men like Cordova,” Miguel says at last, his voice rough with grief and a lifetime of blood.
“I am not blind. Those who traffic in suffering should never be tolerated. Your terms are acceptable. I will not harm the women or children. My men will be punished if they do. As for Cordova’s head—I want him to know the meaning of fear.
I will take his machines. I will take his pride.
If he is foolish enough to come, I will take him. ”
I let the anger out of my chest in a single, ragged exhale. “Thank you. Eight-fifty-five. On the dot. If you’re a minute late, my wife is as good as dead.”
Miguel’s voice softens in a way that almost sounds like pity. “You are a dangerous man to ask this favor of me, Captain Stone. Do not expect me to be your saint. Expect me to be efficient.”
“Efficient is exactly what I need.” I sweep my gaze over the men who’ve been standing at my side for weeks now. Jasper. Connor. Hardison. Each of them nod in turn.
On the other end, Miguel’s voice takes on a low, dangerous edge. “For your women,” he says, “we will make it swift. For Cordova…we will make it unforgettable.”
When the call drops, we sit in the thicket of trees with the radio static buzzing in our ears, the knowledge of what we’ve asked and what we’ve been given forging a new kind of quiet. My stomach is hollow and heavy all at once.
Hardison pockets the phone like it’s contraband and looks at me, his face a map of too many lost nights. “We just rented time from a man with better reasons to kill than to forgive. Hope he’s in a charitable mood.”
“I hope he keeps his word,” I say, because hope is all I have right now. “And if he doesn’t…” My voice hardens. “We burn the world down around him.”