Chapter 5
Gray sedan. Tinted windows. Parked on the highway shoulder a quarter mile east of the motel, positioned to watch both access roads without being obvious about it.
Amateur hour. But amateurs with guns were still dangerous.
He stepped back from the window, letting the curtain fall closed. Behind him, Jolene sat cross-legged on the bed with a road atlas open across her lap—the same atlas the motel kept in its front office, dog-eared and outdated but better than nothing.
Her daughter had arrived two hours ago, delivered by Rascal with a stuffed rabbit clutched to her chest and eyes too big for her face. Lily. Six years old. Red hair like her mother's, already asleep in the adjoining room with the door cracked open so Jolene could hear her breathe.
"How bad?" Jolene asked without looking up.
"They found us."
Now she looked up. Her face was pale, but her voice stayed steady. "How many?"
Tornado pulled out his phone and dialed Shadow. It rang twice.
"Talk to me."
Shadow's voice came through low and tight. "Renteria's got four men working the perimeter. One on the east shoulder—you probably spotted him. Two more on the access road from the west, sitting in a pickup pretending to have engine trouble. Fourth one's on foot, circling the back of the property."
"They're boxing us in."
"That's the idea. Renteria's not with them yet, but my contact says he's on his way. Pissed as hell about the guys you ran off the road last night. Two of them are in the hospital. Third one's not talking to anyone ever again."
Good. Tornado didn't say it out loud, but he thought it.
"How long until our assault team gets here?"
"Striker's forty minutes out with four brothers. They were running recon on Delgado's stash house when I pulled them."
Forty minutes. A lot could happen in forty minutes.
"Keep me posted." Tornado ended the call and turned to find Jolene watching him.
"Renteria," she said. "That's the one from my café? The one you hit?"
"That's his crew. He's on his way."
"To finish what they started."
"To try."
Jolene's jaw tightened. She looked down at the atlas, then back up at him with something fierce in her eyes.
"The driver in the gray sedan. I know him."
Tornado went still. "What?"
"He came into my café last week. Wednesday, maybe Thursday.
Sat at the counter for two hours, ordered coffee and pie, asked me about my schedule.
When I opened, when I closed, whether I worked alone.
" Her hands curled into fists against the atlas pages.
"I thought he was just lonely. Chatty. Now I know he was scouting me. "
"You remember his face?"
"I remember everyone's face. That's the job." She stood, crossing to the window and peeling back the curtain just enough to see. "Blue jacket, right? Dark hair, beard?"
Tornado looked. The driver had stepped out of the sedan to stretch, clearly visible in the afternoon sun.
"That's him."
"Son of a bitch sat in my café and ate my pie while he was planning to burn it down." Jolene's voice had gone cold. Hard. "I hope your boys hit him first."
Something hot twisted in Tornado's chest. Not anger—appreciation. This woman had lost everything, was running for her life with her daughter in the next room, and she was already thinking about payback.
That's my girl.
The thought caught him off guard. He shoved it down.
"Rascal," he called.
The Sergeant at Arms appeared from the bathroom, where he'd been checking sight lines from the small window. "Boss."
"We've got four hostiles on perimeter. Renteria incoming. Striker's forty minutes out."
Rascal nodded once, already moving toward the front window. "Defensive positions?"
"You take the east window. I've got the door. Anyone comes through without announcing themselves, put them down."
"Copy."
Jolene watched the exchange with sharp eyes. "What can I do?"
"Stay with your daughter."
"She's asleep. And I'm not going to sit in a corner while you two—"
"Jolene." Tornado crossed to her, close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. "I need you to do something for me."
"What?"
"That atlas you were looking at. You know this area better than anyone—you've been driving these roads for seven years. I need you to map every back road within ten miles. Every dirt track, every ranch access, every cattle path that could get us out of here if things go sideways."
Her eyes widened slightly. "You want me to plan the escape route?"
"I want you to give us options. Can you do that?"
She was quiet for a moment. Then her chin came up—that stubborn tilt he was starting to recognize.
"I can do better than options. I can get us to the state line three different ways without touching pavement."
"Then do it."
He watched her move back to the bed, watched her spread the atlas out and start marking routes with a pen she'd pulled from her pocket. Her hands were steady now. Focused. She needed something to do, and he'd given her something that mattered.
Smart. Capable. Fierce.
God, she was going to be the death of him.
Rascal's voice came from the window. "Movement. The foot patrol's getting closer. He's checking the building exteriors."
"How close?"
"Fifty yards. Circling toward the back."
Tornado moved to the door, checking the deadbolt and the chain. The motel room was defensible—steel bars on the windows, solid core door, limited entry points. But defensible wasn't the same as safe. Not with a six-year-old in the next room.
"We need to move before Renteria gets here," he said.
"Agreed." Rascal's voice was flat. "But if we try to run now, we hit their perimeter. Four on two, plus civilians. Not great odds."
"Striker's forty minutes out."
"A lot can happen in forty minutes."
"I know."
Jolene looked up from the atlas. "There's a service road behind the motel. Runs parallel to the highway for about two miles, then cuts south toward an old ranch property. If we can get to it without being seen—"
"Show me."
She pointed to a faint line on the map, barely visible among the topographic markings. "Here. It's not on most GPS systems because it's technically private property, but the ranch has been abandoned for years. I used to take it when the highway flooded."
Tornado studied the route. It was tight. Risky. But it was something.
"How do we get from the motel to the service road without crossing their sight lines?"
Jolene bit her lip, thinking. Then her eyes lit up.
"The drainage ditch. It runs behind the property, about four feet deep. If we go out the bathroom window on the north side, we can drop into the ditch and follow it to where it meets the service road. They'd have to be standing right on top of us to see."
"You've used it before?"
"Once. When I was dating a guy who lived out that way and didn't want anyone to know." A ghost of a smile crossed her face. "Long story."
Tornado filed that away for later. Right now, he had more pressing concerns.
"Rascal, can you cover our exit from here?"
"I can slow them down. Buy you time to get to the service road." Rascal's pale eyes found his. "But if Renteria shows up before Striker—"
"Then you hold until backup arrives. No heroics."
"Define heroics."
"Don't die."
Rascal's mouth twitched. "I'll do my best."
The radio on Tornado's belt crackled. Striker's voice came through, rough with static.
"Tornado, you copy?"
"Go ahead."
"We're thirty-five minutes out. Hit some traffic outside Tucumcari, but we're pushing through. What's your status?"
"Four hostiles on perimeter, one closing on the building. Renteria en route. We're looking at extraction via service road on the north side."
"Copy. We'll hit their eastern position first, draw attention away from your exit. Hold tight."
"Roger that."
The radio went silent. Tornado looked at Jolene, who had stopped marking the map and was watching him with those fierce green eyes.
"Thirty-five minutes," she said.
"Thirty-five minutes."
"And if they don't wait that long?"
Tornado crossed to her, took her hands in his. Her fingers were cold despite the afternoon heat.
"Then we run. You, me, and Lily. We get to that service road and we don't stop until we hit the compound." He squeezed her hands. "I told you I wouldn't let them touch you. I meant it."
"I believe you."
Three words. Simple. But the way she said them—like she'd decided to trust him somewhere between the burning café and this cramped motel room—hit him harder than a punch.
"Pack your bag," he said. "Wake Lily. Tell her we're going on an adventure."
"She won't believe me."
"Then tell her the truth. Tell her we're leaving because the bad men are outside, and I'm going to keep her and her mama safe." He released her hands, already moving back toward the window. "Can you do that?"
Jolene nodded. She crossed to the adjoining room, pausing at the door to look back at him.
"Tornado."
"Yeah?"
"When this is over—when Renteria and Delgado and all of them are gone—I'm going to rebuild my café. And you're going to be the first person who sits at my counter."
Something in his chest cracked open.
"I'll hold you to that," he said.
She disappeared into the other room, and Tornado turned back to the window. The gray sedan was still there. The foot patrol was still circling.
Thirty-five minutes.
He could hold for thirty-five minutes.
He had to.