2. The First Legacy Family #2
The aircraft is fueled and waiting when we reach the private terminal. Victor doesn’t do delays. If he says wheels up in thirty minutes, we’re airborne in twenty.
As the cabin door closes behind us, I tap the secure communications panel. A moment later, G joins the encrypted call, his voice coming through the jet’s speakers.
“I’ve got three aircraft pretending to be yours. One filed for Denver. One’s heading toward Phoenix. The third developed a mechanical fault and never left California.”
“So anyone watching electronically is chasing ghosts,” I say.
“For a while,” he says. “The flight’s the easy part. Stay invisible once you land.”
The engines begin to spool, their rising whine deepening as the jet taxis onto the runway.
A moment later, the engines surge and we gather speed, pressing us back into our seats before the wheels leave the ground.
The jet climbs into the morning sky, banking south as San Francisco disappears beneath scattered cloud.
Jan slips her hand into mine.
“Thinking?”
“Always.”
Across the aisle, Angus sits with his arms folded, eyes half closed. Anyone else would mistake him for relaxed.
Jax sits two rows behind him, reviewing the El Paso hotel plans Victor sent through before takeoff.
I know Angus has already checked every exit, counted everyone on board and worked out how long it would take him to reach the cockpit.
Ten missions. Every one of them felt impossible until we found the weakness that brought the operation down.
This feels different.
Meridian was the operation. The Legacy families own it.
We’re no longer chasing managers and regional directors. We’re flying toward the people who built the bloody machine.
Almost three hours later, we touch down outside El Paso.
Two black SUVs wait on the tarmac while the ground crew secure the aircraft. No logos or government plates, just anonymous vehicles exactly where Victor promised they would be.
The doors are unlocked, the keys waiting inside. We grab our bags from the jet and load them into the rear.
The drive takes us away from the airport and into older neighborhoods where family businesses sit beside churches that have served the community for decades.
“This is Father Gabriel’s parish,” Jan says, looking out the window.
“You knew Victor had a priest for a mate?”
“I didn’t know Victor had a religious bone in his body.”
“Maybe Gabriel’s the exception.”
Five minutes later, we turn through an open gate beside a weathered brick church with a modest bell tower.
Children’s bicycles lean against one wall, and a vegetable garden grows beside the outreach center.
The heavy timber door opens before we reach it.
The man standing there wears a black clerical shirt with a white tab collar, the sleeves rolled to his forearms. He’s around forty, broad-shouldered, with close-cropped dark hair and the kind of straight-backed posture that makes me wonder if he once served.
His eyes move over each of us once, assessing, before he offers me his hand.
“Father Gabriel Reyes.”
“Father. Steve Hollands and my wife Janice.”
“Gabriel, please. The Father part makes me sound older than I am.”
His grip is firm as I let go and he shakes Jan’s hand.
“Harmony’s safe,” he says. “She fell asleep about an hour ago.”
Jan releases a slow breath.
“Has anyone been near the church?” I ask.
“Two unfamiliar vehicles passed by this morning that I noticed. Neither stopped.”
“You think they were looking?”
“I think twenty-five million dollars buys a lot of attention.”
I glance toward the street.
“We’re moving.”
Gabriel nods. “The hotel’s ready.”
“You’re coming with us.”
“That was always the plan. While you need me.”
He leads us inside.
Ten minutes later, Harmony appears at the top of the stairs wearing jeans, an oversized sweatshirt and a borrowed baseball cap.
She looks exhausted, as though she’s been surviving on nerve alone.
Now half the government and one of the most powerful families in America want to make sure she never speaks again.
Jan goes to her first.
“We’re taking you somewhere safer. The people who framed you know you’re out, and they’ll already be looking for you. We can explain everything once we’re moving, but right now, staying here puts you and everyone around you at risk.”
Harmony studies her face.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Janice. That’s my husband, Steve, and the other two are Angus and Jax. We’re part of HAVEN, the Hidden Ally Vigilante Extraction Network. We get people out when the system meant to protect them has been compromised.”
Harmony’s gaze moves between us.
“Why are you helping me?”
“Because the people behind your arrest are still coming for you,” Jan says. “We know who they are, and we know this was never about justice. We know enough to believe your innocence. We’ll explain everything once you’re somewhere safe.”
Harmony takes another step, then stops. “My bail conditions prohibit me from leaving El Paso County.”
“That’s already been handled,” Jan says. “The court granted an emergency modification allowing you to travel under protective supervision while the threat against you is assessed. Officially, you’re being moved between approved secure locations in Texas.”
Harmony looks at Gabriel. He gives her a quiet nod, and she comes down the stairs.
We’re back on the road fifteen minutes later.
No one follows us, and no one approaches when we enter the hotel through the underground parking garage.
The rooms are registered under false names. The floor has two stairwells, a service elevator and back-of-house corridors connecting the guest rooms to the service areas.
Better than the parish.
Still not safe.
Nothing is anymore.
Hampton Inn, El Paso, Texas. 1215 hours
Jax finishes placing the last of the small wireless cameras around the property and checks the feeds on his tablet.
We’ve barely been inside the hotel room ten minutes when Angus looks toward the door.
“Someone’s coming.”
Jax checks the security feed on his tablet.
Three men step out of the service elevator.
Dark suits. No luggage. One carries a housekeeping keycard.
“Mercenaries,” Gabriel says.
The first suppressed shot punches through the lock.
“Move!”
I drag the desk across the door while Angus overturns the narrow dining table behind it.
Another round tears through the wood.
Jan takes Harmony by the arm.
“Where?”
Gabriel points toward the adjoining room.
“Staff access behind the bathroom.”
Jax fires through the wall beside the door, forcing the men back.
“Go!”
Jan and Harmony disappear into the next room as the hotel alarm begins screaming.
The attackers hit the door together. The desk skids several inches.
Angus braces it with one shoulder while Gabriel draws a pistol from beneath his clerical shirt.
I stare at him.
“Priest?”
“Former SEAL.”
“Right.”
The next impact splinters the frame.
We fall back as the door crashes inward.
Angus takes the first man down before he clears the barricade. Gabriel fires twice, driving the second mercenary into the hall.
The third throws something through the doorway.
“Flashbang!”
I turn away, clamp my hands over my ears, and squeeze my eyes shut as the room erupts in white light and pressure.
The blast still punches through me physically. My ears ring, and bright spots swim across my vision as glass bursts across the carpet.
Jax catches my shoulder and pulls me behind the sofa as bullets rake the wall above us.
Jan staggers in the adjoining room, one hand clamped over her ear. Harmony blinks hard beside her, dazed and unsteady.
Jan pulls Faris from inside her jacket and holds him up to the service door behind the bathroom.
“Faris, go. Open.”
He reaches for the release, but his movements are sluggish.
“Come on, Slinky.”
His claw catches the mechanism on the second attempt. The lock clicks, and Jan wrenches the door open.
The corridor beyond is narrow and lined with carts, cleaning supplies and stacked linen.
Harmony freezes when gunfire follows them.
Jan slips Faris back inside her jacket as she grabs her face.
“Stay with me. Come on!”
A round punches through the wall beside us.