Chapter 12 Route 14—New Mexico
Kawan guided the black SUV off the cracked county road and into a gravel pull-off beside the diner.
The sun sagged low behind the hills, casting the landscape in a bruised shade of yellow and rust. Dust rose off the backroads like breath from scorched lungs, and the GPS had gone silent five miles ago—no cell towers, no data signal.
The kind of place people didn’t stumble upon by accident.
The building looked like it had been peeled out of an old postcard—weather-worn siding, chipped blue trim, a dented Coca-Cola sign hanging crooked over the front door, and a screen door that wheezed on its hinges every time the wind hit.
Across the parking lot, a rusted-out pickup sat half-sunken in weeds. A couple of semis idled farther back near the diesel pumps—no other cars.
If they weren’t in the middle of nowhere, New Mexico, his hackles would’ve been standing completely at attention. Currently, they were at half-mast.
He threw the gear into park and scanned the lot again. “I counted two cars on the ride in. Both were going in the opposite direction. Neither one appeared to turn and follow.”
Beside him, Lark was scrolling through the encrypted message again on her phone. “It’s a setup,” she muttered. “I don’t trust anything about this situation, and I don’t believe a word , especially the part about Mina working for the other side. I can’t see her betraying me.”
He watched her face—the set of her jaw, her narrowed eyes. She was dialed in, riding the razor’s edge between suspicion and hope.
“What do you know about Mina’s personal life?” he asked.
“She’s an only child. Her parents immigrated to the US from Colombia two years before she was born. She’s a proud person. Fiercely independent. Single. She’s also a lesbian, not that her sexual orientation matters.”
“No, it doesn’t. But I’m looking for a reason—”
“I know what you’re fishing for,” Lark said with real bite to her words.
“And I get it. Lorre suggested her for this mission. But he handed me a list of operatives. She was already someone I was considering. The only reason she wasn’t the first person I thought of was because of the location.
Our op wasn’t in Colombia, but it wasn’t too far away.
I couldn’t risk her being compromised. She still has family in the area. ”
“And yet, she was on the op anyway.”
Lark rubbed her leg. “Her knowledge of the country, as well as her language skills, was something I couldn’t deny. She proved to be an asset.”
“Our biggest assets can also be our greatest liabilities.” He took her hand and squeezed. “We have three people from your team presumed dead. Then there’s Bretton, Torin, and Bradford, all missing.”
“I asked Ry to hack into Bradford’s CIA records.”
“Jesus, that’s ballsy. Is she doing it?”
“She said she’d get back to me,” Lark said. “It takes a lot to go undercover for three years. It can fuck with a person.”
“Thing is, Bradford is exactly the kind of man who could do it.” Kawan couldn’t believe he just let that come out of his mouth.
“I’ve never liked him. Thought he was dangerous and arrogant.
I know I’ve always had issues with rules, but at least I know they exist for a reason.
But Bradford took the rule book and tossed it out the damn window.
If you wanted a special ops guy undercover for any length of time, he’d be the man for the job.
” Kawan lowered his chin. “As long as he had loyalty to the job and country.”
“Does he?”
“Only thing I’ve ever seen him do is be an asshole.” Kawan shrugged. “But everyone has a blind spot. Whether it be money. Or something else. We can all be pushed to do the unthinkable.”
“I don’t believe that. I’d never betray this country or my team.”
“Yes, you would.” He took her chin with his thumb and forefinger. “You’d do it if it meant saving someone. Just like I would if it meant your life.”
“I wouldn’t flip. I’d work with it, searching and circling the angles.”
“Perhaps. But you wouldn’t let me die unless you had to.” He leaned in and brushed his lips over her mouth.
She pressed her hand against his chest. “It’s too fucking quiet out here. I’ve got a bad feeling.”
“You want to call it?” he asked.
She looked out the window. “No. We came for answers. Let’s see what they left us.”
Kawan stepped out first, letting the door creak closed behind him. The heat clung like a second skin. Thor and Lief’s vehicle had blown past them and had pulled off about a half a mile up the road at a vantage point just shy of a major tree line.
The bell over the diner’s front door jangled as they stepped inside. The air reeked of fryer oil and scorched coffee. A waitress behind the counter—mid-fifties, teased hair, tired eyes—gave them a once-over. She wiped her hands on her apron and smiled.
Kawan looked around. Not a flipping soul. That didn’t sit well.
“Good afternoon,” she said. “You’re welcome to sit anywhere. I’ll bring over some menus in a jiffy. But I must tell you about our pralines and cream pie. We make it fresh every day. It’s so sweet and delicious. People stop here just to grab a slice.”
“That’s for the recommendation,” Kawan said.
“We’re meeting someone,” Lark added. “We’ll take the booth by the door.
The woman hesitated. “Are you Stratton?”
“That depends on who’s asking,” Kawan said.
She reached under the counter and handed them an envelope. “Guy said to give this to a woman who looked like she hadn’t slept in a week and a man who looked like he could break my grill in half if he frowned too hard.”
Kawan didn’t smile. “And who was this man?”
“He didn’t leave a name,” the waitress said, watching them carefully now. “Just said you’d know what to do with it.”
Lark took the envelope with a nod, fingers tight. “What’d he look like?”
“Like he’d been through some shit,” the waitress said, obviously annoyed.
“Can you be more specific?” Lark asked. “Like, how old was he? What was he wearing?”
“He appeared grizzled. He hadn’t shaved in a while. He wore a hoodie that he never lowered from his head, jeans, and boots. Walked with a heavy limp. Didn’t stay more than two minutes. Didn’t order a thing.”
Kawan’s pulse thudded. Limp meant injured. Injured meant it could be anyone from that mission. “Which way’d he go?”
“No idea. Disappeared out that door like smoke.” She folded her arms. “Look, I don’t want trouble. I didn’t even want to take that damn envelope, but the man gave me a hundred bucks.”
“Was that in small bills, or one large one?” Lark asked. “And when was he here?”
“Early this morning, and all small bills. Why does that matter?” the waitress asked.
“I suppose it doesn’t,” Kawan said. “Thanks for your help.” He pulled out his wallet and handed her some cash.
She smiled, slipping the money inside her apron.
They left the diner without another word. The moment they stepped outside, the dry wind slapped Kawan in the face, tasting of iron and old motor oil. The air had changed—thicker somehow. Charged.
Lark stopped at the SUV’s passenger door. “You feel that?”
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Something’s off. It’s too still.”
He turned his head, just a fraction—enough to catch a glint of light from the tree line across the road. Opposite of where Thor and Lief were located. A flicker of reflection. Too high.
“Down,” he yelled, lunging sideways just as the first shot cracked the air.
The bullet punched into the SUV’s rear panel with a metallic scream, sending shards of taillight flying. Lark hit the gravel on her hands and knees, rolling behind the front tire.
Kawan dropped low, snagged his weapon, pulled the comms from his pocket, and stuffed them in his ear. “We’ve got a sniper. Across the street, tree line, two o’clock high.”
Another shot rang out—this one sparking off the pavement inches from his boot.
“Son of a bitch—” Kawan belly-crawled to the front of the SUV, used the wheel well for cover. “Lark, you hit?”
“No. You?”
“Just pissed.”
Lief’s voice crackled through the comms. “We see him. Across the road. Behind the diner. High in the tree line. Shooter’s moving… there’s a car parked in the bushes.”
“Take him,” Kawan snapped. “Don’t wait for an invite.”
A distant engine roared to life. Tires squealed.
“We’re on him,” Lief gritted.
Kawan peeked out just in time to see a dark-colored SUV—a black Jeep—peel out of the brush and fishtail back toward the road.
Lark was already moving, envelope stuffed into her jacket, weapon drawn. “We need to go.”
“No argument.”
They scrambled into the SUV. Kawan slammed the gas pedal, wheels churning gravel before grabbing pavement.
Up ahead, the Jeep tore down the highway like a black phantom—Lief and Thor right behind them.
“Stay tucked in behind me,” Thor said through the comms.
Kawan floored it, chasing the dust cloud in the distance. “Let’s box him in. I’ll push him forward. You cut left at the county split.”
Lark gripped the passenger handle. “We’re not exactly in a tank, you know.”
“We don’t need to ram him. Just corral him.”
The Jeep swerved ahead, trying to lose them. Kawan stayed tight, watching the road and the trees on either side.
“He’s gonna ditch it,” Lark said.
“Yeah.” Kawan braked hard as the Jeep veered off the asphalt and onto a dirt road flanked by mesquite scrub and dry riverbed.
“He’s heading toward the old quarry,” Thor cut in. “We’ve got him.”
But the suspect wasn’t giving up. His taillights disappeared behind a cloud of dust and foliage.
The chase twisted through narrow cuts in the terrain, over a splintered fence line, and down into a rocky basin. Kawan navigated sharp turns and loose gravel, nearly losing traction more than once.
Lark hung on, eyes scanning, breath shallow. “He’s either desperate or he knows something we don’t.”
A few seconds later, Lief’s voice came through. “He’s bailing—vehicle’s slowing. Driver’s out on foot. South ridge.”
Kawan brought the SUV to a controlled stop and jumped out, gun raised. “You stay—”