Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Ace
One way to keep my brain occupied instead of thinking about Harper having dinner with her fake fiancé is a kidnapping.
One in broad daylight and a plan that, if executed correctly, is worthy of a movie. Although I could also end up with a bullet in my head. I’m betting on the first one. Because I made this plan and it’s fuckin’ airtight.
The lunchtime heat is scorching as Colten blows his smoke out through the truck window.
The stock trailer rattles empty behind us.
Jett and Tate left an hour before—ATVs loaded in Tate's blacked-out pickup, staging east. Paulie and Xander took the long route south to set up on the ridge without crossing the property's sight line.
The target is Thomas fucking Graves, tied to the murder of Gianna’s brother. He's been holed up in a safe house south of Prescott for two weeks. Single-story cinder block, one access road, flat desert on all sides. Light security. Two to three guys, rotating.
They thought killing Max Milano was a power move, and all it did was put their top trainer into hiding.
Hunter wants him alive. Leverage, not justice. The LA family can't be trusted to handle this cleanly, and the Greeks sure as hell won't police their own. So Enzo called Romeo, Romeo called Hunter, and Hunter handed me the field.
Strict extract. Do not kill.
Romeo and Enzo have arranged a location for us to hold Graves, somewhere off the ranch, somewhere that doesn't trace back to Sterling land. We grab him, we deliver him, and the trail dies in the desert.
By the time we hit Prescott, the sun is high, and the desert is doing what it does, baking everything flat and gold and merciless. I pull off the highway three miles out and park behind a gas station.
I key the comms. "Paulie, talk to me."
Static.
"Ridge is good. Eyes on the property. Two vehicles. Three tangos. One on the porch, two inside through the east window. Target confirmed in the main room, seated."
"Seated?"
"Eating lunch. The man's having a sandwich, Ace. Not close enough to tell you what’s in it."
Colten snorts.
"Copy. Hold position. Jett?"
"East side, staged. Ready on your go."
"Hold until those guards are on the road. Nobody moves early."
I pull back onto the highway. The truck grumbles along at twenty miles an hour, nice and easy, stock trailer swaying behind us. Right now, we’re just two ranchers, lost on a desert road, hauling an empty trailer because the livestock sale fell through, and we're heading home disappointed.
We know Graves is trained, so we had to get creative.
Two hundred yards past the property gate, I pull to the shoulder and kill the engine. Pop the hood. Step out into the sun.
The heat hits like a fist. I tug my hat lower and lean into the engine bay, making a show of checking hoses. Colten gets out the other side, stretches, squints around like he's never seen a desert before.
We ain’t ever taken an acting class before, but we’re pretty good at it.
"Think this is the way back to New Mexico?" he calls, loud enough to carry.
"GPS died about forty miles back," I say.
We wait.
Four minutes. That’s when I hear the crunch of tires on dirt before I see the vehicle, the black sedan pulling out of the gate, rolling toward us.
I don't look up, just keep my hands in the engine.
The sedan stops thirty feet away. One door opens. The first security detail gets out, his gun on display, the second stays in the car with the engine running.
Easy. We can take on two.
"Can we help you?" the first one calls.
Colten pulls off his hat and wipes his forehead.
Every inch the lost cowboy. "Yeah, hey, sorry about this.
Engine started overheating about ten miles back.
You wouldn't know if there's a shop nearby?
Trying to get this trailer back to Las Cruces, and this damn truck's been fighting us the whole way. "
The Greek walks closer. Eyes sweep the trailer, the truck, Colten, and me. I keep my head down.
"No shop for thirty miles."
"Thirty miles? Shit." Colten rubs the back of his neck. "Mind if we let her cool down? I think we've got coolant in the back."
I key the comms with the mic taped inside my sleeve. Two clicks, and that means Jett moves.
Colten keeps talking. Asks about the area. Compliments the man's sedan. The Greek answers short, annoyed but not alarmed. His partner in the sedan is watching. They've done the math: two cowboys, busted truck, no threat.
Sixty seconds. Ninety. I'm counting, hands in the engine, listening for Jett's voice.
"Breach. We're in."
I straighten up.
The Greek looks at me.
"Sorry about this," I say.
Two strides. Grab the wrist reaching for his holster, twist it behind his back, and drive him face-first into the side of the truck. His weapon hits the dirt. Colten's already at the sedan, yanking the passenger door open, pulling the second man out by the collar before he can reach the ignition.
Both down in under five seconds. I get to work with the zip ties.
"Jett. Status."
"Package secured. One guard inside, neutralized. Target hooded and zip-tied. Tate's loading him now."
"Condition?"
"Pissed off. Got some sandwich on his shirt. Otherwise intact."
"Copy. We're moving."
Colten drags both guards to their sedan, takes their phones, weapons, and car keys. Tosses the keys into the scrub.
I slam the hood shut, and like magic, my engine starts on the first try. Because there was never anything wrong with it.
Then, I’m heading straight back on the highway.
I key the comms. "Hunter. Package acquired. Proof of life sent. En route to the handoff."
"Clean?"
"Clean."
"Good. Romeo's people will meet you at the marker. Hand him off, then get home. Don't stop for anything."
Paulie and Xander ghost off the ridge without a trace. Jett and Tate are already thirty minutes east on the ATVs, heading for pickup. By tonight, there won't be a sign any of us were here.
Just two cowboys and a stock trailer, heading home through the Arizona dust.
I pull out my phone at the next straightaway and text Harper. One-handed, eyes on the road, the way she'd kill me for.
ME: Have I got some good news for you, Goldie. Miss you, pretty girl.
Three dots. Almost instant.
Goldie: Text me when you’re home. Love you, Acey.
I put the phone down and drive.
Home by dark. Harper by morning. That's all I need.