by Taylor Moore
“He said bring ’em. Didn’t say how.”
Smitty gave another shake of the head. “Come on, man. That kind of thinking’s gonna get us killed. What if Nagual’s got questions? You know how he is. Might want to beat up on that old man for a spell to see what he knows.”
Boggs went silent and it was clear he was giving it some thought. “Ahh, that coot don’t know nothing. If he did, he wouldn’t a stole our dope.”
“What about Lacey? Bo said she was snooping around the office. Must know something.”
Boggs turned the gun barrel away from Smitty and pointed it at the back door. “We’ll take her and the boy then.” He nodded, revenge in his eyes. “That ought to be good enough.”
Before Smitty could argue, Boggs jumped on the porch, walked to the door, and turned the knob to find it locked. Taking a step back, he shouldered the AK and aimed at the hinges.
“Gonna blow it to splinters.” Boggs clicked the selector to full-auto and ripped off about fifteen rounds—thirteen more than needed—and followed them with a kick that busted the door wide open. Stepping up all casual-like, he thrust the rifle inside and sprayed until it was empty.
Turning back to Smitty, Boggs grinned wide—proud of his handiwork. “Now that’s how you do it right there. Shock and awe, bitch.”
Boggs dropped the mag, popped in another, and strutted inside.
Smitty had just stepped on the porch when Boggs hit the deck and belly-crawled out of the house with his big gut dragging along the floor, ducking with each bam-bam-bam of the .357 Magnum.
Smitty flew off the porch with Boggs right behind. They tumbled into the snow, scurried to get upright, and leaned their backs against the planks for cover. One bullet lodged in the deck above Smitty’s head, cracking the wood and showering him in splinters.
Smitty cringed, stooped lower, and pulled his knees to his chest as two more shots popped at his work boots. He didn’t want to kill anybody, but he damn sure didn’t want to die. “What we gonna do now, man?”
Struggling to his feet, Boggs grumbled, “That’s six. He’s out of bullets.” He raised the AK to hip level and sprayed full-auto in a side-to-side motion—ripping the walls to shards and busting out windows. With the magazine spent, Boggs ejected it, jammed in another, and leapt onto the porch. “Come get your medicine, old-timer!”
He’d just stepped inside when Butch Kohl swung a wooden chair around like a baseball bat and bashed him across the head. The chair cracked in two, seat and legs crashing to the floor, leaving the old man holding the back. Boggs grabbed his forehead, stumbled, and fell backward.
Asadi flew down the hallway with his bow and a quiver full of arrows but stopped short of the living room in complete shock. Every wall was pocked with bullet holes and the furniture torn to shreds. Among the broken glass and wood shards lay Butch, covered in blood—his eyes half-closed and his body limp.
The bad man Asadi called Goat was unconscious beside him, lying halfway through the back door. And the pointy-faced Lizard was leaning over his friend’s body picking up a rifle.
Reaching back over his shoulder, Asadi pulled an arrow from his quiver and nocked the bow. His hands trembling, he drew back, closed his eyes, and let the arrow fly. He opened them again only upon hearing the soft thuck of the metal-tipped shaft as it tore through flesh.
Lizard’s mouth went agape, in the shape of an O. His gasp built into a shriek as he stared down at his impaled left thigh. He tugged at the arrow with his free hand, but the bloody shaft budged no farther than halfway.
Asadi released his second arrow and this time he didn’t close his eyes. Instead he took in the entire spectacle. From Lizard dropping his gun, to the cussing and screaming while he jerked at the shaft in his arm.
Beside him, Goat rose on shaky legs, reached for his bloody head wound, and smeared a red streak down to his nose. He scanned the room unfocused until his eyes rested on Asadi. And that’s when his bewildered expression turned to a scowl. Goat put one foot in front of the other, arms outstretched toward Asadi as his shuffle built into a lumbering sprint.
Asadi tried to reload his bow but his shaking hands fumbled the arrow. He ducked just in time to escape Goat’s grasp, pivoting out of reach as he bolted for the back door.
Leaping from the porch to the ground, Asadi lost his balance and took a tumble in the snow. Dropping his bow and quiver, he scrambled to his feet and looped around the house in search of Lacey, who’d slipped out the window to go to Kate Shanessy’s house for help.
Smitty limped after Boggs to keep him from doing something stupid, but it was already too late. The bastard yanked up the rifle, ran to the porch, and blasted away at the snow-covered prairie.
Stumbling around like a drunk, Boggs turned to Smitty and gave him the gimme here motion with his hand. “Need another clip! He’s gettin’ away!”
“Ain’t no more! You shot ’em all!”
Boggs reached up again and dabbed his head. “Dammit!”
Smitty gripped his thigh and blood ran between his fingers. “Kid stuck me clean through, man! Hurts!”
“Old fart whacked me with a Martha Washington.” Boggs glanced back inside at the wreckage of the chair. “Split the damn thing in half! You don’t see me crying about it, do you?”
Boggs lumbered over, wrapped his arm around Smitty, who was struggling to yank out the arrows, and pulled him into a headlock. “Come here, you little bitch.” He plucked the arrows out and tossed them off the porch. “Got a bad enough headache without your pissing and moaning.”
Smitty hobbled back inside on his wounded leg and stared down at Butch Kohl, who was unconscious and white as a sheet. His heart sank. The only thing the old man was guilty of was crossing a psycho like Boggs. “What are we gonna do about him?”
“Nothing.” Boggs took labored steps up to the door, breathing hard. “That old mummy’s as good as dead. Let him suffer.” He spit a stream of tobacco juice at Butch that landed shy.
Seeing all the blood, Smitty couldn’t help but believe that was true. He’d get a message to Malek if he could, but it wasn’t going to do much good at this point. Butch Kohl was a goner.
“He’s swung his last chair. That’s for sure.” Smitty turned back to Boggs. “What about the boy?”
Boggs gazed out over the prairie. “We got a full moon. Nearly bright as day. And he’s on foot. We ain’t. Won’t take long to track him.”
“And Lacey?”
“She’s probably hiding. Check the back of the house where the kid came from.”
Smitty walked down the hallway to a bedroom. He flicked on the light and saw the open window. “Girl musta hopped out and ran!”
Boggs clomped up to the door, shook his head. “Don’t worry. Cold as it is, she won’t get far.”
The metal clank of slamming doors sent a shiver up Asadi’s spine. An engine sputtered then screeched as it roared to life. With nowhere to hide on the flat open prairie, Asadi ran. Fast as he could—hard as he could—he sprinted to Kate Shanessy’s house.
A hundred yards. Two hundred yards. Half a mile. Weary with exhaustion and stumbling over his own feet, Asadi felt he couldn’t go another step. But the rumble of the engine from behind prodded him onward.
Headlights flashed all around him—left then right—up then down—until finding their mark. Then the beams went from bright to brighter. Now he heard voices like they were after him on foot.
His breath coming in gasps, Asadi sprinted to the white slatted fence surrounding the house. He glanced back, tripped, and tumbled. The engine roared and he scrambled to his feet, gulping in frozen air as he trudged through powder as high as his knees.
He had just reached the fence, grabbed the top rung, and flung his right leg over when the clomping footsteps caught up to him.
Shifting his weight to the other side, Asadi’s coat snagged—not on a board or a nail but in the grip of a fist. Goat’s bearded face hovered over him before growling, “Got his ass!”
Dangling like a rag doll A
sadi kicked, squirmed, and twisted, flipping and flopping like a fish out of water.
As Kate’s silhouette passed by the window, Asadi screamed for help.
Adjusting his grip, Goat lost hold and Asadi fell face-first into the snow.
Popping right up, he sprinted to the light but a shadow darted out ahead of him. Tree to tree, his pursuer dashed spastically but purposefully—a step ahead of his every move.
The shadow, which Asadi knew was Lizard, grabbed his collar and yanked him back. Cold, bony fingers muffled his cries.
Goat hobbled up with his fist cocked, and Asadi neither saw nor felt the blow. His ears rang, he felt nauseous, then everything went hazy. Everything that followed was a ceaseless blur of pain and fear. They dragged him to their van, stripped off his clothes, bound his hands and feet, then tossed him in the back.
As the doors slammed shut, his world went dark. Not since the massacre had he been more afraid or felt more alone.
29
Garrett ended the call the moment he realized who was on the other end. It was a gut reaction but one he trusted. Convincing his brother of this wouldn’t be easy. Bridger reached over and grabbed the phone out of Garrett’s hand.
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Bridger stared at him in disbelief. “That was Kaiser!”
“That’s what I figured. It’s why I hung up.”
“Have you lost it?” Bridger looked to Cassidy, who was equally dumbfounded, then back to Garrett. “Maybe he knows who took the girls!”
Garrett gave Bridger a moment for reality to sink in. It wasn’t uncommon for people to miss the obvious under severe stress, even when the truth was right in front of them. His brother had trusted Preston Kaiser and it turned out the bastard was not only dirty, he was dangerous.
“Bridger, he knows exactly who took them because he was behind it.”
Bridger shook his head. There was a moment when he looked at a loss, then had so much to say he didn’t know where to begin. He could barely get out the words. “But—the Garzas. Renegade. I thought—”
“I know what you thought. I did too. But Kaiser’s involved somehow. And it may not seem like it right now, but this is good news.”
“How in the hell is this good news?”
“Think about it. From the text messages and the phone call, we got a who and we got a where. That’s all I need.”
Bridger calmed a little. “Okay, we know they’re at his house out at the ranch. I’ll give you that. But we should’ve at least talked to him. Maybe we could’ve worked things out.”
Garrett pointed to the dead body. “Does this look like the actions of a man ready to work things out?” Before Bridger could answer, Garrett interrupted. “What did Kaiser say when you told him about going to the Rangers with all this?”
“He pushed back. Hard. But ultimately I convinced him it was the only choice we had.”
“You didn’t convince him of anything, Bridger. And proof of that is lying right here on the floor. I don’t know how or why, but Kaiser’s in this thing deep, with the Garzas. And I can tell you there’s no reasoning, bargaining, or pleading with people like them. They’re out for blood now. And they’re going to get every drop of it if we don’t handle this thing right.”
Bridger stared at the sicario. “Things have changed.”
“Have they? They’ve still got the twins, which means they’ve got all the leverage in the world. But right now, they think we’re dead. We can use that to our advantage.”
“Kaiser knows we called,” Cassidy argued.
“No. He knows someone called.” Garrett pointed to the dead body. “And until otherwise informed he’ll believe it was this guy.”
The phone lit up in Garrett’s hand as it rang.
Bridger shook his head. “See. He suspects something’s off. He’s gonna keep calling.”
“Let him call. Suspecting isn’t knowing. Cell service is poor around here. He’ll think his men did their job and they’re on their way back.”
“And when he gets tired of waiting?” Cassidy asked.
Garrett had that bad feeling in the pit of his stomach again. It was the same one he’d had before the massacre at Nasrin. “He’ll send more men. That’s why we have to move fast. We gotta get to Daddy’s and get the horses.”
“Horses?” Bridger looked at him, curious. “For what?”
“The driveway to Kaiser’s house off the highway will be under surveillance, gunmen posted up front. Only way we’re getting in is through his backyard.”
“I don’t disagree, but Kaiser’s backyard is about sixty thousand acres of the roughest ranchland around. Even on horseback it won’t be easy.”
“I never said it’d be easy. I said it’s the only way.”
“Look, Garrett, I’m not exactly sure what you did in Special Forces. And I never asked because I figured I probably wasn’t supposed to know. But I can’t take any chances with my girls’ lives at stake. If you tell me we can do this, then I’ll take you at your word.” Bridger paused, thinking hard on his options. “But if we’ve got to get the law involved, so be it. Hell, I’ll spend the rest of my life in prison. But losing the twins isn’t an option.”
“Hear you loud and clear, Bridger, and normally I’d agree. But local law enforcement isn’t equipped to handle these guys and the closest SWAT team is over two hours away. By the time they get the go-ahead, come up with a plan, and make it out to the Mescalero Ranch, the girls will be long gone. Maybe even dead.
“More important, we don’t know who can be trusted right now. Kaiser’s got the whole Texas Panhandle bought and paid for. Someone tips him off, they might kill the girls straight-out just to cover their tracks. I’m telling you, our best bet is to handle this ourselves. In and out. Quick and quiet.”
Bridger stared blankly at the wall, an argument playing out in his mind. “You’re sure they won’t make a swap for the drugs? We’ve still got what they want.”
“Bridger, they never intended to honor that deal. In fact, my guess is they care less about the heroin and more about shutting you up for good.”
“Then they can have me, dammit! Swap me for the girls. And the drugs! What the hell do they want with Sophie and Chloe anyhow? They had nothing to do with this!”
Grabbing his brother by the shoulders, Garrett leaned in and locked eyes. “These people don’t think like you and me. The Garzas believe you’re going to the Rangers and Daddy stole their dope. We took a big swing and now they want payback. That’s how cartels operate.” He pointed to the sicario. “You’ve seen what we’re up against here. There’s no making a deal, so get that out of your head. Best we can hope for is to beat them at their own game.”
Doubt rested in Bridger’s eyes. “You’re sure we can do this? Because if we can’t—”
“We can do it, but we’re wasting time arguing. We need to go. Right now.”
Cassidy spoke up. “I told you. You’re not leaving me behind. And I meant it.”
“Good,” Garrett confirmed with a nod. “Only way this’ll work is with you and Daddy up on the highway. Once we get the girls, we’ll need you ready to exfil us the hell out of there. But none of that’s happening unless we slip in through the back of the ranch undetected.”
Bridger raised his index finger. “I’ve got something that’ll help.” He went into his office and came back holding two cardboard tubes, each about three feet long.
Garrett crossed to the dining room table as Bridger unfurled the contents. “What’s this?”
“Plats and blueprints for the ranch and compound. Kaiser had me take a look at the property before he bought it.” Bridger laid out the two schematics side by side. “House alone is over fifteen thousand square feet.”
Bridger pointed to a room on the northeast corner. “Easiest point of entry. Back door.”
Garrett nodded. “All right, looks pretty straightforward.”
“At one time maybe, but not anymore.” Bridger switched focus from the house blueprints
to the compound map. “Folks don’t call this place ‘Babylon on the Canadian’ for nothing. Kaiser’s created his own hanging gardens. Man-made lakes and streams. Hedgerows and mazes. Terraced gardens and Roman aqueducts. It’s a dream come true in the summer but a frozen nightmare right now. Maneuvering through it is gonna be tricky. Especially at night.”
Garrett studied the map. “We’ve got a full moon. As long as the weather holds, we’ll have enough light to travel by.”
Bridger dragged the ranch map in front of them and traced his finger along a squiggly line running the length of the Canadian River. It cut south sharply and spoked into multiple oil field roads leading to several drill site locations and tank batteries.
“We can drive to this point and take the horses the rest of the way.” He drew a circle around a well location. “Boone 12–25H.”
Garrett pointed to a spot closer to the compound. “What’s wrong with here?”
Making a curvy line with his finger, Bridger outlined their obstacle. “You’ve got Tallahone Creek running south. It’s frozen over but won’t hold a man’s weight. Damn sure not a horse. We’ll have to cross at this culvert.”
Eyeing their launch point, Garrett checked the elevation. “We’ll have plenty of mesquite brush for cover right here, but not much farther past the Central Tank Battery, which is wide open.” He borrowed Bridger’s pencil and drew a line through a shaded area. “Between here and the compound we’re fish in a barrel.”
Bridger leaned in and studied the map. “Any other way will take us over an hour.”
“Then we ride in the open. And we ride like hell.” Garrett looked up and locked eyes with his brother. “Soon as they know we’re there, the clock starts ticking. Everything after is just borrowed time.”
30
Smitty had never seen the Mescalero Ranch this heavily guarded. Kaiser’s mansion, which had fake turrets and was designed to resemble a castle, had never looked more authentic. There were four cowboys with machine guns up at the front gate and six more riding perimeter on horseback. And that didn’t count the Garzas’ Mexican soldiers stationed at every door.
