Wyatt wished that he could meet Mark and persuade him to stop whatever was going down tomorrow. His instincts told him that Mark had never stopped loving Mattie, even though he’d vanished on her for the last four months. He and Tal had stayed up until two this morning, working on a huge mission plan. No one was better at strategy and tactics than her. They were a good team. And right now, there was local, regional, and federal law enforcement coming to land foursquare on that convoy when it showed up tomorrow night. And all of the state and federal players were driving up to their ranch to make it HQ for the mission to stop and capture that drug convoy. It was turning out to be one hell of a vacation.
As Wyatt climbed in the truck and started it, he worried for Mark’s life. He had no doubt there would be a shoot-out. If that convoy got cut off, they’d stand and fight it out with law enforcement. That’s the way cartel soldiers did things: kill or be killed. They left no survivors if they got the upper hand. And Mark would be in that melee, on the side of the druggies, firing at law enforcement men and women. He knew Mark wouldn’t ever have done that when he was younger. But now? They’d long since lost touch. It had been seven years since he’d last seen his childhood friend.
Wyatt had seen fear in Sage’s eyes. He was positive she knew what he was really conveying to her. He prayed that she would contact Mark and tell him to stay the hell away from that convoy tomorrow. Blood was going to be spilled. Lives were going to be lost.
CHAPTER 6
Tal’s eyes smarted with fatigue as she sat in the Lockwood family office. She was surrounded by four different radios, plus a sat phone. Wyatt’s laptop was her main focus, since she was no good for doing much of anything else. It was five p.m. on Saturday, and all of the Lockwood family was pitching in to help. Soon, night would fall. Outside, in the huge gravel parking area, Border Patrol, Texas Rangers, ATF, and DEA equipment was still arriving. Wyatt was out there coordinating with Commander James Watson, DEA, the head of this quickly assembled mission group made up of county, state, and federal agencies, all of whom wanted badly to capture Diego Cardona.
Mattie was working in the kitchen with Daisy, making sandwiches for the hungry law enforcement people, handing out hot coffee to them, and directing those who needed a bathroom. Daisy kept Tal supplied with fresh coffee, too. Cat and Jake took notes out to Wyatt from Tal’s office base so that he knew what was going on at their end in coordinating this unexpected effort with all the agencies. Sometimes he didn’t answer his radio, and she couldn’t talk directly with him. He was that busy. At least Cat and Jake could corner him, slide the note into his hands, and make sure he read it.
Wiping her eyes, Tal heard someone coming down the hall, the heavy thud of footsteps echoing and catching her attention. She looked up to see Wyatt standing in the doorway. He wore his black baseball cap, a level-three Kevlar vest, and a drop holster with his SIG Sauer in it. He was in his ex-SEAL mode, his gray eyes dark, his game face on.
“Hey,” he called, stepping into the office, “how are you doing?” Wyatt shut the door and then went over to where Tal was sitting, giving her a quick kiss on the brow.
“It’s quiet chaos,” she said, wishing she could go out on this mission with Wyatt. Her ankle prevented it, and she felt fully frustrated. “The drones are up. Both are from the DEA.” She switched to another window on the laptop, showing the real-time video feed as each drone flew over different sections of the area where they expected the Cardona unit to come onto the ranch’s property. Wyatt leaned over her shoulder, intently studying the videos. He placed his hand on her shoulder.
“You doin’ okay?”
“Tired,” she admitted, “but also hyped up. You know how it is.” She managed a slight smile, which he returned, looking ruggedly handsome to her.
“I bet you’re chompin’ at the bit to go with us, aren’t you?”
Snorting, Tal muttered darkly, “Oh, don’t even go there, Lockwood. I’m fit to be tied. This desk jockey stuff is for someone else, not me. I hate sitting all the time.”
“Yes,” he said, leaning against the edge of the desk, “but you’re the most important part of all of this. This is Grand Central Terminal. And I’m relieved you’re in command of it. There’s no one better than you to be a rudder to this hastily launched ship.” He gestured with a thumb across his shoulder. “DEA has a real nice eighteen-wheeler office out there, and they’ve also got big flat-screens up on the walls for watching the drone activity.”
“Good thing,” Tal said, looking at the Toughbook screen. “Is everyone assembled?”
“Yes, everyone’s arrived. They’re setting up,” he said, resting his hand on the desk beside the laptop. He gave her an apologetic look. “Not exactly the holiday visit to my family that you wanted. Right?”
She gave him a sour smile. “I can’t say I’m bored, Lockwood. That’s for sure.”
A faint grin crooked one corner of his mouth. “Look, we’re pulling out of here in about twenty minutes. This place should get a lot quieter after that.”
“So the commander has all his units in place along that dirt road?”
“Yes.”
“Does anyone know how many vehicles Cardona is sending across?” Tal was worried about that. They had fifty law enforcement agents, and that was it. Assembling a team for a major op like this within twenty-four hours wasn’t easy to pull off.
“We won’t know until the drones pick them up. Well”—his grin grew—“at least one SEAL counts as ten extra agents on this op.”
She slapped his hand. “You’re so full of yourself!” It was a typical SEAL rejoinder, and Tal couldn’t help but laugh and hold his gleaming, amused gaze. The confidence a SEAL had was matched by hardly anyone else. Except for a Marine, of course. She felt his love surround her as his eyes grew soft. He reached over, grazing her cheek.
“I love you,” he said gruffly, cupping her face, leaning forward, and capturing her mouth.
Heat moved like wildfire through Tal, and she absorbed the tender kiss that he gave her. Wyatt was a SEAL and always would be. He was the consummate warrior, one of the best trained in the world. She was privy to his soft side, the teaser, the joker, the lover, and now, his incredible tenderness. Tal made a small sound of pleasure in her throat as he lifted his mouth from her lips. “Mmm, can we take this up to your bedroom?”
She saw him straighten and give her a regretful shake of his head. “Ain’t gonna happen, at least not in the next twenty-four hours.” He slid his fingers through her silky, loose black hair. “After that, you’d better watch out.”
Her worry was soothed for a moment by his warmth and attention. “Are you going to be allowed to take part in the op?”
“Yes. I’ll be all right.”
Mouth quirking, she sat back in the chair, rocking it slightly, giving him a bemused look. “Spoken like a SEAL.”
Wyatt glanced at his watch and gave her a look of apology. “Gotta saddle up, darlin’,” he told her. Rubbing her shoulder, he said, “Don’t worry.”
Placing her hand over his, Tal became serious, looking into his eyes. “I love you. Don’t you dare get killed out there, Wyatt. I’ll haunt you in the afterlife, damn it.”
Turning her hand over, he gently kissed her palm and then stood up. “I’ll be fine. Just wait and see . . .”
*
Wyatt was out at the dirt road an hour later, hidden behind a slope of the dark, shadowy Guadalupe Mountains. It was nine p.m., the stars twinkling in the velvet-black Texas sky above them. The wind was sporadic, biting, and below freezing. Wearing his black nylon jacket, the collar up, a dark blue knit scarf wrapped around his neck and ears, Wyatt knelt behind a thicket with several other DEA agents. It was damned cold, made worse by the fact that they had to remain still and could not get up and walk around to warm up.
The commander had arranged a U-shaped ambush of men, women, and DEA equipment a mile down from where Wyatt was located. He was glad Tal was not out here. In a fluid situation like this, a U-sh
aped ambush was assured not to work. Wyatt had tried to get the commander to put them all in an L-shaped formation instead. A U shape meant that a poorly fired bullet from someone on the west side of the road could wound or kill a team member on the east side of the road. This was a terrible friendly-fire op in the making. Frustration thrummed through him. Obviously, Watson had not had military training.
A Jeep, one eighteen-wheeler truck, and four other dark-colored vehicles, all pickups, were now en route. They had been spotted on the highway, the group speeding through the night. They hadn’t yet turned off onto the dirt road that would lead them onto Rocking L Ranch land. Wyatt was convinced it was Mark Reuss in that Jeep, leading the way. But no one could be sure—yet. Wyatt kept his NVGs hanging around his neck. There was no use in wearing them until later. It was moonless tonight, a new moon. It would have been a picturesque starry winter night if not for the trap that had been laid and was waiting out here for Cardona’s convoy.
His earpiece came to life, announcing that yes, all vehicles in that convoy had just made a right turn onto a road that would eventually lead them to their smaller dirt road where the ambush lay. Wyatt could feel the agents getting tense. They carried M4s, wore Kevlar for protection and NVGs, and were dressed in desert cammos; it looked like a military op. His thoughts moved to Tal, who he knew was probably antsy as hell and wishing she could be part of this op.
More than anything, Wyatt didn’t want this to escalate into a shoot-out. Mark might have taken a dark route in his life for whatever unknown reasons, but Wyatt didn’t want to see him killed. He wondered what Sage knew and didn’t know. Wyatt doubted Mark would ever tell her anything that might make her an accessory to Cardona’s cartel. He would protect his sister instead, just as he had while growing up. Wyatt’s mind skipped over so many aspects of this cobbled-together op. He wondered about the training of the people around him. When was the last time they’d been to a shooting range to keep up their muscle memory on the weapons they carried? How good, or not, was Commander Watson? Wyatt already had doubts about the commander and didn’t know any of his teammates, and that bothered him. At least in a SEAL team everyone was highly trained in a particular function, like an efficient machine. And they knew each other well and could rely on each other. Wyatt didn’t expect that kind of action from this hastily assembled group. He was sure their intent was good, but that didn’t make them good marksmen or even good team members out on an op like this.
He knew this mission could go south in a lot of unexpected ways.
His radio came to life. It was Watson.
“Drone with infrared has gotten its first look into that container truck. It appears to have sixty to eighty people within it. Repeat, a high number of people inside that eighteen-wheeler. We think it’s children and teenagers who have probably been captured by Cardona’s soldiers for sex trafficking.”
Great. Wyatt wished he could head up this op, but the DEA was in charge and they wouldn’t want an ex-SEAL butting in and giving his two cents’ worth on how to safely run it. As a chief in the Navy, he had been a mission planner for SEAL direct actions and other types of missions. It was his forte. If Watson didn’t change the plan right now, it could put those kidnapped children who were shoved and crowded into that truck in the path of flying bullets. At least the commander had taken his suggestion to shoot at the tires on all the vehicles instead of aiming for the drivers. His stomach tightened. Would Mark be expecting an ambush? He wished he knew. Had Sage warned him? God, he hoped so. He worried that some of these agents would get trigger-happy. Not all federal agents had military experience or a military-trained mind-set. SEALs waited and were patient, allowing a situation to develop fully before initiating a reaction. His intuition told him that this op wasn’t going to be very neat, clean, or organized. And that put those kidnapped children at serious risk. Not to mention the agents. His mouth tightened and thinned.
Commander Watson came on the radio again. “Hold fire until my order. Repeat, hold fire until my order.”
Wyatt breathed a little easier. But who said could say whether Watson knew when to pull the trigger?
Wyatt’s thoughts touched upon his sister Mattie. He gave her credit. She didn’t slink off to her room while this mission was set up at their ranch. He knew she was torn up over Mark’s unexpected appearance in her life once more, but Mattie had been present at the ranch house and helped in any way she could as this mission came together. He knew she was suffering badly, but she shoved it deep inside herself and stood up and was counted. He loved Mattie fiercely and wished he could give her some of his rhino hide, which enabled him to handle damn near anything and keep on truckin’. Or give her some of Tal’s inner toughness, along with a greater ability to see people’s deeper traits and scheming intents.
His gloves were on, but both index fingers—his shooting fingers—had no fabric around them. It made for a solid connection with his SIG’s trigger. As he rubbed his hands together, time began to lengthen and slow, something Wyatt was familiar with when an op was about to go down. His senses were opening up, that primal animal intuition that had saved his life so many times coming sharply alive. He could feel Tal, feel her worrying about him. He loved her. It was a real cosmic joke, he thought. After being at Bagram for years together, in different units, and always in combat one way or another, they’d come home thinking that finally, there would be peace and no more threats in their lives. And he’d brought this magnificent woman of his home to his family’s ranch, only to find himself in combat once again. Shaking his head, he released a long, slow breath.
He put his NVGs in place and flicked them on. Wyatt moved silently after telling the leader of the ambush where he was going, since he didn’t want to be mistaken as a drug runner on the loose later. He went farther north and away from the end of the U-shaped ambush. Slipping like a dark shadow between thickets, Wyatt heard Watson give the signal that the convoy was indeed making its way onto Rocking L land. It would be a matter of ten or fifteen minutes before the convoy reached their ambush site.
Wyatt knew at least one drone was following the convoy in. He didn’t know where the second one was located. Swiftly, he moved near the road, which was deeply rutted. There was no way that eighteen-wheeler would be racing through here, not with the road in such bad condition. It was going to have to go very slowly or it would tip over or crash. And with all those kids jammed into that truck, Wyatt doubted the driver would do something so stupid. The Cardona cartel wanted those children in perfect condition so they could be sold at auction for the highest possible price. No one bought a slave that was injured.
A hundred feet from the dirt road, behind a thicket, Wyatt waited. He could hear the vehicles coming. His breathing was slow and easy. Unlike the agents, his blood pressure level and breathing rate were normal. SEALs were trained to remain calm, relaxed, and alert, not get caught up in an adrenaline rush, which was distracting and could get someone killed. Wyatt saw that the Cardona vehicles had put tape over their headlights, so there were only two narrow beams to show them where the road was located. Wyatt’s full focus was on the black Jeep. Was it Mark Reuss driving? Or not? The Jeep sat high and the headlights, even though they were mere slits now, played hell with his NVGs. They wouldn’t work well in lightning or fluctuating light conditions such as these.
The Jeep was moving about ten miles per hour. Behind the Jeep was the trundling, groaning eighteen-wheeler. The deep ruts were slowing it down considerably, and the truck looked like a pregnant cow ready to birth a calf, moving awkwardly from side to side, sometimes tipping dangerously. Wyatt knew with sixty to eighty humans in that truck, the weight would shift enormously. The DEA wanted that truckload of children more than anything else.
And he wanted that lead Jeep. If Mark was driving it, he didn’t want anyone else shooting at him. There were ways to take his old friend alive. No one in this trap knew Wyatt’s relationship to Mark Reuss, and he wasn’t about to tell them, either. The man was definitely doin
g something bad, but his relationship with Mark was long and positive, despite tonight. Mark was like a brother to Wyatt, and it made his heart ache that he was in this position right now: the hunter stalking the predator. Mark hadn’t always been a predator. What Wyatt didn’t want to happen tonight was for his old friend to get killed. He wasn’t sure how it would affect Mattie if he did. But he felt deep down in his heart that it would destroy her. She had never stopped loving Mark, and, judging by the meeting he had with her two days ago, he still loved her in his own way.
The plan was for the agents to shoot out the tires on the eighteen-wheeler first. Wyatt thought it was a good plan except that if any one of those agents missed a tire, the bullet could fly across the road and create that friendly-fire situation he was worried about. Which is why he’d moved out of the zone of fire. He wasn’t about to become a friendly-fire casualty. Tal would kill him if he got injured.
It felt as if the night were holding its cold, freezing breath. Wyatt pulled out his SIG. It had no safety on it, and there was a bullet in the chamber. He aimed for the left front tire of the Jeep coming slowly toward him. He heard Watson give the command to fire from the line.
The night erupted, shattering the silence. Wyatt had a muzzle suppressor on his SIG. The other agents were firing rapidly and continuously at the truck and the vehicles behind it. Suddenly, two of the pickup trucks took off from behind the Jeep, leaping off the dirt road and roaring through the flat land that contained thickets and cactus. There was swift returning fire from all the trucks, the flashes of gunfire punching through the darkness.
Wyatt took aim and fired. A hit! The Jeep swerved to the left as the tire blew loudly.
A second shot to the right front tire. A hit!
Wyatt quickly took out the two rear tires.
A pickup gunned by the swerving Jeep as it nearly tipped over in one of the deep ruts, out of the control of the driver. Wyatt took aim at the driver of the truck, who was trying to escape. He could see it wasn’t Mark. He fired once.
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