Chapter 6

6

Alex Mendoza stared out the rental RV’s tinted window, her reflection a study in barely contained fury. Jaw clenched, eyes narrowed, she radiated the kind of tension that could snap a lesser person in two.

Her client was hours late.

In her line of work, tardiness spelled disaster.

She drummed her fingers against the windowsill, each tap a silent count of the seconds ticking by. Absently, her other hand stroked the long, thin scar on her forearm. A reminder not to trust quickly. Or deeply.

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding,” she whispered, the familiar verse from Proverbs 3:5 a balm to her frayed nerves.

The vast, moonlit expanse of Craters of the Moon National Monument stretched before her, its eerie landscape a fitting backdrop for her darkening mood. She’d built her reputation on meticulous planning and flawless execution. Now, watching the empty road that snaked through the valley below, control slipped through her fingers like sand.

And if there was one thing she despised more than tardiness, it was losing control.

The last vestiges of sunlight had long since faded from the horizon, leaving the volcanic landscape bathed in an eerie, otherworldly glow. The rising moon cast long shadows across the jagged terrain, transforming the lava fields into a monochromatic sea of black and silver. From their vantage point on a ridge two miles from the rendezvous coordinates, Alex and her team had an unobstructed view of the solitary road.

Their vehicle, a generic rental RV her cyber security specialist, Mac MacCallister had acquired the minute they hit Boise, was anything but generic inside. Its innocuous exterior belied the tens of thousands of dollars of equipment they’d schlepped from their plane, creating a mobile command center on steroids. With Mac’s equipment up and running, they could monitor anything they wanted within a fifty-mile radius. Minimum.

She uncurled her legs and paced the length of the RV, her irritation palpable. Every minute that ticked by ratcheted up the tension inside their rolling fortress.

“Munsinger’s just outside the park entrance. But he’s not alone.” Mac’s voice cut through the tense silence.

“What?” Alex was at his shoulder in an instant, peering at the monitor. Liv Hartley, their security specialist, joined her.

“Close in with one of the drones,” Alex directed. “Is the hostile armed? What about facial recognition?”

Mac’s broad shoulders flexed as he typed. “No can do in the dark, sweets. Facial recon camera needs more light for accuracy. But I can confirm one firearm. The client’s got it.”

Liv leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “So much for an easy pickup.”

Alex burned through likely scenarios, each one worse than the last. “We should abort. This reeks of a setup.”

“Hold up,” Mac interjected. “We’ve got the home field advantage here. Two of them, one gun, versus the three of us and this rolling tank? I like those odds.”

Liv nodded. “Mac’s right. Plus, if someone’s compromised Munsinger, don’t you want to know who? And why?”

Alex kicked a nearby cabinet, frustration boiling over. The hollow thunk echoed in the confined space. She took a deep breath, then another. “Point taken. But I’m going on the record. This could get complicated.”

Liv smiled grimly. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Alex’s voice hardened, all business now. “Mission is a go. But we do this smart. Mac, keep those drones in the air. If it looks like there’s more company arriving, we bolt. Liv, let’s concentrate on the stranger. He so much as twitches, tranq him. Clear?”

Two nods answered her.

“Let’s go meet our surprise guest.”

Alex gripped the dash, her knuckles white as Mac fired up the RV and nosed it down the road toward the meet up. The headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating a path through the lunar-like landscape. Her eyes darted between the road and the blinking dots on the dashboard that represented Mac’s drones.

As they approached the coordinates, she saw the truck, a dark silhouette against the starlit sky. Her stomach tightened. The moment of truth.

Mac killed the engine. The sudden silence was deafening. With a nod to Liv, who took up a defensive position, Alex and Mac approached the truck. Two figures spilled out, one babbling incessantly, the other eerily silent.

She recognized the Chatty Cathy. Their client, Robert Munsinger III. Or a reasonable facsimile. She’d confirm his ID momentarily.

Mac stalked toward Munsinger. Bathed in the harsh light from the RV’s headlights, she had to admit, Mac presented a daunting figure. Six foot six and carrying a weight lifter’s muscles, the large dark-skinned man could be mistaken for a street thug. A thug with several PhDs and enough special ops training to kill a man with his bare hands.

“I’ll take that handgun,” Mac insisted.

Eyes wide, Munsinger shot a look at his companion. The other man nodded immediately.

Not an idiot then. Good. The dumber people were, the more unpredictable.

Munsinger handed the weapon to Mac without a word.

Tucking the handgun away, Mac stepped back, out of range. Alex’s gaze locked onto the silent one—injured, from the looks of it.

Her anger flared hotter. “Our contract was for one client. Not two.”

The injured man’s voice was low, steady. “I’m not a client. Just here to make sure my man gets the services his dad ordered up.” A pause. “I’m Jason Reilly.”

“We’ll see,” Alex responded, her tone clipped. “Hold out your finger,” she ordered the client.

While Mac stood ready to intervene, if needed, she approached Munsinger and pressed the lancet to the tip of his finger.

“Ouch!” he pulled back as if she’d bitten him.

The device took only seconds to indicate a match to the sample RAVEN had received when Munsinger’s father arranged for his possible extraction.

As she moved around the hood of the truck, the other man quipped, “There’s a hole in my side big enough to drive a truck through. Do you really have to poke another one?”

“Can’t use a contaminated sample,” she retorted, her face a mask of professionalism. “Let’s see the finger.”

She may or may not have jabbed him harder than necessary. “Full name,” she asked.

“Jason William Reilly.”

She turned away. The results, as expected, were inconclusive. Whoever this Jason Reilly was, his DNA wasn’t in her normal database. No matter. By the time they got him to headquarters, she’d know who he really was.

She considered the man. Tall, almost as tall as Mac. And almost as big. His tech clothes could have come straight from RAVEN’s employee stash. Only his clothes were far more well-worn. Former military for sure. Most people would have flinched when Mac approached.

“SEAL?” she guessed.

He shook his head. “The Unit. Delta Force.”

Great. Not that she and Liv and Mac couldn’t manage one dinged-up special forces type, but a man with his kind of training would require special handling.

Another complication.

They’d already planned to bring Munsinger to headquarters until they had a clear path for his disappearance completed. No reason they couldn’t bring along his sidekick. For now.

She grabbed the palm-sized flashlight from her utility belt and clicked it on, sweeping the beam over the man’s side. Blood. Enough to worry about. “Need pain meds?”

“Doing great. Thanks,” he gritted out.

He swayed side to side. Nothing obvious, but the small movements told her just how much pain he was in. “Your sour mood suggests otherwise.”

“Fine. I’m hurting.”

“Too bad. I’m fresh out of meds.”

His jaw dropped. “You are one hard woman.”

“Thanks.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

“Maybe not to you.” Alex started prepping for departure. “Hard people are the only ones who make it in my business.”

She swept the two men for bugs, confiscating and destroying the burner Munsinger used to contact them. Her eyes narrowed at the army-trained stowaway. “My sensor’s not picking up your phone. Is it powered off?”

“Don’t have it,” he replied.

“Right. Sure.”

He mumbled something about forgetting it in his plane.

Alex rolled her eyes so hard it was almost audible. “Wow. Quite the operative there. Did you leave your common sense in the plane too, or is that just permanently misplaced?”

Army’s jaw clenched, his temper visibly rising. “Listen, lady. I’ve been a little preoccupied keeping your ‘client’ alive.”

“He’s right!” Munsinger chimed in, his voice high and excited. “The major’s been amazing! He’s like ... like Jason Bourne, but with a better haircut and?—”

“Gravy,” Army cut him off, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Not helping.”

Alex bit back a laugh. Genuine this time. “My sincerest apologies. I didn’t realize I was in the presence of such a legendary secret agent. Tell me, double-oh-seven, does forgetting basic operational security come standard with your hero package, or is that an upgrade?”

That bit of snark earned her a serious glare.

A headache was building behind her eyes. This was not how things were supposed to go. Disappearing someone required meticulous planning, exquisite attention to detail, and a client who followed instructions.

Not exactly the current situation.

Liv poked her head out of the RV, two black sacks in hand. “We still doing this, boss?”

The flicker of understanding on Army’s face lifted her spirits. She stared him down. “Absolutely. Gentlemen. Hoods on.”

Munsinger backed away, shaking his head. “Not cool. Seriously not cool.”

Army stood his ground, though clearly he was attempting to burn her down with his laser-like stare.

“Suit yourself.” She headed for the RV.

“Wait!” Munsinger shuffled after her. “You’re supposed to get me out of here. You can’t just leave.”

Reaching the RV, she grabbed the hoods from Liv, holding them out as she whirled back to face the two men. “My game. My rules. Are you in, or out?”

Mouth open, Munsinger eyed his companion.

The man reached her in two strides, yanking the hoods from her hands.

The sheer power of him made her long to back away, but she stood her ground.

He tossed one of the hoods to her client. “Suit up, Gravy.”