CHAPTER TWELVE

Midnight found Rachel sitting in a cruiser, dripping wet with a towel wrapped around her shoulders. Her expression was stoic, but her body betrayed how cold she felt. She shivered, though her jaw remained set rigidly.

Steam rose from a cup of coffee in her hand. She didn't drink it. It wasn't yet time for comfort; there were answers to be found. The cruiser's radio crackled, officers sharing intelligence about the cruise explosion, and discussing the trickle of information they’d received about possible cartel involvement.

Now, though, Rachel peered through the windshield where her breath fogged the inside of the glass. She reached out, wiping the condensation away with the back of her sleeve.

At her side, Ethan murmured to himself, muttering under his breath. “Morris’ wife swears he was at home during his daughter’s murder…”

Rachel had to strain to hear him. She glanced over, frowning, a single droplet of water tumbling from her bangs. She reached up with steady fingers.

These were the only calm thing about her. She'd learned over many years as a long-range rifle expert how to calm her hands even in the worst environments. It involved a series of deep breaths, stretches, controlling her heartbeat and cortisol levels and the knowledge that any tremble, any hint of uncertainty could mean the difference between hitting the mark and missing it entirely.

Though now, she applied this skill differently. To stifle her shivers. To steady her hand as she wiped away fogged-up glass. Because clarity was crucial, even in calamitous times. Especially in calamitous times.

Her focus returned to Ethan's muttering. His words breaking through her introspective silence. She leaned closer, her ears straining to catch what he was saying.

"...Alibi checks out," Ethan grumbled on, checking the GPS to make sure they were heading in the correct direction.

She didn't respond immediately, her gaze fixed on the dimly lit road beyond the windshield. “It’s not him,” she said quietly.

Ethan glanced at her. “Hmm?”

"He's involved, but he didn't call the hit on his daughter."

“You’re sure?”

She nodded a single time, her head bobbing.

Ethan gripped the steering well, double checking the address on his phone. “So who is this Diego, guy?”

“Lieutenant.”

“For which cartel?”

“A small one. Unknown. New kids on the block.”

“You think he’s involved in framing one of the larger cartels, with that pendant left at the last scene?”

“Could be. We still don’t know it was Diego.”

“If not Morris… then it’s gotta be someone involved in all this, yeah?”

“Not clear it’s Diego.”

Ethan frowned at her, studying the side of her face. “What makes you so sure Morris isn’t involved?”

“I looked him the eyes,” she said simply. “He thought he was a dead man. He was telling me the truth.”

“What if he was telling you what he wanted to in order to save his skin?”

“He wasn’t.”

“How can you be sure, Rachel?”

“I know predators, Ethan. Morris is prey. He’s all bluster.”

"But you can't rule him out entirely," Ethan pressed, his eyes flicking to Rachel's set face before darting back to the road.

Rachel didn't respond. She knew Ethan was right. She couldn't afford to rule out Morris entirely, but instinct told her he was not the one who had made the call.

"We need to find Diego," Rachel said.

"And if he doesn’t want to be found?"

"He will be." Rachel's voice was hard, her eyes steely as they stared out the windshield. "We're hunting a predator now."

Ethan offered no reply, his attention focused on navigating the dark highway. “This address is his last known location,” Ethan said simply. “Sister’s house?”

Rachel gave a single nod, running the towel across her face.

The cruiser's tires crunched the gravel of the driveway as they pulled up to a small, nondescript house on the outskirts of Austin. Rachel didn’t wait for Ethan to kill the engine. She was already opening her door.

Rachel moved quickly towards the front door, her hand reaching for her gun in one swift motion. Ethan followed a step behind, his hand automatically moving to his own weapon.

With a nod from Rachel, Ethan moved around the house while she stayed at the front door. She knocked loudly, then stepped back, positioning herself so her body wasn't immediately visible from inside.

No answer.

She frowned, glancing towards where her partner peered over a rickety, wooden garden fence. He briefly shone his flashlight into the backyard.

Rachel shared a look with her partner but he gave a quick shake of his head.

She returned her attention to the house.

Silence greeted them. No shuffling feet, no creaking floorboards, no signs of life from within the house. Rachel knocked again, this time with more force, the sound echoing through the quiet property. Still nothing.

She glanced over at Ethan, who had circled back from his sweep of the perimeter. He shook his head, indicating no signs of movement or presence. Rachel's jaw clenched, a sense of unease settling in her gut.

"We need to check inside," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. Ethan nodded, his hand tightening on his gun as he positioned himself on the other side of the door.

Rachel tried the handle. Locked. She stepped back, preparing to kick it in, when something caught Ethan's eye.

"Rae," he called out, his voice low and urgent. "Movement. By the barn."

Rachel's head snapped in the direction Ethan indicated. In the fading light, she could just make out the silhouette of an old, weathered barn at the back of the property. A flicker of movement, barely perceptible, through the gaps in the slats of the barn wood, had her instincts on high alert.

She motioned for Ethan to follow as she moved swiftly and silently towards the barn, her boots treading carefully on the overgrown grass. The closer they got, the more Rachel could feel the tension coiling in her muscles, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice.

As they approached the barn, Rachel's eyes scanned the area, taking in every detail. The old wood, grey and splintering. The rusted padlock hanging from the door. The eerie stillness that seemed to permeate the air.

She glanced at Ethan, who had taken up a position on the other side of the barn door. With a silent nod, they moved as one, Rachel reaching for the padlock while Ethan kept his gun trained on the door.

The lock gave way with a sharp crack as Rachel's boot connected with the weathered wood. The door swung open, revealing a dark, musty interior. Rachel and Ethan moved in, guns drawn, eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering through the gaps in the barn's walls.

"We need backup," Ethan whispered, his voice barely audible over the creaking of the old floorboards beneath their feet.

“Call it in,” Rachel replied, her gaze sweeping the empty space. Some of the view was blocked by a pile of old, green lumber resting on a worn pallet. A tractor sat off to one side, the green and yellow paint starting to fade from years of exposure. An old, rickety ladder led up to a loft, where she could see bales of hay stacked precariously.

Ethan took a few steps back, dialing the station for backup as Rachel continued to explore the barn. Her eyes fell on a hatch in the corner, half hidden beneath some loose straw. Carefully, she approached it, her senses on high alert.

Behind her, Ethan’s voice echoed, "Dispatch, this is Detective Morgan. We need backup at the Sanchez property. Possible suspects on site."

Whispers. Low, urgent. The sound of footsteps on wooden planks. She stared towards the hatch in the born floor.

Rachel signaled to Ethan, and they took up positions on either side of a large stack of hay bales. Peering around the edge, Rachel's eyes widened at the sight before her.

The hatch opened slowly with a soft groan.

Two men, ski masks pulled down over their faces, were hauling something out of a hatch in the floor. The rectangular shape and the way they handled it with care left little doubt in Rachel's mind. Drugs. Or weapons.

She remained tense with her back against the haybale. She shot a quick glance towards her partner, eyebrows climbing. The itchy hay poked at her neck, and her hat tipped low where she had to reach up, pushing the brim with the back of her finger.

Rachel strained her ears, trying to catch snippets of the men's conversation. The words were muffled, the language unfamiliar. Spanish, she realized with a sinking feeling in her gut.

She looked to Ethan, saw the question in his eyes. Do we move now?

Rachel shook her head almost imperceptibly. Not yet. They needed more information, a clearer picture of what they were up against.

The men continued their work, oblivious to the rangers' presence. They moved with a sense of urgency, a hint of nervousness in their actions.

She focused on their movements, committing every detail to memory. The way they carried themselves, the weapons they carried, any identifying marks or tattoos. Anything that could help them track these men down later. They had the same masks as the two men who’d tried to take Morris off the sinking yacht.

Members of the cartel?

Was one of them Sanchez?

Minutes ticked by, each second stretching. Rachel's heart pounded in her chest, adrenaline coursing through her veins, trying to spot exactly what sort of weapons the men were carrying.

Beside her, Ethan shifted his weight, his body tense with anticipation.

She turned to Ethan, a plan forming in her mind. A dangerous plan, but the only one they had. The men were moving their cargo towards the gleaming ATV sitting in the back of the barn. The clock was ticking.

"On my signal," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her own heart. "We move."

Rachel's eyes narrowed as she watched the men move towards the ATV. Their movements were hurried, urgent. They were going to make a run for it.

She raised her gun, the weight familiar and reassuring in her hands. "Texas Rangers! On the ground, now!"

The men froze, caught off guard by her sudden appearance. For a split second, no one moved.

Then all hell broke loose.

One of the men reached for his waistband, pulling out a small Uzi. The barrel flashed as he opened fire, the sound deafening in the enclosed space of the barn.

Rachel and Ethan dove for cover, bullets whizzing past their heads. Wood splintered and split as the rounds tore through the old barn walls.

"We need to take them down!" Rachel yelled over the din of gunfire. She popped up from behind a bale of hay, firing off a few shots to keep the attackers pinned.

Ethan nodded, his face grim. He knew the stakes, knew what failure meant. "I'll flank left, try to get a clear shot."

Rachel gritted her teeth, her focus laser-sharp.

She peered around the edge of her cover, trying to get a bead on the shooters. They were good, professional. They knew how to use their weapons, knew how to make every shot count.

But Rachel was better.

She took a deep breath, letting instinct take over. Time seemed to slow, each heartbeat stretching into an eternity. She could see the shooters clearly now, could anticipate their every move.

With a burst of speed, she broke from cover, firing as she moved. Her shots were precise, controlled. Each one finds its mark with deadly accuracy.

The Uzi fell silent, the man holding it crumpling to the ground. His partner let out a shout of rage and fear, turning to run.

The remaining man hesitated, his gaze darting between Rachel and Ethan. For a moment, it seemed like he might surrender, might give up this futile fight.

But desperation breeds recklessness, and with a snarl of defiance, he lunged for the ATV, intent on making his escape.

Rachel saw the move coming, saw the determination in his eyes. She couldn't let him reach that vehicle, couldn't let him get away.

With a burst of speed, she closed the distance, tackling him to the ground in a tangle of limbs. They grappled for a moment, each trying to gain the upper hand.

But Rachel was relentless, her grip unbreakable. She wrenched the man's arm behind his back, feeling the pop of his shoulder dislocating.

He screamed in pain, his struggles growing weaker. Rachel didn't let up, didn't give him an inch.

But the man must’ve been on something. It was as if he didn’t feel the pain. He ripped away from her, allowing his arm to snap. He cried out but stumbled towards the ATV. The keys were already in the ignition. He slammed the gas, surging forward.

"Ethan!" she called out, her voice strained with effort. "The ATV!"

Ethan didn't hesitate. He took aim, his shots ringing out like thunderclaps in the confined space of the barn.

The ATV's tires exploded, the vehicle flipping onto its side with a shriek of tortured metal. The second man, now pinned beneath it, let out a howl of pain and fear.

Ethan sprinted forward, dragging their suspect out from under the ATV. The first man, who had shot at them with the Uzi, lay motionless on the ground.

The crackle of Rachel's radio shattered the momentary stillness. She reached for it with one hand, the other holstering her weapon and reaching for cuffs as she extended them towards Ethan.

"Blackwood," she answered, her tone clipped. “EMTs needed. Shots fired. Two suspects injured.”

“Confirmed,” came the dispatcher’s voice. “Units en route.” The dispatcher's voice was tinged with urgency.

“Go ahead,” Rachel said. “Update?”

"We've got another one. Body found two hours south of Austin. Local PD requesting Ranger assistance."

She went still. “Excuse me?”

“A body found. Rattlesnake on scene. Killed the same as the first.”

Rachel stared towards the groaning man now being cuffed, and the silent man who had shot at them now being ministered to by Ethan.

Rachel closed her eyes briefly, the weight of the news settling on her shoulders. Two hours south ? One of these men was Diego, wasn’t he?

She watched as Ethan pulled the ski mask off the man who’d shot at them. He wasn’t moving. Rachel recognized the face though.

Ethan frowned at her. “Sanchez,” he called out, nodding once. He grimaced. “No pulse.”

The man’s blood was seeping into the barn’s weathered floorboards. Some of the red tinge stained the Uzi where it lay on the floorboards.

She looked away in frustration.

"Copy that," she responded, her voice steady despite the turmoil within. "We'll wrap up here and head out ASAP."

“What is it?” Ethan called out.

But Rachel was moving swiftly towards Diego’s motionless body. She felt acid on her tongue. She didn’t want to hurt people. She kicked the submachine gun away. An uzi was capable of unleashing a deadly spray of bullets in mere seconds. She felt sick looking at it, thinking of the damage it could have caused.

She knelt next to the body, her hand reaching out, fingers touching Diego’s cold, still face. She pulled off her gloves and shut his eyes. There was no sense of closure, just despair and frustration. "Dead."

Ethan said, "That changes things."

"The same killer has struck again," she murmured, her gaze fixed on the fallen suspect. "Two hours south of Austin."

Ethan let out a low whistle. "That's not good." He glanced at the second man, who was now groaning in pain where he was cuffed against the side of the ATV.

They were both thinking the same thing. If the cartels were involved, then why was the crime committed two hours from Diego’s location? Other hitmen?

Or were they barking up the wrong tree?

Rachel remained kneeling at Diego’s side, her red-streaked fingers leaving a stain on her white brimmed hat.