“You’re going to wear a hole in that expensive tech, O’Reilly,” Picasso said, shifting the Humvee into gear.
Gabriella didn’t stop tapping. “If we sat here any longer, I was going to get out and push.”
“Patience is a tactical advantage,” he countered, guiding the heavy vehicle forward as gravel crunched beneath the tires. “You might want to borrow some.”
“I prefer strategic impatience,” she shot back, her green eyes sparkling with mischief as she finally looked at him. “It gets things done while people like you are still checking your wristwatches.”
“That’s why I keep you around,” he said quietly, close enough for her ears only, letting her know he’d caught their conversation back at the bar. “Keeps me from becoming too much of a stone statue.”
She laughed softly, then teased, “Good. I’d hate to have to carve a crack in you.”
A small smile lingered on her lips as she added, “But seriously, can’t we pick up the pace? We’re crawling.”
The Humvee rumbled forward, pounding gravel into dust. Picasso and Gabriella rode in the second Humvee as the convoy stretched behind them like a metallic serpent, with two turreted Humvees up front, lumbering supply trucks in the middle, and Wolf’s team bringing up the rear.
Picasso’s jaw tightened though his tone was more patient as he explained. “Forty miles per hour lets gunners identify threats and drivers maintain control. This isn’t a sprint. It’s endurance. A long haul.”
Her fingers paused, the tapping fading for a moment. “You know, for someone so by-the-book, you sure made a spectacle last night.”
He grinned, that rare spark of mischief lighting his eyes. “Well, when there’s nothing left to lose, why not surprise everyone?”
She raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Surprise? You practically caused a scene. No one expected you to get on the dance floor, let alone take over.”
He shrugged, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Guess I figured it was time to shake the statue routine.”
Gabriella laughed, shaking her head. “You nearly cleared the floor. Tactical distraction, huh?”
He gave her a slow nod. “Exactly. Keeps everyone guessing.”
She rolled her eyes, smiling. “I’m still not sure if I should be impressed or worried.”
He glanced her way, warmth beneath the teasing. “A little of both, maybe.”
The banter died instantly as Ciudad Juárez rose from the dust ahead. Even a thousand miles from the earthquake’sepicenter, the shockwaves were visible in the panic. The border crossing wasn’t just a road; it was a choked artery.
Gabriella’s restless tapping stopped. Her hand gripped the door handle as the sea of desperate faces came into view. Cars were abandoned in gridlock; pedestrians wove through the metal maze, pressing against the windows of stalled vehicles, begging for water, for information, for a way out.
“Eyes open,” Picasso murmured into the headset, his voice dropping an octave, becoming purely operational. “Crowd is unpredictable. Windows up. Locks engaged. Do not stop for civilians.”
Beside him, he felt Gabriella stiffen. “Picasso…”
“Do not stop,” he repeated, harder this time.
She pressed her hand against the glass. Outside, inches away, a woman was shoved against the barrier, clutching a small child to her chest. The child’s eyes were hollow, locking onto Gabriella’s through the thick, bullet-resistant glass.
“We can’t just drive past them,” Gabriella whispered, her voice tight. “Look at them. They need helpnow.”
“We are the help,” Picasso replied, jaw clenched. “But not if we get swarmed and stripped before we reach the distribution point.”
“She’s terrified. That child is terrified. We have supplies in the back!”
“And if the seal’s broken here, a riot starts. Ten people fed, three trampled.” He gave her a brief, hard glance. “You want to save the world? Let me get you to where you actually can.”
Gabriella pulled her hand away, face pale, the defiance replaced by a heavy burden.
For a long moment, the cab was filled with unspoken grief and clashing convictions.
“Maybe there isn’t a perfect way,” she finally admitted, voice barely above a whisper.
