I walk Raven to the truck. The afternoon sun is bright and unforgiving over the Hill Country landscape. Main Street is less than three miles from here, and Maria's bar is waiting.
Raven climbs into the driver's seat and starts the engine. I lean through the open window and grip the back of her neck, pulling her close enough that my mouth is against her ear.
"You walk in, you sit down, you let them see you. Then you walk out and let them take you. No heroics, no improvisation. You follow the plan."
"I will."
"Raven." I tighten my grip. "I don't like this."
Before I can finish she presses a single finger against my lips. "I know."
I nod. "You come back to me."
She grins. "That's the plan." She turns her head and kisses me one more time, then pulls away and shifts the truck into gear.
I step back and watch her drive out of the warehouse, turning right onto the road that leads to Main Street and the bar where the cartel's watchers are waiting.
Knox and Beckett are already moving toward their vehicle to establish counter-surveillance positions. Rook is heading to the parking garage for overwatch. Hawk and Torque are mounting up for rapid response.
Carmichael stands beside me, watching the empty road where Raven's truck disappeared. "She's going to be fine, Jesse. That girl is tougher than either of us gives her credit for."
"She's reckless." I turn away from the road and walk back to the command center. "But she's right. This is the play."
Cipher tracks the GPS signal from Raven's truck as it approaches downtown Fredericksburg. "She's approaching Maria's now."
The SIG Sauer P226 at my hip gets a final check. Backup Glock 19 at my ankle, combat knife strapped to my belt. Everything is clean, loaded, ready.
Carmichael's phone buzzes with an incoming message. He reads it and looks up. "Federal teams confirm they're in position and waiting for your signal."
"She's parking," Cipher announces. "One block north of Maria's."
The GPS signal on his screen shows Raven stationary now, blinking on Main Street.
"She's out of the vehicle," Cipher continues. "Moving south on foot."
Silence settles over the clearing. This is it. The moment where the operation shifts from planning to execution, where theory becomes reality and every variable we've accounted for either holds or breaks.
The signal moves slowly south toward Maria's. My breathing stays controlled. Calm. Trust the plan. Trust Raven.
"She's at Maria's," Cipher says. "Going inside."
She's walking through the door now, crossing to the bar, taking a seat. Ordering a drink. Letting the cartel's watchers get a clear look at her face and confirm what they've been hunting for days.
Agent Raven Bishop. Alive. Vulnerable. Alone.
Carmichael's phone rings. He answers, listens, then disconnects. "Rook has visual. She's at the bar. Three watchers confirmed, one at the coffee shop, one at the bookshop, and a vehicle on the corner. All of them have eyes on her."
The plan is working. Every piece moving as designed.
My hand rests on the SIG at my hip. The metal is warm from body heat, familiar weight that grounds me while Raven sits exposed in a bar surrounded by people who want her dead. Cipher monitors signal strength on the transmitters. Carmichael coordinates with federal teams via encrypted text, maintaining radio silence.
The warehouse is silent except for the faint hum of Cipher's laptop. No one speaks. No one moves. The screen shows her position, steady and stationary, while the cartel decides whether to take the bait.
Raven's life is riding on hardware sewn into her clothes and operatives she's known for days. On my ability to find her if the signal cuts. On her uncle's federal coordination if this goes sideways.
The signal holds steady.
She's drinking her beer and letting them look.
