Page 66 of Beyond Redemption

“If it’s them.”

“It’s them,” Marcel said. “The cartels move differently. The Carlisis are probably testing response time.”

“I’m sure you passed.”

“Of course we did. But without numbers and a weapons profile, we’re flying blind.”

“That’s the next order of business, I assume?” I asked, despite the risk of insult.

He glared at me. “This isn’t some backyard operation, Maddox. My recon team’s already inbound. And they won’t leave tracks like those clumsy sons of bitches who just tipped their hand.”

“I had no doubt,” I said with a subdued grin, turning for the door.

“Confidence noted,” he grumbled from behind me.

Outside, the compound continued moving, unaware of the exact details but responding all the same, something that only came when status changed.

I crossed hard-packed dirt toward the adobe, mug in hand. Dawn had already crossed into day, different from the way it did in cities where light hit steel and reflected off windows. Arizona sun, forced to break through a veil of sandy air, crawled over scrub and fencing, over low roofs and parked trucks powdered in dust, turning the horizon from pastels to harsh, washed-out neutrals. A dog barked once somewhere beyond the main corridor, metal clanged in the distance, and boots moved a few blocks away—purposeful and quick, without a single step wasted. They knew as well as I did that whatever was coming was already on its way.

Movement beyond the perimeter could mean anything. Migrants. Vagrants. Local traffickers checking for weak spots. But this was Marcel’s ground, and he knew who moved across it. If he believed someone was testing response times, then that was the working assumption. Marcel wasn’t rattled. He was a man who could stand toe-to-toe with cartel butchers and never give them the satisfaction of a reaction. That only told me he was concerned enough to hide it. Recon would return soon. He had men on the fences. All reassuring, but it also meant he didn’t like what he’d heard enough to act.

I ran through the compound’s layout in my head as I walked, mapping routes from the adobe, the Longhouse, the commissary, and the playground to the bunker Liis had shown us the night before, gauging timing at night and mid-day, tracking sightlines from the windows, and noting weapons placement. If this turned hot, seconds would matter, and confusion could mean death. I had spent too many years learning that lesson in rooms that smelled like cordite and blood. Out here, it would smell like dirt, diesel, and panic, but the math stayed the same.

By the time I reached the porch, the sun had broken over the eastern ridge. It cut low across the compound and caught in the dust hanging over the road, turning it gold for half a second before it was scattered by a shift in wind. I opened the door quietly and stepped inside.

The adobe held the cool from the night. Clay walls, concrete floor, the faint smell of coffee wafting from the kitchen, detergent, and baby soap. Stella’s blanket was draped over one end of the couch, one tiny sock lying on the floor beside it. Most likely, she’d kicked it free at some point, and no one had bothered to put it back on her busy foot. Liis stood at the kitchen island in a worn navy-blue T-shirt and gray sweatpants, a knife in one hand, mindlessly slicing a banana onto a plate, her dark ponytail listing to one side from sleep. She glanced up when I came in and offered a tired smile, but once her eyes met mine, her expression changed.

“Bad news?” she asked.

“Maybe. Marcel’s on it. We’ll know more soon.” I glanced down at the banana, then at Stella’s empty highchair. “She’s still asleep?”

She nodded in disbelief. “I’m sure she’ll be up any second, but I think it’s the time change. Maybe the heat? She took an extra-long nap yesterday, too.”

“You think she’s getting sick?”

“God, I hope not. Do they have a pediatrician here?”

“After seeing the bunker, I’m pretty sure they have everything here.”

“So, you spoke with Marcel?”

I set my coffee mug on the counter. “I did. There’s been some movement outside the perimeter before dawn. Could be nothing.”

“You think it’s them, though?”

“Marcel does.”

“So, it’s them. Do they know how many?”

“Recon was deployed.” I pressed my lips to her temple in an effort to reassure her. “We’ll know more soon, sweetheart.”

She pulled away slightly. “What direction?”

“Liis…”

She let the knife fall into the sink. “Our only child is here, Thomas. Our nieces and nephews. I know we came here for safety; it’s the safest place we could possibly be, and it’s also our last bastion. If this place falls…”

“It won’t.”