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“That’s incredible,” Darius said. “When is she— Okay.” He listened a while longer before speaking again. “Perfect. Talk soon.” He ended the call and turned to me. “Ramirez and Willow managed to gain access to the Russian’s cell phone. They’ll let us know as soon as they hear anything.”
Hot damn. Willow was really knee-deep in the spyware field with Hillcroft, wasn’t she?
“Incredible’s right—Christ.”
“Ramirez knows better than to explain shit to me, so when he calls, I’ll hand the phone over to you.”
I chuckled. “Sounds good. We should send a text to everyone to be geared up and ready to split, regardless if they’re running errands or out making me feel bad for not doing cardio.”
“Don’t get me started.” He shook his head. “Every time Gray walks around shirtless, I feel the need to go for a run, but then he feeds me cinnamon roll bites instead.”
I laughed. That’d been me yesterday, sans cinnamon roll bites. Joel had returned with Ryan, shirtless and drenched in sweat. Joel had abs that went on for days. Although we didn’t have the age gap Darius and Gray had, Joel was so fucking fit that my doctor telling me “you’re perfectly healthy” felt like a “well, maybe you should drop fifteen pounds and join a gym.”
But Joel insisted he liked the way I looked, so maybe he could learn how to bake cinnamon roll bites instead.
* * *
River Tenley
“Cigars, huh?”
“Yup.” I jumped back into the SUV, and Reese pulled away from the curb to take us back to the house.
I’d felt inspired by Mercier earlier, who’d said he was looking forward to his celebratory cigar when he came home. He’d painted quite the picture of his son, his old man, good food, Crew in his arms, a glass of red, a whiskey or two, and a cigar.
Just when we returned to the house, Darius and Ryan stepped out onto the driveway with binoculars.
“Now what?” Reese killed the engine, and we climbed out. “Any updates?”
“Petrov was on the phone with someone we think is traveling with Gajero,” Darius responded. He was peering through the binoculars, aiming them up the mountain, though I didn’t understand what he’d see. Carillo’s safehouse was farther away.
“I’ll get our bags,” Reese told me.
I inclined my head and trailed closer to the brothers. “What’re you lookin’ for?”
“We can usually see the pillar of smoke comin’ from their chimney,” Darius answered. “You see anythin’, Ry?”
Solid clue of Carillo possibly preparing to move. Andorra was warm in the summer, no doubt, but not overly hot. Evenings were still chilly because of the altitude.
“Nope. We might as well pack the cars,” Ryan said.
I’d say so. We already had to be careful when we stepped out in the driveway since everyone who drove past could see us, and if Carillo was, in fact, getting ready to leave, it meant he and his seven closest guards were about to come through. Plus a Russian contractor I couldn’t wait to deal with.
Elliott and Darius had already advised us to be ready at all hours, which was essentially our default mode as it was, so it took us five minutes to fill the cars and another ten minutes to make it seem like we’d never been here.
Gray had paper bags filled with snacks for each car, one case of water bottles, power banks, medic bags, and one radio. Ammo was distributed evenly, and we teamed up the way we’d arrived, with one switcheroo. Darius, Gray, Ortega, and Mercier in one SUV, Elliott in another with Joel, Crew, and Ryan, with Reese, Shay, and me in the last. We needed our two snipers to take the lead on this one.
“Yeah, they’re leaving.” Elliott was on the phone with Ramirez. “Copy that. We’re switching to earpieces when we know the destination.”
By now, we were all huddled in the entryway, with Joel and Reese keeping watch out the narrow window by the door.
I figured it was a good time… “For afterward, gentlemen.” I started handing out the cigars I’d bought.
We needed to throw ourselves into this fight, fully believing we’d succeed without casualties, preferably without injuries too. Blake and Marisa were coming home, end of story.
“I guess we don’t believe in jinxing ourselves here…” Joel swallowed, visibly nervous, and accepted a cigar. “Thank you.”
“Jinxing is for hockey,” I said.
