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“All clear,” he said, out of breath. “You?”
“One woman, three kids under ten.” I ran back downstairs, and we declared this villa empty of Blanco associates.
River and Shay waited for us outside.
Elliott reported back to the others. The incessant sound from the comms had messed up my concentration so much that I’d turned mine off for the moment.
“Repeat that, Mercier?” Elliott turned his back to us and peered around the corner of the villa we’d just searched. “Roger. We’ll meet you there.” He angled back to us. “Crew found a tunnel in Marco’s basement. We gotta go. Villa number twelve—”
“River can’t run any longer,” Shay said quickly. “You two go—we’ll join up with Reese and Danny.”
I dropped my gaze to River’s leg. Aw, fuck. That was the work of razor wire. He was cut up pretty badly. And the fact that he wasn’t arguing with Shay meant River knew it too. No high-speed chase for him.
Elliott adjusted his earpiece. “Emerson, connect River to Danny’s frequency. Joel and I will join Mercier. They found a tunnel. Out.”
“Get that looked at.” I gave River’s shoulder a brief squeeze, and then we had to go.
Elliott and I sprinted down the narrow path toward villa number twelve, the whole area seemingly abandoned. But as we’d discovered, many were hiding inside the houses. We’d taken down six guards and encountered countless women and children.
Marco’s villa was much bigger than the others, and we followed Mercier’s instructions and ran through the hallway, into the kitchen, where we hurried down the steps to a wine cellar. Rows upon rows of wine.
Damn, it was cold down here.
It turned out to be much more than a wine cellar, though.
“Over here.” Elliott snuck between two rows of dusty shelves, packed with bottles that were probably more than my rent. Crew and Mercier must’ve moved the old barrel by the wall to find the opening. Another five or six steps down, and then we were in a tunnel.
We switched on our headlights.
“They started running about a minute ago,” he said.
Then we had some catching up to do.
The cold blast from the wine cellar was long gone, replaced by humid, stuffy air that tasted like wet cement. It was completely dark down here too, and we couldn’t see far up ahead for all the turns we had to take. Which led me to believe they’d built the tunnelafterthe villas were in place topside. Otherwise, they could have blown up the rock foundation when building the tunnel, as most did. Building a tunnel this close to the surface once they had houses and infrastructure to protect, however… They’d had to build around every boulder they came across.
“Do you think we really need Marco?” I asked, out of breath. “I want you to answer honestly as the strategic contractor you were, not the concerned uncle of Blake.”
’Cause…as much as it pained me to admit, I’d acted like a fucking idiot in Mexico. Elliott had been right. I’d risked my life for nothing—because I’d acted on emotion.
“I don’t,” he panted. “I firmly believe Gajero’s on his way to meet up with Carillo, and we have eyes on that fucker twenty-four seven.”
That’s what I needed to hear. “Then we have no reason to spare Marco and Enzo, do we?”
He threw me a sideways frown. “You’re usually on the other side of this argument.”
“I don’t wanna kill Marco if he’s the only one who can lead us to Blake,” I confirmed. “But if you believe we’ll find Gajero where Carillo is, I’m willing to trust you.” And killing these cartel motherfuckers would save us a lot of time. Because regardless if they were old and couldn’t run very well, they’d been around long enough to withstand a quick interrogation. They weren’t going to sing like canaries right off the bat.
Hell, Luca was over ninety years old. He’d probably rather die than jeopardize the cartel.
Elliott didn’t respond right away; he was too worn out, breathing too heavily. But then he pointed ahead. “Go. You’re faster. End this.”
End this.
I nodded once, then picked up the pace, and I was flooded with determination.
We had to get the fuck out of here. We had to put Colombia and the Blancos behind us. We were already leaving one hell of a mess for someone to find, be it Colombian law enforcement or whoever was next in line for the throne. And I didn’t want that man to be the son of Luca. A higher-up would get the cartel reorganized too swiftly. They undoubtedly already had a protocol in place for that, and then all this would’ve been for nothing.
I ran for all I was worth, every muscle and joint protesting, my lungs burning for air, my head pounding, letting me know I hadn’t had nearly enough water. But the pain was nothing compared to hearing Blake’s pleas echoing in my skull. I had to get to her. I was wasting my fucking time in this country. If Luiz Gajero was on his way to Europe, I had to get back there, preferably yesterday.
