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“We need De Leon to give us the name of the bomber.” Releasing his hold on her, he tried to put everything he understood about the cartel into play. “And I think I just figured out a way to get Sangre por Sangre to stop protecting him.”
Chapter Six
Life was starting to feel like a box of cookies.
Some she couldn’t wait to bite into. Peanut butter. A really soft chocolate chip. Maybe a homemade Oreo. Others she’d always leave in the bottom of the tin. Peppermint. Orange. Even worse, orange peppermint. And this plan had an aftertaste that left a horrible bitterness in her mouth.
Jocelyn shoved the SUV into Park about a quarter mile from the house and cut the lights. It wasn’t difficult to uncover Marc De Leon’s home address, especially for Alpine Valley’s chief of police. But being here—without backup—in the middle of the night pooled tightness at the base of her spine. She’d gone up against the cartel before. Using one of their lieutenants to flip on a bomber they believed to be the Ghost wasn’t going to end the way Baker hoped.
“I don’t see any movement or lights on in the compound,” she said.
“Doesn’t mean he’s not there.” A battle-ready tension she’d noted during the flashback that’d ambushed him at the station bled through his hands.
This was a bad idea. “Baker, I know you think you have to do this to find whoever blew up your station, but Socorro has ways of getting that information without—”
“Without what? Getting their hands dirty?” The muscles in his jaw ticked in the glow of the vehicle’s control panel. “Not sure you know this, but most police work isn’t done from a distance with unlimited resources and military equipment. Most of my job is climbing into the sandbox and uncovering the next lead myself. Marc De Leon is our best chance of confirming Benito Ramon is the Ghost, and I’m not leaving until he does.”
Baker didn’t wait for her response and ducked out of the SUV.
Damn it. He was going to charge in there with or without her. Maybe even get himself shot. Or worse. Jocelyn followed his silhouette to the front of the hood, then moved out of the vehicle. Taking on the cartel—no matter the angle—had only ever ended in blood. She wasn’t going to let him walk in there unprepared. “Then you’re going to need some of those resources.”
Rounding to the cargo area, she punched the button to release the door. She flipped the heavy black tarp back to expose the full range of artillery at her disposal.
“You’ve been driving around with this back here the whole time?” His low whistle preceded Baker’s hand reaching for the nearest weapon—an M4 automatic rifle. “I could have you arrested for some of these. You know how to use all this?”
Nothing like witnessing shock and awe when confronted with the fact the woman driving you around could do more than bake cookies. “It’s all legal. Socorro operatives are licensed and trained with a variety of weapons. There isn’t anything in this trunk I don’t know how to handle.” She gestured to the M4. “You’ll want to be careful with that one. The trigger is sensitive. Extra magazines are closer to the back seat.”
He collected what he could carry. “Why do I get the sense you’ve been holding out on me?”
“Funny coming from a man who’s referred to me as a mercenary on more than one occasion.” She armed herself with an extra magazine for the pistol holstered on her hip. More wasn’t always better. Despite all of the resources and gear available, Jocelyn trusted herself over a gun in any situation. Because that was all she could count on at the end of the day.
“Yeah, well, I might have changed my mind over the past few hours.” Baker threaded one arm through the gun’s strap and centered the weapon over his sternum, barrel down like the good officer he was supposed to be.
She hauled the tailgate closed and locked the vehicle. Couldn’t take the chances of someone else getting their hands on her gear. “You mean after I kissed you?”
“That helped.” He seemed to be trying to steady himself with a few deep breaths. “You ready?”
“You really believe the only way to get to the Ghost is through De Leon?” Because the moment they crossed that property line, Sangre por Sangre would consider their visit an act of war. He had to know that.
He nodded. “Yeah. I do.”
Her gut trusted his answer. It’d have to be good enough for her. She handed off a backup vest. “Then I’m ready.”
They moved as one, keeping low and moving fast along the worn asphalt road. According to satellite imaging, the cartel lieutenant’s property sat on the edge of a cliff looking down into Alpine Valley, though she could only see the front of the compound from here. Thin, modern cuts of rock, pristinely stacked on top of each other, created a seven-foot barrier between them and the main house. Hopping over the fence at one of the distant corners was the smartest strategy, but Jocelyn couldn’t dislodge the warning in her gut. Like they’d be walking right into an ambush.
They each pulled back at the gate and scanned the interior of the compound. Heart in her throat, she stilled. No floodlights. Or any movement from a guard rotation. No signs of life as far as she could tell. Not inside the house, either. This didn’t make sense. The cartel wouldn’t leave their lieutenant unprotected. “There’s no one here.”
She set her palms against the gate and shoved. Metal hinges protested as the heavy structure swung inward. Something wasn’t right. No security-conscious cartel operative would leave the gate unlocked. Jocelyn caught sight of a security camera mounted above her left shoulder, but the LED light wasn’t working. Was the power out?
Baker paused before crossing over the threshold. “Guess that makes our job easy, then.”
She didn’t trusteasy, but they didn’t have a whole lot of choice here, either. She crossed beyond the gate. Every cell in her body ratcheted into high alert. Waiting for...something.
Thick fruit trees branched out from their line along the driveway and clawed at her exposed skin and hair as she headed for the front door. Pavers and old-world exposed beams created a feeling found nowhere else other than New Mexico. Drying chilis hung from beside columns built of the same stone as the wall they’d bypassed. Black sconces—unlit—stood as sentinels on either side of a wood double door. Marc De Leon was out on bail, but this place was a ghost town as far as she could tell.
“I don’t like this,” she said.
“I’m starting to understand what you mean.” Baker nudged the toe of his shoe against the front door. It swung inward without much effort. “Ladies first?”
