It didn’t take long to reach the dirt lane that circled around to the back of the house. Dust billowed around them, forcing Colt to slow down, and the road was rutted in places, making the ride bouncy as hell. A few minutes later, he spotted the gate up ahead.
“We’re here,” he said into the mic attached to the tiny earbud out of sight in his ear. Mexican music played on the radio in the dash, helping cover his American accent as he spoke to the guard. There were two of them now, he noticed. Extra men in preparation for the cartel members’ arrival.
Colt stepped on the brake as the guard on the driver’s side walked up to the truck.
“Buenos días,” the guard said, peering into the interior. Both men wore short-sleeved tan uniforms, and both of them were armed with semiautomatic pistols.
“Buenos días,” Colt replied, smiling. There were plenty of blond Mexicans so his fair skin and hair shouldn’t be a problem. The eye patch was conspicuous, but he was wearing a UPS ball cap pulled low across his forehead, which helped. And no one knew who he was, including Ray Spearman.
The other guard looked in through the passenger window, walked to the rear and opened the door, saw the stack of parcels ready for delivery, and slammed it shut.
The first guard waved him through the gate, and Colt drove into the compound. So far so good. The next part was tricky, pulling around to the west end of the U-shaped building, then backing up beneath the balcony. He was far enough away the guards didn’t seem to notice, or maybe they were used to trucks parking wherever they could find a place.
Colt walked around to the back and opened the door. He couldn’t see Lissa but he knew she was in there waiting for their plan to move forward. “Truck’s in position. I’m heading for the house now.”
Zach’s voice came through the earbud. “Everything’s a go on this end.” Meaning Timmy was still in his bedroom.
“Roger that,” Colt said. Reaching up, he adjusted his earbud to be sure it was out of sight.
Lissa lifted the box away and stood up facing him, her pretty brown eyes intense on his face. “Come back to me,” she said softly.
His throat tightened. He wanted to tell her how much she meant to him, but now wasn’t the time. “Don’t wait more than five minutes. If I’m not back, drive out the gate and keep going. They aren’t checking the trucks as they’re leaving. Just drive out and don’t stop till you get to the landing zone.”
Her chin firmed. “I’m not leaving you here. That was never the plan.”
“Think of Tim and do what you have to. Stay safe.” He loaded a stack of fake parcels into his arms, eased the door shut but didn’t actually close it, turned, and walked away.
FIGHTING TO BLOCK out Colt’s last words and the terror that had gripped her when he’d said them, Lissa opened the truck door enough to check her surroundings. A heavyset woman in a long red gathered skirt tended a vegetable garden on the far side of the compound. A man in a wide-brimmed straw hat worked in the flower beds pulling weeds. She could see one of the two guards who had been at the gate when they’d driven through, but the other guard must have wandered away.
She looked but couldn’t spot him, and nerves burned through her. Slipping out the back of the truck, she climbed the narrow ladder beside the door and stepped onto the roof of the vehicle, keeping as low as she could.
Choosing a spot where she couldn’t be seen from the bedroom, she reached up, grabbed the iron rail, and hauled herself over. In seconds she was on the balcony, moving quietly toward the French doors.
She was hoping they wouldn’t be locked, doubted anyone in the compound worried about a break-in, but she carried a lock pick just in case.
Flattening herself against the wall, she took a quick look through the small glass panes. The teacher had his back to her. Timmy was facing the door. She stepped out where he could see her, put a finger to her lips to signal him to be quiet, saw the faint jolt of his body as he recognized her.
Lissa carefully turned the door knob. As she had hoped, the door swung quietly open. She drew her pistol as she stepped inside and pushed the barrel into the teacher’s back. The stun gun remained within easy reach. She hoped she wouldn’t need it.
The teacher stiffened.
“Be quiet and you won’t get hurt.” She had heard him speaking to Timmy in English, so she knew he understood. “Turn around, Señor Garcia. Do it slowly.”
He was a lean man, about her height, with a leonine mane of silver hair.
“What do you want?”
“Put your hands behind you. Do it now, professor.”
He did what she told him, and she cuffed him with one of the zip ties in the pocket of her cargo pants.
“Coming here is a death sentence,” he said in slightly accented English. “You must know that.”
Lissa made no reply, just took a roll of duct tape out of her pack, tore off a strip, and slapped it over his mouth. She used the gun to wave him toward the closet, and Timmy raced to pull it open. He seemed to be recovering from his shock. She knew he was still afraid, but he was also determined to help.
“Get in,” she commanded Garcia. “Sit down on the floor and put your back against the wall.” As soon as he was in position, she zip-tied his ankles. “We’ll be out of here in just a few minutes. Stay quiet and you’ll be okay.” It occurred to her she might be saving his life. At least up here, he wouldn’t be caught by a stray bullet when the task force raid commenced.
She closed the closet door and turned.
