Page 36 of Shadow Games

Wyatt hit the brakes suddenly, the Suburban grinding down. In front of them, in the curve of the rural road, was the gray four-door sedan she recognized from the Rockwell’s farm. And leaning against the back of the car, arms crossed, was the man in the cowboy hat. He had a big silver gun in one hand, and a dangling cigarette in the other, and it was obvious they weren’t going any further.

“Why are they here,” she asked. “I thought they were going to be at the airfield.”

“Maybe they saw something there and chose to meet us here.” Wyatt put the truck in park and unfastened his seatbelt. “Are you ready?”

She nodded, though she really wasn’t. She just had to power through.

Wyatt opened his door and stepped out, so she did the same. Matching his steps toward the car, she eased closer to him. They stopped about ten feet from the rough-looking Hispanic man. He took a final drag on his cigarette, then flicked it to the side of the road. There were faint scars all over his face, and she wondered how many fights he’d been in in his life. His hands were lean-fingered and hard, and he held the gun like it was an extension of his arm.

There was anger in his expression and the line of his body, though. It radiated from him and when his gaze lit on the necklace around her neck, the anger took fire. “You are not family. Remove that.”

Rowan was fine with removing it. It had bothered her anyway. She let it dangle from her hand. “Do you have the logbook?”

The man reached behind himself and drew it out of his waistband. He set it on the sedan’s trunk. Then his eyes flicked to Wyatt. “You have cost me many men.”

“No, Ken Rockwell cost you many men.”

The man’s hard mouth tipped up in a smile. “Perhaps you are right. But you are going to cost me many men today. Your Navy SEALs are out there, hidden like rabbits. They were dropped in earlier. The plane you are supposed to leave on is there as well. And we have to get you there…”

He looked at the Suburban. Rowan couldn’t help but glance back as well. From this perspective, the vehicle looked rough, with its shattered windshield and damaged front.

Behind the Suburban, four other cars had glided up to park behind it. Nondescript sedans and one beige minivan. They were full of Hispanic men. “Wyatt,” she whispered.

“I know,” he said, not taking his gaze from theteniente.

“So, this is what we are going to do,” Crúz said, his English less accented than Abuela’s. “You are going to give me the necklace, and I will give you the book. Then, like fools, we are going to drive into danger and hope that Santa Muerte blesses us. My car will be first, then your car, and we will circle around you to get you on the plane. The sooner you are on the plane, the sooner we can get away and be done with the American mess. Do you understand?”

Rowan nodded. Taking a breath, she stepped forward, holding out the necklace. The gold glittered in the noon light, looking even more brilliant. The stone looked so green… Her heart thudded as she drew closer to the killer.

There was a sudden burst of sound from her left, off in the trees, and she ducked instinctively. The hard pavement met her palms and she cried out, but she wrapped her hand around the necklace’s chain. She could not lose this. Glancing behind, she saw that Wyatt had dropped as well, and was crabwalking to the Suburban as more gunshots ripped through the air.NO!She eyed the distance between them, but she was too slow to move. Crúz grabbed her from behind and dragged her behind the car.

Rowan wanted to fight, but he was supposed to be helping her. Maybe he was. That was the plan, anyway. She hated being grabbed like this, though.

“Give me the necklace,” the man hissed.

Her hand tightened on the gold. “Where is the logbook?”

His dark eyes flared with anger and he ripped off the cowboy hat, before raising up and peering over the trunk of the car. Then he peered below the car. “I think someone shot it.”

He spat out a harsh command to one of the other men hiding behind the car. The man looked at him incredulously, then firmed his jaw. He pivoted on his toe at a crouch, then lunged out to the other side of the car. It was obvious they were being fire upon from the woods to the left, and he had just run out to try to grab the book.

There was a cry, and Rowan knew without looking that the man had gone down.

Crúz cursed, she thought, then spat on the ground.

Another man crouching behind their car tossed something out in Spanish, and Crúz responded. The man opened the passenger side door and slithered in, staying low. The car shook as the man moved inside, and she thought he was crawling through to the back door to get him closer to wherever the book had landed. The car suddenly pushed against her back, and she assumed the man leapt out of it. There was a cry from the other side, but the skidded around the rear of the car, black book in hand. He handed it off to thetenientejust as a bullet took him through the throat, sending him flying through the air. He was dead before he even stopped skidding on the pavement.

Rowan blinked in shock, the sights and percussive sounds too much for her. There was the scent of gunpowder in the air. A scent she was familiar with but knew now would forever bring up the sight of the dead young man staring at her from the side of the road.

The black logbook she recognized was shoved into her face. It was tattered at the upper right edge, but still intact. Obviously, one of the SEALs had tried to shoot the thing to pieces, and it hadn’t worked. She flipped through it quickly, scanning. There were a bunch of black lines, she assumed the cartel contacts, but there were several names she recognized. Hunkering down, she flipped to the end of Ken’s entries, and she saw one name. Shit. It wasn’t Gillette.

“There’s your book, bitch. Give me the necklace.”

Rowan’s hand visibly shook as she held the necklace up. Crúz had to unwind it from her clenched fingers, but it appeared to be unharmed. The emerald winked at her in the light before he shoved it down inside his shirt. “Now, get in the car,” he ordered her.

The passenger side door was still open, so she climbed inside, half on the floorboard. Crúz climbed over top of her, and he was not gentle. He cranked the engine on the old beast and it took off.

Rowan lifted her head enough to look behind them. They left the shade of the trees and sped across an expanse of concrete. She looked for the Suburban.Come on, Wyatt. Come on. Come ON!

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