Page 2 of Tango
Lord, be with me. Guide my steps, and let me survive this. Please, Lord. I don’t want to die. In Jesus’ name. Amen. Tears stream down my cheeks, but I face the wall across from me and take a deep breath.
A sense of calm washes over me. Understanding that, even if I die here today, it’s not the end. So with my heart hammering against my ribs and my entire body aching, I raise my weapon—and start running.
Bullets whiz past me the moment I’m no longer shielded by the tower, but I do my best to shove fear aside and keep running rather than pausing to seek refuge behind another tower.
One foot after the other, I run. And as soon as I’m close enough—bang, bang.
The glass cracks, but it doesn’t completely shatter. Here goes nothing. I raise my uninjured arm to cover my face then slam into the glass. Shards slice my arms and cheek, but it gives beneath the force of my body, and I plummet.
All the way down.
Chapter 2
Tucker
Hot and exhausted, I remove my baseball cap and withdraw my red bandanna from the back pocket of my jeans. After wiping up the lake of sweat that’s formed on my forehead, I stick the bandanna back into my pocket and replace my baseball cap.
Despite the fact that it’s only eight in the morning, it’s already nearly a hundred degrees out here in the hot summer heat. Thank you, Texas. Still, even though it feels as though I’m standing on the surface of the sun, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.
After making a secure loop with one end of a broken barbed wire strand, I attach the fence stretcher and crank it down. I tighten it until I can slip the new wire through the loop of the one I made, then let the fence stretcher hold it while I use pliers to fully join the two pieces.
As soon as it’s secure, I undo the stretcher and step back to survey my work. “Good work, huh, Tango?” I glance back at my dog, who has been watching happily from the shade cast by the utility vehicle we’d driven out here first thing this morning.
He tilts his head to the side, ears perked. “That’s what I think too, bud,” I reply, then retrieve my tools and stick them in the bed of the vehicle. After taking a swig of my water, I hop into the driver’s seat.
“Hier, Tango,” I order, using the German command my dog and my brothers’ dogs are all trained with. It’s a lot easier to ensure the dog will do his job when the average person probably won’t know the commands.
Less confusion for the dog, more security for us.
He hops into the UTV, so I fire up the engine then start driving the fence line, looking for any other holes. Unfortunately, broken fences are just a part of life on a ranch. As is predawn mornings and—occasionally—late nights.
I don’t mind either of those, though, because this place is my home. Happiness in a world filled with chaos and—unfortunately—darkness.
Ahead, I offer a wave to two of our ranch hands—Leon, who’s been here since I was a kid, and Keith, who just started working here last month. They’re both on horseback, riding through the pastures, checking on the cattle. We’ve had some predator issues lately—bobcats and coyotes—and have already lost three heifers. They’re out counting to make sure last night didn’t claim any more.
I crest the top of a hill and stop for just a moment, taking in the breathtaking view of the cabin-style four-bedroom ranch house I built on my parents’ land about seven years ago. Before then, I’d been living in a rental house I shared with my brother Riley and my twin, Dylan. Five out of six of us own houses here on the property, and Lani—my younger sister—has property prepped for her whenever she’s ready.
All with my parents’ house at the center of our ranch, just as they’re the heart of our family.
With a smile on my face, I head down the hill, beyond ready for a fresh cup of coffee and one of the muffins my mom dropped off yesterday. I can practically taste the blueberries already. But as I get closer and see who’s waiting on my porch, my hope of a quiet morning vanishes.
Time to work.
After parking my UTV in front of my garage, I climb out and call Tango to follow. “Well, this is a surprise,” I say as I climb the steps and greet my oldest brother, Bradyn, as well as Frank Loyotta, the owner of Find Me, an organization run by veterans. Their mission is to track down and stop human traffickers while rescuing as many victims as they can. We’ve helped them out quite a few times, just as he’s used his resources to help us out when things get, for lack of a better word, dicey.
“I’m sorry to drop in on you like this, Tucker,” Frank says, holding out his hand. I shake it then move past them to open the door. His expression is a lot less joyful than it usually is, and I note the dark circles beneath his eyes.
“Not a problem, Frank. Come on in.” The blast of AC is beyond welcoming. Tango immediately runs to his water bowl and drinks happily as I take a bottle of tea from my fridge. “Would either of you like anything?”
“No, thank you,” Frank replies.
Bradyn shakes his head.
“Okay, what can I do for you?” I ask.
Bradyn crosses his arms. His expression is somber at best, and my unease grows. Not much puts that look on my brother’s face.
“What is it?” I ask again.
