32

Squinting through the swirling haze of dust, Daria watched one of the figures fall. A figure with a distinctly masculine shape. Definitely not Cruz. Cursing, she pulled the trigger again and again, sending the other cops diving to the ground. She lowered her front sight to shoot them as they lay on their stomachs. Her index finger tightened. No bang. She shifted her gaze to the slide. Locked back in the open position. Fired dry. Shit.

Daria had taken time before the ambush to load Cruz’s Glock with special ammo. Manufactured in her own facility near the family compound in Mexico, they were called cop-killer rounds for a reason. Field tests in firefights with Mexican law enforcement had proven their ability to penetrate all standard-issue body armor.

A momentary calm between gusts had given her a clear shot at Cruz. She’d drawn a bead on her target as an eddy of dust blew grit into her face. She’d been forced to fire with her eyes closed, missing her target.

Tossing the Glock on the front passenger seat, she reached for her Desert Eagle, then hesitated. From the moment Daria held Cruz’s Glock, she’d planned to shoot her with it. When Salazar took the weapon away, he’d ended her plans. Then she’d found herself plucking the gun from José’s slackened hand as he lay dying on the bathroom floor.

She picked up the Glock again, considering it. As the return fire intensified, she realized she was outgunned, outnumbered, and outmatched. The police would soon close in. She’d squandered the second chance at Cruz fate had given her. She prepared to flee, shifting the Jeep into drive, when inspiration kept her foot on the brake pedal. Perhaps the gun could still hurt Cruz after all. Smiling, she pulled a bandana from the glove box, wiped her prints off the Glock, and hurled it out the open window.

Bullets ricocheted off the vehicle as Daria stomped her pointed boot down on the accelerator, stuffing the bandana into her pocket as the vehicle surged ahead. Careening through a fresh cloud of billowing dust, she barely managed to avoid plowing into a barrel cactus. She veered around it and bumped onto the roadway. Distant rapid-fire shots coming from the direction of the main building told her the coyotes were putting up a valiant fight. But the site would fall before long. If only Salazar would go down with it.

A light flashed from the top of the dashboard, catching her attention. She’d clamped her cell phone into a mounted holder to track Agent Rios using Nacho’s program and now the screen’s glow indicated an incoming call. Adolfo’s code name appeared, bringing with it a frisson of dread. Her older brother almost never called. She tapped the display with a tentative touch.

“You’re screwed.” Adolfo spoke over a background filled with static. A result of the storm, no doubt.

“I’m a tad busy.” Glancing at the console’s compass, she corrected course to drive due east. “If that’s all you have to say, I’m done talking.” As long as she went in that general direction, she could find her explosives facility.

“I want to help you, Daria. We’ve never been close, but at least we’re true family.”

That got her attention. “What’s going on?”

“I was in our father’s office twenty minutes ago. Salazar called. He said you murdered one of the coyotes so you could run away and save yourself before the police came.” Adolfo hesitated a beat. “He called you a coward.”

She clenched the steering wheel. Salazar had taken precious time from his evacuation to stick another knife in her back. Maybe the delay had prevented his escape. She pictured the bastard’s body jerking in a torrent of gunfire. “Was he captured or killed?”

“Neither. Our dear father ordered Salazar to have the men stay and fight while he chased you down.”

“And he knows exactly where I’m headed.” She had been the one to suggest they all hide out at her explosives facility at South Mountain.

“He said you don’t have anywhere else to go.”

Hope surged. “Wait, Salazar doesn’t know how to get where I’m going.”

“Nacho knows. That’s why he took them.”

She frowned. “Them?”

“Apparently Nacho wouldn’t come without that girl.”

“Oh, please.”

“Listen, there’s not much time. Salazar isn’t far behind you. When he finds you he’ll …”

She checked the compass again, waiting for her brother to dislodge the words that had stuck in his throat. She groaned her frustration. “Spit it out for fuck’s sake, Adolfo.”

“El Lobo … he … he greenlighted you.”

She was a dead woman. Even if she managed to evade the cartel’s most notorious killer, her own father had ordered her execution. She had nothing to return to. Nowhere to go. No one who cared. Except
—for some reason—Adolfo. Why would he ally himself with someone who couldn’t possibly benefit him in any way?

No time for niceties. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I hate Salazar even more than you do,” Adolfo said without hesitation. “I want the bastard gone. If you know he’s coming, maybe you can surprise him with one of your … creations.”

So that was it. Adolfo wanted her to take Salazar out. If she failed, he lost nothing. If she succeeded, Salazar would be out of the way and she would still be ostracized, clearing a path for her brother to step into the top slot. He would be the heir to the family fortune. Clever.

She kept her tone measured. “Thank you for the information.”

A sardonic smile lifted the corners of her mouth. At least she knew where everyone stood. Salazar had poisoned her father against her. Now he hunted her like the savage animal he was. Meanwhile, her brother had sucked her into a deadly game she had no hope of winning. He would use her to do his dirty work, then disavow her later.

“Blood has to stick together,” Adolfo said and disconnected.

As the Jeep approached South Mountain, she contemplated how to take her life back. There would be nothing left of the Phoenix operation after the police stormed the main base armory. All of the men would be arrested or dead. If Salazar, Nacho, and the girl died too, she could return to her father as the sole survivor and explain how the bastard had lied to manipulate him. And if she also managed to kill Veranda Cruz … so much the better. On the other hand, if everything went to shit, her backup plan was in place. No one knew about the overseas bank accounts, the villa, or the plastic surgeon on standby.

She examined the problem from every angle, turning it over in her mind, flipping its components around like a Rubik’s Cube until a solution finally snapped into place. As her father had taught her, she devised a way to turn a desperate predicament to her advantage.

Her heart beat faster as she probed her plan for weaknesses and found none. There was only one way to beat them. She would play their game according to her rules. Anticipation thrummed through her body. The solution was not only perfect, it was elegant.