41

Veranda prepared herself as Salazar crouched down before her.

“Grab onto my shoulders,” he said. When she complied, he laced his fingers together. “Put your right foot here, then step onto my left shoulder when I lift you.”

She’d practiced this maneuver before in training, but never with such a high wall to scale. Drawing a breath, she placed her boot into the cup formed by his interlocking fingers. He hoisted her with a grunt and she planted her left foot squarely on his broad shoulder. She leaned forward, bracing herself against the wall, to avoid tipping backward.

He swung her right foot over to place it on his other shoulder. “Are you stable?”

She adjusted her feet. “I’m good.”

He straightened to his full height. “You’re more than halfway there. Step on my hands.”

She glanced down to see his palms facing up. She carefully placed one foot on each open hand.

“On the count of three, I’ll boost as high as I can, but you’ll have to jump at the same time to grab the edge.”

She would fall to the bottom if she didn’t make it. “Got it.” She bent her knees. “On your count.”

He lowered himself again, and she understood that he would push up with his legs while simultaneously launching her with his arms, increasing the amount of lift he could provide. The sheer power such a move required was impressive. She hoped it would be enough.

“Uno.”

She raised her hands in preparation to grasp the ledge.

“Dos.”

Every muscle and sinew in her body tightened.

“Tres!”

She sprang up as his harsh guttural grunt sounded below her. She felt weightless for a moment, then her fingers latched onto the edge of the pit. She used her momentum to swing her feet up.

Her right boot caught, but her left leg dangled down.

“Get your right hand on the ground, Veranda!”

Salazar was correct. If she could get her right arm all the way out onto the flat surface, she would have enough leverage to get her hips up. She also knew that, as a woman, her center of gravity was at her midsection, unlike a man’s, which was in his upper torso. She had to focus on maneuvering her legs, but she couldn’t do that while clutching the edge with her fingertips.

She flung her arm out, scrabbling for a moment before her splayed hand found purchase. Using her powerful quadriceps, she pushed up with her left foot and pulled with her right. Every muscle protested as she forced her way up and out. She rolled over and lay gasping on her back.

“Veranda!”

The shout from below galvanized her. “Throw me the long piece of rope.”

Before cutting him free, she’d examined the rope and discovered a way to salvage a piece about seven feet long. She watched him bend to pick it up.

He wore an unreadable expression when he carried it toward her. “You can’t waste any more time.” He looked at the display and she followed his gaze. It read 3:26.

“That wasn’t our deal,” he said, exasperated.

“There’s time for me to try.”

“I’ll give you one chance.” He flung the rope up to her. “Then I’m throwing you the gun.”

She spotted a thick steel workbench nearby. Flattening herself on her stomach, she tossed one end of the rope over the edge.

“I can reach the end if I stand on my toes,” he called up to her. “Ready?”

She hooked her foot around one of the table’s legs and gripped the knot at her end of the rope. “Go.”

The rope pulled taut. She skidded forward on the dirt floor, dragging the table with her. “How much do you weigh?” she groaned through gritted teeth.

“A hundred kilograms.”

Her experience as a narcotics detective told her that was about two hundred twenty pounds. And her experience fighting with him told her he was solid muscle.

She strained to hold the grip in her sweaty hands. Her body slid closer to the edge of the pit. The table dragged behind her. Sweat beaded on her forehead and the rope burned her palms. Salazar was going to pull her and the table down into the hole with him. She got to the edge. Her arms went over. Still she held on. Her chest was on the precipice. A few more seconds and she would go down.

A tremendous weight landed on her back, crushing her into the dirt. Before she could register what was happening, strong arms reached around either side of her head and two large hands gripped the rope in front of hers.

“I don’t know why you’re trying to save this asshole,” Rios said into her ear. “He doesn’t deserve it.” The federale’s weight, added to hers, counterbalanced Salazar’s heavy frame and stopped her sliding. After much grunting and cursing, Salazar climbed up to the edge of the pit. As soon as he neared the top, Rios grabbed his wrist to hoist him out.

As Salazar pulled himself up, she canted her head to Rios. “Where is Daria?”

“Saw her run out, figured you rescued her.” He panted with strain. “You didn’t come out or call, so I decided to check on you.”

Salazar used their combined weight to lever himself up to the surface and roll onto his feet. The two men sprinted toward the rear service door with Veranda on their heels. Salazar burst through the door and Rios barreled after him. As she neared the exit, a familiar shape caught her eye. She skidded to a halt, bent down and snatched her Glock from a pile of broken cement where it had landed just inside the threshold.

“Hurry, Veranda!” Rios was outside, holding the door open for her. “There’s got to be less than a minute left.”

She jammed the gun into her holster and sprinted for the opening. Legs pumping, she blew past Rios before coming to a halt several yards from the building. Winded, she planted her palms on her knees and sucked in gulps of fresh air.

The door shut behind her and she turned to see Rios walking toward her. “What were you doing in there?”

Before she could answer, Salazar pulled the massive Desert Eagle from his waistband, stepped behind Rios, and brought it down on the back of his head.

A sickening crack of metal on bone sounded as the federale slumped to the ground.