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  Immediately in front of them, a short individual wearing tactical gear and a ski mask converged on Riley’s patrol. He had a shotgun aimed at the driver’s door. Riley was effectively trapped.

  A bullhorn cut through the sounds of the storm. That was when Lucy saw two more people running toward them, one with a shotgun, one with a handgun and the bullhorn.

  “Try anything, we kill the cop,” a male voice said. “Out of the van.”

  Nate didn’t move.

  Over the radio, Rabke said, “We’re still thirty minutes from your location because of road debris. A patrol may be closer. Stay put.”

  Nate said, “We’re surrounded by three armed gunmen. Three shotguns and one handgun visible. They’re wearing body armor. Riley is pinned down.”

  To Lucy, Nate said, “I can get one, you can get the other, but Riley will be dead before we can get the guy on him.”

  Lucy concurred. Riley’s truck was too far up the road to guarantee that they’d be able to make the shot in these conditions.

  The gunman said, “I’m not fucking around here. Get out of the van and toss me the keys now. Five. Four. Three. Two.” He put his hand up and the gunman next to Riley squared up.

  Nate slammed his fist on the horn and got his attention. He cracked open his window. “Take the gun off the cop.”

  “You’re not in a position to negotiate, Mr. Agent. Out.”

  “Cops are already on their way. We can wait you out.”

  “Your cop friend will be dead.”

  “Your friends will be tried as accessories to killing a cop and get the death penalty.”

  “I don’t fucking have time for this bullshit. Do it!”

  “No!” Nate shouted.

  The bullhorn guy said, “Fair warning.”

  The short guy with a shotgun—Lucy thought woman—fired into Riley’s engine.

  “Get out, throw down your weapons, give me the keys, or the next one goes through his window.”

  Nate said to Lucy, “Be prepared to run—they’ve already decided to shoot.” He glanced in his mirrors. “There’s a car approaching. Shit, we can’t get civilians in the middle of this bullshit.”

  Nate opened his door.

  “The car may be their getaway,” Lucy said. “Be careful.”

  He had his hands up—no weapon, the keys in his right hand.

  “Get the gun off the cop,” Nate demanded over the storm.

  “Your partner needs to get out first.”

  Lucy opened her door. The wind nearly pushed her over as she climbed out of the van. She showed her hands.

  The bullhorn guy motioned for the girl holding the shotgun to lower the weapon. She was reluctant, and there was a silent exchange. Lucy watched his hands. These people knew each other well.

  Though the shotgunner put the gun down slightly, she could bring it up quickly and fire if she wanted. Mr. Bullhorn was in charge, but that girl was a wild card.

  “Toss me the keys,” Bullhorn said. “Nice and easy, big guy. I don’t want to shoot your partner or the cop, got it? Just want to get my friends out.”

  Friends. If there had been any doubt, there wasn’t now. Carr was definitely part of the gang. Lucy realized then that he intentionally got himself arrested. Why? To convey information to Trembly? To help with the breakout?

  Nate tossed the keys. They landed at Bullhorn’s feet, and the other guy picked them up and handed them to Bullhorn.

  “Now, move away from the van. On your knees. Now! Both of you! Hands where my buddy can see them, got it?”

  The guy holding the shotgun on Nate and Lucy was tall and skinny. He was shaking.

  She. This is a girl, too.

  Was she shaking from the cold or because she was scared? Two women, one man. But Lucy would never underestimate a female bad guy. One of the most vicious criminals she’d faced was a woman.

  “Knees!” Mr. Bullhorn fired his .45 at Nate’s feet and dropped the bullhorn. “Both of you. Now.” He shouted over the wind, even though they were just twenty feet away.

  Slowly, Nate fell to his knees. Lucy could feel his rage, even though his expression remained staunchly blank. She dropped to her knees as well, her eyes on the woman in the distance, the one with the shotgun on Riley. Mr. Bullhorn retreated to the rear of the van.

  “Nate,” Lucy said. He didn’t hear her, and she said louder, “Nate.”

  He nodded his head once.

  “The car. Where did it go?”

  He didn’t say anything but tilted his body forward so he could see the roadway. They heard voices behind the van. He leaned back.

  “It stopped,” he said.

  The woman closest to them said, “What are you talking about?”

  Nate said, “You’re not going to get away with this.”

  “We already have.”

  “We’ll find you.”

  “Shut up.” She glanced behind the van. She was definitely nervous.

  Lucy looked over to the shorter female. Her shotgun was raised and aimed at Riley. She wanted to fire it. Her entire demeanor was excited . . . she enjoyed this.

  The car that Nate had seen pulled up parallel to the van. It was a full-sized pickup truck. Carr was in the back, Trembly in the passenger seat. “Get in,” Mr. Bullhorn said.

  The woman couldn’t wait to jump into the backseat.

  The gunman faced them. He then turned to the van and shot up the radio.

  It could be worse. They could have killed you and Nate.

  Probably not—they both could reach their backup pieces—but Riley would most certainly be dead.

  The gunman saluted them then jumped into the back of the pickup. They drove to where Riley was pinned down.

  They couldn’t hear what Mr. Bullhorn was saying over the wind, but it was clear he was arguing with the short girl, motioning for her to climb into the back of the truck.

  She finally did and Lucy began to breathe easier. The truck pulled away, then the girl stood up and fired a shotgun round into Riley’s patrol. The driving wind muffled the sound of shattering glass.

  Nate was up and running, gun out as soon as the woman had aimed the shotgun. He fired even though the vehicle was more than fifty yards away. Lucy pulled her backup service weapon and ran after Nate, but she didn’t have a clear shot. She thought she saw the girl fall to her knees but didn’t know if Nate had hit her or not.

  The masked girl fired the shotgun again at Riley’s vehicle, but the truck was moving fast and shotguns had a short range. Buckshot pinged against metal.

  Nate continued to fire. Lucy would take him over most everyone as her backup because he didn’t miss, but at this distance and with the wind she didn’t know how he could have hit her.

  Nate reached Riley first. Lightning flashed across the sky, the echoing thunder making Lucy’s heart skip a beat. She caught up to Nate as her partner pounded on the locked door. “Riley!”

  The cop looked dazed and didn’t unlock the door.

  Lucy ran around to the side where the glass was broken and opened the door. She unlocked the doors from the inside and Nate opened the driver’s door to inspect Riley.

  “I’m fine,” Riley muttered when it was clear he was anything but fine. Blood poured from his head.

  “Where are you hit?” Nate said.

  “Just glass. I think.”

  By the look of the wound, more than glass hit him. The side of his face was bleeding and it looked like glass or buckshot had pierced his upper right shoulder.

  Riley tried to get up, but Nate ordered him to sit. Lucy looked through the back of the Bronco and found an emergency kit. Nate pulled out his cellphone and got out of her way so she could inspect Riley’s injuries. First, she heard him first talking to Zach at headquarters, reporting exactly what happened and asking for immediate backup, then he swore, “We got cut off. Dammit.”

  “Try the radio,” Riley said. “That little girl hit it, but I think it’s still working.”

  Nate ran around to the
passenger side and after a couple tries got through to Fredericksburg PD. He reported what happened, gave the make, model, and license number of the truck. “What’s he look like?” Nate asked Lucy.

  “I’m fine,” Riley said.

  “No, you’re not.” Lucy had patched up his neck, shoulder, and head, but he’d been cut up bad and there were at least three buckshot embedded in his upper shoulder. One was closer to his artery than she would like, and she feared it was nicked. She’d slowed the bleeding but couldn’t get it to stop, and too much exertion would cause his blood pressure to rise. “Hold still.”

  She looked at Nate and shook her head. Riley wasn’t going to die, but he wouldn’t be walking to Fredericksburg right now.

  Nate reported, “Officer hit, need ambulance at our location.”

  “We have to get out of here,” Riley said.

  “The van is toast, this truck isn’t moving,” Nate said.

  “And you’re not walking,” Lucy added. “Don’t move, Riley. I’m serious.”

  “The river,” Riley said. “Look.”

  They looked back and saw that the creek had crossed the road and water was surging. It seemed to rise even as they watched.

  “I heard on the radio, right before the attack, that the Llano had flooded 87. This is a major artery off the river. Damn, if I hadn’t taken my eyes off the road to double-check, I might have seen the spikes.”

  “They had the spike strip under the water,” Nate said. “No one could have seen it, not on a day like today.”

  Nate told Fredericksburg dispatch that the creek had flooded the road and they had to find higher ground.

  The water had already topped the guardrails. Though the momentum kept the water mostly moving downstream, the wide space of the roadway gave it a lot of room to spill over. The van, which was closer to the river, had water up to the wheel well.

  “I have to get our supplies,” Nate told Lucy, and handed her the radio. “Give them a description of the suspects.” Nate ran through the rising water back to the van. First thing he did was pull the spike strip from the road.

  Lucy kept pressure on Riley’s neck while reporting what she knew. “Trembly and the man known as John Carr were released from the van by four unknown suspects. A man and two women, plus an unknown driver. All masked in full tactical gear. White or Hispanic. The male was approximately six feet tall. One female was approximately five feet four inches, small, petite build; a second female was five foot ten, slender—I’d guess one fifty, tops. The shorter female is particularly dangerous, she fired a shotgun into Officer Riley’s truck without provocation as they drove away. We fired in response, one of the suspects may have been injured in the escape.”

  “Status of officer?”

  “Multiple concussions on his head, neck, upper right shoulder. Stable but needs emergency medical attention. We can’t move him.”

  “I can walk,” Riley said.

  “Not far,” she said.

  “Repeat?” the dispatcher said.

  “I’m telling Officer Riley that we need to keep him immobile as long as we can. But we might not have a choice—the water is rising and his vehicle is inoperable. At this rate we have five minutes before we’ll have to move.”

  “Hold, I’ll find ETA.”

  Lucy watched Nate retrieve their extra weapons and emergency pack from the van. By the time he was done, he was fighting water that had risen to his thighs, holding his M4 over his head so it wouldn’t be submerged. The emergency pack was strapped to his back.

  She’d never seen water rise so quickly.

  The dispatcher came back on the line. “Agent Kincaid, it’s Fredericksburg dispatch.”

  “I’m here.”

  “Emergency crews are on their way to your location, but we have multiple situations and flooding on the road. ETA unknown—at least thirty minutes. But we have a situation one half mile from you. A nine-one-one call came in from a house on Brandenberger Road, then was cut off. The timing coincides with the attack on your vehicles.”

  “They could be seeking another vehicle or medical care if the girl was hit. Can you play me the call?”

  “Yes.”

  A half minute later, Lucy heard the recording. Nate was standing next to her.

  “Nine-one-one what is your emergency?”

  “Someone’s breaking in. I can’t get to the gun safe without them seeing me. I tried my dad, but his cell phone isn’t answering.”

  “What is your name?”

  “Bobby.”

  “Bobby, do you know your address?”

  “Sixty-eight ninety Brandenberger Road.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Eight.”

  “Are you home alone?”

  “My sisters are in the barn with the horses. My dad is—”

  The call ended.

  A kid was alone in the house and Trembly’s gang was breaking in.

  “Go,” Riley said. “I’ll be fine.”

  Nate didn’t look like he agreed. “Can you move? At all?”

  “Yes.”

  “As soon as the water reaches the bottom of your grill, you need to get to higher ground got it?”

  “Yes, sir,” Riley said with a half smile.

  Nate handed him a radio. “That’s on our secure channel. The range is good for a couple miles. You call us if you need us, understood?”

  Lucy told dispatch that they were heading to the house on Brandenberger. It was less than half a mile, she and Nate could make it long before the police.

  Riley said, “Go get those bastards.”

  Chapter Three

  San Antonio

  Sean and Jesse spent all morning sandbagging their driveway and helping neighbors do the same. Olmos Park had terrific drainage and the basin could handle even the worst storms, but the amount of water coming down was fierce, and several of the storm drains had to be cleared of debris, which had caused minor flooding of lawns and driveways. Sean, Jesse, and a group of neighbors went through the neighborhood freeing the drains. It was intensive work and sometimes difficult, but they managed to complete the task in a few hours. It could be worse. Other parts of town had far more problems than a little inconvenience.

  By the time they made it back home and showered, it was well after lunch. They collapsed in the living room, too tired to play video games.

  “I’m starving,” Sean said.

  “Me too,” Jesse agreed

  Neither of them moved.

  “Kane and Siobhan are coming up this weekend,” Sean told Jesse. “They would have been here today, but Kane had to take care of something.”

  “Something cool?”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Well, he has like a totally cool job.”

  Sean snorted. “Job. Yeah—I guess you could say that. He and Siobhan are helping the Sisters of Mercy—the missionary group that Siobhan’s mother had worked for—re-locate orphans from their current school that’s falling apart to a new school they built in Arteaga, which is outside Monterrey. Kane and a couple guys from his team are just making sure there are no problems.” And, Sean knew, Kane wanted to keep his eye on Siobhan. Now that he and Siobhan were living together, Kane feared his enemies would use her against him. It had happened once before. But convincing Siobhan to lay low was impossible. She always put others before herself—something Sean admired. He would have been down helping, except now he had other responsibilities—namely a son who had lost his mother eight weeks ago.

  “Is it dangerous?”

  “Probably not, but anytime you’re dealing with outlying areas in Mexico, you have the potential for problems. The Sisters are usually left alone by the cartels and gangs—unless they go into the wrong territory.” What they really needed was for law enforcement to take care of the most violent gangs and cartels and push them out of the communities so kids had a chance at a real future. But Sean had long ago realized the problem was bigger than one person. He thought at one time that Kane
tilted at windmills because he kept fighting a losing war, then his brother did something like escorting orphans and nuns to safety, and that made everything worthwhile. One step at a time.

  “Anyway,” Sean said, “they’ll be here tomorrow night if light aircraft isn’t grounded, or Monday morning.”

  “Where’d Lucy go so early?”

  “Up to Brady, a few hours away.” Sean was surprised he hadn’t heard from her. “She and Nate are bringing in a prisoner because the Brady jail flooded. A bank robber the local cops caught up there that the FBI has been looking for.”

  “That’s cool, too.”

  “You want to be a cop?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. I really liked talking to that guy from the crime lab at our Fourth of July party. Ash, I think his name was. He has a totally cool job, too.”

  Sean appreciated forensics. It required the same focus as computer programming, and when you loved what you were doing, the tediousness disappeared. “Fortunately, you’re only thirteen—you have time to figure it out. Let’s make lunch. I stocked up a couple days ago, so anything you want.”

  “Anything? Can you make those grilled sandwiches we had last week?”

  “You mean the Cuban sandwich?”

  “Yeah. They were great.”

  “Sure—I don’t have any more of the Cuban bread, but I’ll make do with French rolls. That’s the only thing Lucy can cook, but I’m still better.” According to her family, Lucy had never been proficient in the kitchen. However, sometimes Sean thought Lucy cooked awful on purpose—so she didn’t have to be in charge of the kitchen. It was almost endearing, a little sneaky, but he would never call her on it. He liked cooking.

  Together they prepared and grilled the sandwiches. They were nearly done eating when his cell phone rang. It was FBI headquarters.

  “Rogan,” he said.

  “Sean? This is Rachel Vaughn.”

  Immediately, he tensed. Why would Lucy’s boss be calling him? “Yes.”

  “First, Lucy is fine.”

  Not a good way to start the conversation. “Why wouldn’t she be?”

  “The transport she was in was ambushed. Two prisoners were freed by four assailants. The police officer who was escorting them was injured, but both Agent Dunning and Lucy are fine.”