Chapter 20

Cordero yanked me forward and steadied me when I stumbled against him. He was keeping me at arm's length, and that made me realize that I was covered in Tank's blood. "Can I at least wash up first?"

Cordero sighed, but we detoured to the bathroom. "Hurry up."

I would've liked to spend the time scrubbing under my fingernails, but when most of the blood had washed down the drain, he pulled me to the front door. We double-timed over to a black Sedan parked a couple houses down, and he shoved me into the passenger seat.

Once we'd wound our way out of the neighborhood and were approaching the highway, Cordero spoke. "So where are we going? Where is he keeping her?"

I gritted my teeth and played up the reluctance of my answer. "Trenton."

He shot me a look, and though I couldn't quite make out his features in the dark, I could imagine that it was somewhere in the realm of 'get real'. "You expect me to believe that Ranger is keeping her in the same city where everyone and their cousin are out for her blood?"

"He said he was going to hide her in plain sight."

Fibbing had never been my strong suit, so I fought with all my might not to fidget under Cordero's intense scrutiny. Finally he gave a derisive laugh and shook his head. "Cocky bastard. I'm not surprised."

It was hard not to breathe a sigh of relief when we swung onto the highway headed to Trenton. Rangeman's control room would be in a tizzy over Tank's watch sending out the SOS, and surely the cavalry was already headed to us. All the better that we'd meet them in the middle.

Even if I knew where the safe house was, I couldn't have led him to Gabriella. Although Bobby and Lester were two of the most capable men I knew, Cordero was an unknown. I wasn't sure what sort of nasty tricks he'd have up his sleeve. And I doubted his intentions for Gabriella were to catch up over a glass of wine.

The movement of the car and the darkened cab were almost soothing, and I caught myself starting to nod off several times over the next fifteen minutes. It was hard to keep my eyes open. Cordero's voice caught me the next time my chin started to droop to my chest.

"Don't pass out on me," he said.

"Maybe you should've thought of that before you shoved me headfirst into a stone countertop."

"It's not my fault you don't know how to take a hit. How come Ranger hasn't taught you better?"

I'd roll my eyes, but my head hurt too much. "I never was a great student."

"You know, he's never talked about having a woman."

If he was trying to bait me, it wasn't working. I snorted. "What has he talked about?"

Cordero laughed. Glad someone was in good spirits. "Good point."

I sensed that he wanted to talk, and figured I may as well let him. "Why did you tip off Valdez?"

"Never could pass up a sure bet."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It was a win/win. Quid pro quo."

"So you sold out."

Cordero stiffened. "Money is easy come, easy go. It wasn't about that."

"I couldn't help but notice that you accepted it anyway. And it looked like it came at just the right time. You were swimming in debt."

His hands were trying to wring the life out of the steering wheel. After a moment, he visibly relaxed. "Yeah, okay. Fine. I'll admit, the money was nice. But I didn't just sell out."

"Uh-huh. If you say so." I made sure all the derision I felt made it into my tone.

"Everything I've done, I've done for our country!" His voice boomed, and I nearly flinched.

I forced out a harsh laugh. "You're gonna have to explain that one to me."

"It hasn't just been a one-way street," he said. "I'm not tipping off Valdez out of the kindness of my heart, or for a few extra bucks. He's given us tips that have spared us costly missions and saved lives."

"I can tell that the lives of your men are important to you," I drolled.

"The good of the many outweighs the good of the few. He threw some occasional sacrificial lambs my way, and I his."

The ball of worry in the pit of my stomach grew hotter and started to feel a lot like fury. He'd intended for Ranger to be a 'sacrificial lamb'.

"Like Esquivel?" I guessed.

"Esquivel was a stupid fuck. He wanted out, but the only way out was in a box. We figured, why let the opportunity go to waste? Valdez got to get rid of a troublesome thorn in his side, and I got to look like the hero for bringing in Los Reyes's number two."

It dawned on me that this story was sounding familiar. "And Gabriella. She was a lamb, too?"

Cordero laughed. "Yeah, I love that one. When we got word that Gabriella wanted to leave, I tipped Valdez off. I figured he'd be pissed if we took his main squeeze. But he saw the opportunity it presented. God, I admire his ingenuity."

"You admire him?"

"That whole plan was his masterpiece, and he handed it to me on a silver platter. He was the one who suggested we make it look like Par de Balos were the ones who took Gabriella. I got to make the suggestion to SOCOM, and my command structure fucking loved me for it. Valdez and I knew that the tricky part would be that we not make it seem too easy. So he made sure that we got some false intel along the way."

"He just threw her away, like she was garbage." The only emotion I could muster up was disbelief.

Cordero shrugged. "A man doesn't become Nestor Valdez without seizing opportunities. I don't know the story between him and Gabriella, and I don't care. He'd been gunning for Par de Balos for years, but he was having a hard time selling his people on the value of taking them out. They all knew it would be a hassle, and they weren't willing to work for it. Valdez was, and is. He knew that if he could get Par de Balos to take the first step, to do something to step on Los Reyes' toes, then no one would fault him for escalating the violence."

"But they wouldn't, so he took matters into his own hands."

"The opportunity to take out a rival cartel was more valuable to him than she ever was. Once the spectacle of the capture was over, he could've arranged for her to be killed, just like Esquivel. But he didn't."

Maybe it was difficult for him to let her go. Maybe that was why he'd left her alone all these months. Maybe it was why he'd left her sister alone so far, too. Or maybe he was just an erratic psychopath whose whims changed on a dime. That was my bet.

The scenery out my window was becoming more familiar as we approached the exit for Trenton. I was thankful that we'd made it that far without me talking myself into a bullet in the brain, and relieved that I wouldn't have to last much longer. Rangeman was probably waiting until we were off the highway before they would come swarming out of the woodwork to surround us.

"Which exit?" Cordero asked.

Oh, right. Where was I taking him, exactly? I spouted off an answer to his question to avoid suspicion while I wracked my brain. Would it be best for me to bring him somewhere secluded for the Merry Men's takedown? I had to assume that Cordero knew that Rangeman had a Trenton office, but would he know where it was? It was too big a risk; I couldn't take him straight to Haywood.

I caught myself checking the rearview mirrors and peering down each street we passed, on the lookout for a fleet of black SUVs. Any time now, guys…

When Merry Men started raining down from rooftops and bullets started flying, I didn't want us to be anywhere near the Burg. Or any heavily-inhabited area, for that matter. That being the case, I directed Cordero toward Stark street. At least the hail of bullets wouldn't damage anything important. Upper Stark had already seen much worse and lived to tell the tale.

"What the hell kind of safe house is Ranger running?" Cordero mused. We rolled past the 800 block of Stark and kept going and he witnessed the street giving way to condemned row houses and bombed-out crack dens.

Usually I couldn't step foot on Stark Street without a Rangeman patrol immediately breathing down my neck. And now the one time when I actually needed them, here I was, and here they weren't. Seriously, where were they?

Midnight was the upper-Stark equivalent of the lunch rush, so we had quite an audience of dealers, pimps, and hos. The extra eyes on me only reinforced the sense that the doomsday clock was ticking down. Cordero was going to get antsy and demand to know where the safe house was. He was going to find out I'd been leading him on a wild goose chase, and then he'd have to decide how to deal with me. Maybe he'd just shoot me, or maybe it'd be a lot less pleasant.

Still no sign of Rangeman. Guess they were stuck in traffic or something, who knows. I was going to have to figure something out on my own, and fast. Especially since we were nearing Los Reyes territory, and I didn't want to take the chance that we'd run into some of Cordero's buddies.

We were approaching a burned-out brick row house. Two stories. The windows were filthy and some were cracked or broken or missing altogether. And it had a familiar paint job - it matched my old car, minus a few select profanities.

"This is it!" I cried. Then I winced, making a mental note to tone down the enthusiasm. This was probably a really, really dumb plan. No need to get so excited about it and risk tipping Cordero off.

He pulled up at the curb and slowed to a stop, eyeing the building warily. "I was joking before, but seriously, is the security business not doing well? Ranger can't afford a building with actual windows and a fully-intact roof?"

"Hiding in plain sight," I reminded him.

"How many men does he have in there?"

"Two."

"Two?" he repeated. He hooked his thumb at the building. "In there? I can already see three points of entry from right here."

"They're two very good men."

He reached under his seat and pulled out another gun, adding it next to the other in his utility belt. He zipped up his Kevlar vest. No self-respecting street lamp on upper Stark would dare shine light on the nefarious activities that took place past midnight, so we were parked in darkness. In his black-on-black get-up, Cordero blended into the night.

"Don't move," he warned me. Then he slid out of the car and leaned against the door, studying the house.

There were a few people scattered up and down the street. I couldn't see well enough in the dark to tell whether any of them were wearing colors, so I had nothing but a hope and a prayer that this plan would work. I steeled myself to try anyway as Cordero made his way around to the passenger door. He yanked it open and grabbed me by my elbow to pull me out.

"How much did you earn on Los Reyes' payroll, anyway?" I asked loudly. "I bet having a Commander in their pocket was probably worth a pretty penny."

"Hush." He gave a sharp yank on my arm to emphasize his point.

"I mean, your help has been priceless to Valdez," I continued. "You gave him the excuse he needed to escalate the war with Par de Balos. How much did he pay you for that opportunity?"

Cordero turned to me, his jaw clenched, but before he could shake me or punch me or shoot me, he was distracted by voices quickly approaching.

"Say what about Valdez?" A man wearing baggy jeans and a baggy tshirt sauntered up behind Cordero, arms crossed over his chest.

Two other men flanked him. "We best not have heard that this cabrón works for Los Reyes. Don't you know where you are?"

"You're in our 'hood now. And I don't think we invited you, but we got manners, so let's go inside." The first guy suddenly had a gun in his hand, and so did Cordero. He also still had my arm in his grip, so that was less than ideal.

"Sorry, we're here on business," Cordero said. "Step aside."

"He's here for Gabriella," I blurted. "He's going to give her back to Valdez."

"Shut up!" Cordero let go of my arm to backhand me across the face. I stumbled and took the opportunity to put a few steps between us. I went down to my knees, playing up the injury while trying to get out of the line of fire for when shit hit the fan.

"That bitch isn't here," the guy with baggy jeans said. "And if she was, she'd be in no shape that Valdez would want her back, you know what I mean?"

"And you ain't gonna be in no shape to bring her," another guy added. "We got a message for Valdez, and you're gonna help us send it."

Cordero laughed, but instead of a cocky reply, all I heard was the firing of his gun. I scrambled on hands and knees away from the bullets that were suddenly flying in every direction. I managed to scoot around the front of Cordero's sedan and took cover behind it. I flinched when a bullet bit into the metal on the other side. Tank's watch in my pocket was digging into my hip while I crouched, and I dug it out and frantically pressed all the buttons again and again. What the hell, Rangemen? What could they possibly be waiting for?

Footsteps pounded the pavement and the yelling picked up while shots died down. Some of the yelling was in Spanish so I didn't understand everything being said, but I definitely understood when someone asked, "Where'd that chick go?"

Before I had time to try to run or crawl under the car, I was being hauled up to my feet. I came up kicking and clawing, and I threw a handful of loose asphalt in the guy's face. He cursed at me and did his best to dodge my kicks while he yanked both arms behind my back and held my wrists in a vice grip.

"Get them inside!" someone called.

Cordero was listing hard to the side and was being half-propped, half-propelled forward by a guy wearing Par de Balos colors. Two other men had guns trained on him. That's when I saw his Kevlar vest was lying on the ground, and my heart kicked into overdrive. There was a small part of my brain that was counting on him as a twisted sort of ally against the new enemies I'd created for us. This was officially a terrible, terrible plan. I'd jumped from the frying pan into the fire.

The man who had my wrists was pushing me in front of him while I alternately dug my heels into the ground and kicked back at him. How the hell was I going to get myself out of this?

We'd started to draw some attention on the street, but since no one else was rushing into the fray, I assumed there were no other Balos hanging around. But who knew if anyone else was in the house. I didn't know if it would be better to try to stay on the street, where there was theoretically a better chance of running away; or if it would be better to get inside, where there were presumably rooms in which to hide.

Not that it mattered, because no one was asking for my preference. Despite my kicking, clawing, twisting, and screeching, I was shoved through the door. I'd been screaming for someone to call 911, though I knew that Stark Street would be deaf to my pleas.

I went down to my knees again as I was shoved through the threshold. That was going to bruise. From my new vantage point, I tried to get my bearings. We were in what must have once been a living room, although to call it that now would be an undue compliment. The floor was half covered in carpet, and half bare plywood with nails sticking up every which way. If I'd landed two feet to my left, I would've needed a lot of stitches and a tetanus shot. The room was opened up to a kitchen, but again, the description was generous. There was a dilapidated refrigerator, a sink, and a hole where a stove should have been. There was an island surrounded by cabinets. Some of them even had doors.

The only furniture in the whole space was a folding card table with chairs, which one of the Balos guys was hauling over. The one who held Cordero shoved him into the chair. The two other men still had heir guns trained on him. No one else was rushing in from another room, and I didn't hear yelling. Maybe we were lucky and no one was home. Then it was just four against two. Hooray.

The men were all focused on Cordero. "So who are you, and what do you know about Gabriella?"

"I know that she's a very crafty, yet very stupid woman," Cordero replied. He was slouched in the chair and the strange smile he was giving the men with guns had him looking extra psycho. "But still not as stupid as you."

"Looks to me like you're the stupidest one here."

"Then you need your eyesight checked."

All four men had their backs to me. This was definitely one of those times when I was happy to be categorized as nonthreatening, because being underestimated was my only hope for getting out of there. What I really wanted was to run for the door, but the men stood between me and freedom.

There was no telling when they'd get sick of talking and just start shooting, so it was now or never. I crawled a couple feet to the left, keeping an eye on the men to make sure they were still engaged in their exchange of insults. One by one, avoiding any unnecessary noise, I plucked up a handful of loose carpet nails. Was I resourceful, or what?

Not that I thought a handful of nails were going to save me, but it was better than nothing. What I really needed was a gun. And I had my sight set on just the one for me.

I knew Cordero could see me, but he had a great poker face. Guess that's what years of gambling and serving as a double agent would do for you. He kept the men talking while I tiptoed up behind my target, holding my breath. I had yet to decide whether slow and steady or quick-as-a-flash was the way to go, but then my decision was made for me. In a split second, Cordero caught my eye and nodded. Then he threw himself out of his chair and tackled the man closest to him.

The man in front of me reached behind him for the gun tucked into his pants, but my hand was already there. I yanked it out and took two steps back while firing. I hit him in the chest, and he went down and didn't get back up. Ohmigod.

I dropped the nails in favor of the gun, and I fought the instinct to cover my ears while gunshots rang out in the small room. The other two men were still focused on Cordero. I reached down to snatch the cell phone that had clattered across the floor when Cordero tackled the first guy, and then I dove for cover.

Huddled behind the kitchen island, I set my gun down for just long enough to dial the phone. Thank god I had the number memorized.

As always, there was an answer after the first ring. "Rangeman Security."

"Where the hell are you guys?" I cried.

"Uh, who's calling? What's your security phrase?"

"It's Stephanie! I pressed the panic button! I'm on Stark Street, and I'm under attack!"

I didn't recognize who was on the line, but I did recognize the hard edge that crept into their voice. "We have patrols in the area. Where are you, exactly?"

"Between Tenth and Eleventh, inside a Par de Balos row house! Dark sedan out front! Follow the sounds of gunshots!"

"A team will be there in three minutes," he promised.

That's when I realized the racket had actually died down. I hadn't heard a shot in about fifteen seconds. The choice I had to make was whether to lie low and risk getting my head blown off from behind, or to take a more proactive approach and risk venturing out from my hiding spot. The last thing this kitchen needed was my brains splattered across the floor, so I chose the latter.

Gun in hand, I popped my head up and peered over the counter. I spotted two Balos and Cordero, all laid out on the floor. Two men were missing.

"Anyone alive out there?" I called.

No response.

I crept around the edge of the island, crouched low, gun held out in front of me like some sort of SWAT agent. My arms were shaking with the effort of keeping the gun up, and never had I been more convinced that some sort of gym regimen might actually come in handy.

As I approached the first Balos, I watched him closely for any signs of movement. If he so much as twitched, I would put a bullet in his chest. Or at least somewhere in the vicinity of his chest. But he didn't move, even when I used my foot to pull his gun out of his hand and kick it across the room.

I did the same to the other guy, and then I approached Cordero. I hadn't bothered to check the other two men, having been more concerned with disarming them, but once I'd kicked away Cordero's guns, I crouched down and tentatively put my fingers to his neck. He had a pulse.

Having no desire to be a sitting duck in the middle of the room for whoever came through the door next, I stuck my gun in the back of my pants and grabbed Cordero's arms to drag him into the kitchen and behind the island. It was slow going, and by the time we made it, I was huffing and puffing. Then I snagged a roll of paper towels off the counter and turned my attention to Cordero. We'd left a trail of blood across the floor.

The blood reminded me of Tank. God, I hoped the paramedics made it. He had to be okay. Had to be.

And Ranger - where was he? Wouldn't he have been alerted by now about the panic button? As selfish as it may be, I just wanted him here. He would make everything okay.

Rangeman's arrival was announced via the crash of the door against the wall after it met someone's boot. I assumed it was them because other than the aforementioned crash, they were quiet. I'd expect Balos would have something to say when they saw their friends bleeding on the floor. But still, I wasn't planning on moving until I saw a friendly face.

My hands were busy holding a wad of paper towels against Cordero's chest. He'd taken another shot in his leg, but the chest seemed to be bleeding more and I'd had to prioritize. He was unconscious, so he didn't get a say.

"Stephanie?"

"Over here!" I called.

I had an absurd moment where I almost wanted to yell out 'Polo!', like in the game I'd played as a kid. I giggled to myself, but tried to get that under control. That wasn't the type of reaction people liked to see when you had blood up to your elbows.

Manuel came around the corner of the island and spotted me on the floor. "You okay?"

"I'm fine. The blood's not mine."

He nodded. "Who's this?"

"A bad guy," I said. "He's mine, and he's not allowed to die."

Manuel nodded again, slower that time. I could hear someone else clearing the house. "Hal and Woody will be here any second. And a full team are on their way."

"Did you call an ambulance?" I asked.

"Yeah. Trenton's finest will be swarming the place soon."

"There were two other guys," I said. Probably there should be more context that accompanied that, but my tongue was feeling heavy in my mouth and my brain was muddled. The adrenaline must be wearing off.

"Are they still here?"

I shook my head. "I don't know. Have you heard anything about Tank?"

"What about him?"

"He got shot in Newark. We left before EMS got there."

Manual cursed under his breath and put a call out to Rangeman's control room to check the hospitals. Hal and Woody arrived and helped clear the rest of the house. No sign of more Balos. Then a handful of uniformed cops and EMTs rushed in. I was asked to move away from Cordero to let the EMT do her job.

"He doesn't get to die," I told her. "And he should probably be under arrest."

Manuel helped me to my feet, and the room spun around us. "Steph?"

"I don't feel so good," I told him. And then the lights went out.