Page 40 of Brutal Truths

Lane jumps in. “Front gate, then. Can you get us through?”

“Do monkeys like bananas?” There’s a brief pause as Pauly laughs at his own joke. “You’re going in on foot. A vehicle will trip alarms. I’ll nudge the gate open. No alerts. Cameras are already down.”

“We’ll need a clean exit,” I remind him. “She’s not making five miles on foot. Closest we can get without being seen?”

“Half a mile out. Service road near the pastures. Cover is scarce.”

“We’ll make it work.”

Ready to roll, I slide into the passenger seat of Lane’s truck. “P, you and T stay sharp. Anyone gets within three miles of that house, you call it.”

“On it.”

With Pauly’s go-ahead, Lane takes the wheel while the other three pile into the back.

“Scoot over, fucker,” Zander grumbles, forcing himself next to Ryan. “Who thought this through?”

“Shut it!” I snap.

“Where’s the princess supposed to sit on our way back?” Zander leans forward, making Ryan’s life worse.

“You can jog back,” I tell him, motioning for Lane to move out. “You’re getting soft in the middle. Could use the exercise.”

He falls back, grinning as he lifts his shirt and smacks his stomach. “I’ll ask your lady what she thinks.”

“You will do no such thing. You don’t talk to her.”

The side road comes into view, and I snap my fingers, pointing it out to Lane. “I take point. Lane on me. Ryan and Marty, tight behind. Zander, rear.”

Once the truck is parked and hidden from the main road, we do a quick gear check and move out. The darkness is on our side. The only light comes from the moon, which is dimmed by thick gray clouds.

We arrive at the rock wall quickly, tracking along it until we reach the corner that leads us to the front gate.

“Hold,” Pauly’s voice cuts through the comms. “Movement.”

I hate not seeing what he sees. In a proper op, we’d have a live feed. Right now, we’re blind.

“What kind of movement?”

“Someone’s leaving. Female.”

“The package?” My jaw clenches as my pulse spikes.

“No. Three tangos escorting her. She’s speaking with someone just inside the door. Can’t get a visual,” Pauly informs us.

A slow, drawn-out creak cuts through the night as the gate slides open less than three hundred yards away. We drop low, bodies still as headlights sweep through the dark. Tires crunch on the gravel as it passes through the gate. Once it passes, the wheels spin faster, and the noise fades as it speeds up.

The gate starts closing.

“Go.”

We’re up and across in seconds, slipping through the narrowing gap before the gate seals shut behind us.

No alarms. No lights. Just darkness.

We melt into the shadows as the night settles back in. A symphony of crickets chirp, their high-pitched song the only sound breaking the silence.

Twenty feet from a door, I raise a hand, stopping the team. “Pauly, you have heat?”