How do you survive being shot and left for dead in the Chihuahuan Desert? By being found by a beautiful wildlife photographer willing to risk her life to save yours.
A bitter ex-cop fights for his life after he runs to the sound of gunfire on the Ri...
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"Call your colonel." Hank pushed his desk phone to Frazier. "I want to talk to him."
Blood streamed from Frazier's ruptured gums. "He's busted my mouth! Give me something!"
"Use your shirt. Call your colonel."
Frazier wiped his mouth with his shirttail, whimpering and spitting. "You know he's looking for me right now."
"Good. So, call him. Tell him you're with me." Hank was looking at his computer monitor on his desk.
Mendocino's eyes widened and he held up his hand. "No! Stop!"
Hank motioned for him and Bobby to join him behind the desk. On his computer monitor, Hank had a split screen of three surveillance cameras. One inside Bar W security dispatch. Another inside Sartain's office, placed directly in front of his desk, near the ceiling. And a third outside the building. Hank beamed with pride. "Had IT install them overnight."
"Don't dial that number!" Mendocino yelled at Frazier, pointing to the phone. He turned to Hank. "We need to talk first." He motioned to the hangar. "Out there."
Snatching his Glock from the desk drawer, Hank followed Mendocino and Bobby into the hangar.
"Don't call him," Mendocino said. "Frazier said he'd cooperate. Your DA friend lets him plead to a lesser charge on the migrants in exchange for testimony against Sartain and Enriqueta. Half a dozen cops will arrest Sartain at his office. She's already in jail. They'll both go to prison for the rest of their lives, Hank. They'll get the needle for John David."
Mendocino's gaze was pleading. He looked to Bobby. No help there.
Hank ran his tongue along his teeth, beneath his upper lip. He scratched his bushy brow as he surveyed the empty hangar, his gaze finally settling on Bobby. "No." He faced Mendocino. "The son of a bitch killed John David. He's feed for the coyotes. Tonight." Hank turned his back on Mendocino, holding up his hand. He stomped back into the office telling Frazier, "Make the call."
Mendocino's jaw sagged watching Bobby follow his father. They were underestimating their enemy. He had to save them from themselves. Drawing in a deep breath, he tamped down panic and swallowed the knot climbing in his throat.
He'd trained for situations like this. Quickly, he walked the interior perimeter of the all-metal building. A wide vertical-lift door for the jet in front, that steel personnel door beside it was locked and barred, the office in the front right of the building.
Two long, free-standing metal work benches ran on either side of the hangar, each flanked by metal cabinets with countertops. Tools hung on the side walls. On the back wall, a double-steel door was large enough to allow heavy equipment to move in and out.
That was it. Cavernous, echoey. Empty like the desert. No defensive positions, and no high ground to get to. Nothing to hide behind but the two metal work benches.
