Page 65 of Raven's Mark
"I'm in position on the ridge south of the compound. Clear sight lines to the main gate, the house, a few outbuildings. Two guards are visible at the gate, and one is roving near the barn."
"Carmichael, relay to the shadow team. I want them covering the western perimeter. Nobody leaves that compound through the back."
"Relaying now."
My breathing settles into the rhythm that Delta Force drilled into me, low and steady, heart rate dropping even as the adrenaline floods my system. But underneath the training, underneath the tactical calm, something older runs hot.
I watched Raven sleep last night and kept my hand on her pulse, the way a man guards the one thing he cannot afford to lose. That part of me doesn't give a damn about operational parameters. It just wants her back.
"The caravan is entering the compound," Cipher says. "The gate is opening. All five vehicles are passing through, and the gate is closing behind them."
I park the truck behind a cedar thicket and kill the engine. Hawk pulls in beside me.
"Raven's truck is stopping near the main house. Harlan is approaching." Cipher's voice sharpens. "Raven is being escorted out of her truck. She's being moved inside."
"Drone shows guards repositioning around the perimeter of the house. They're tightening up. All four transmitters arebroadcasting from inside the main house," Cipher adds. "Signal is stationary and clean."
I cut to Carmichael. "Bring in the federal teams. Convergence on the compound. FBI from the north, Marshals from the east, Rangers from the south. Perimeter only. Nobody breaches until my team clears the interior."
"Federal teams are moving," Carmichael confirms.
Knox and Beckett arrive moments later, pulling in quiet and fast. Knox steps out with an AR-15 slung across his chest and a look in his eyes that I recognize because it's the same one I see every time I look in a mirror.
"Here's how this goes," I say, keeping my voice low. "Cipher cuts their communications on my signal. Rook covers the main gate and the front approach. Hawk and Knox take the east side of the house and clear the outbuilding. Beckett, you're with Torque on the west. The primary objectives are Raven's extraction and the capture of Alvarez and Harlan. Lethal force is authorized against any armed resistance."
Knox glances toward the compound. "What about you?"
"I'm going through the front door."
He nods once and moves toward his position, Hawk falling in beside him. Beckett and Torque split west. The team separates with the fluid precision of men who have trained for this, each one slotting into the formation without wasted movement.
I move through the cedars toward the front of the compound, staying low, weapon drawn and held in a two-handed grip. The late afternoon light throws long shadows across the gravel drive and the parked vehicles. Through the gaps in the fence, I count the men outside the main house. They are armed and spread across positions that suggest security rather than tactical readiness. They're not expecting an assault. They think they've won.
"Cipher, on my mark, kill their comms."
"Ready."
I reach the fence line and crouch behind a limestone outcropping. The main house sits across the drive, a ranch-style structure with a wraparound porch and windows lit from inside. Raven is in there. The transmitters confirm it. The same instinct that wakes me in the dark when her breathing changes confirms it—the pull that turns my head in a room before I've consciously registered her presence.
"All units, stand by." I chamber a round and settle the sights on the nearest guard. "Execute."
"Comms are down," Cipher says.
Rook's rifle cracks from the ridge, and the guard at the front gate drops without a sound. The second guard spins toward the noise, and Rook puts him down before he can raise his weapon.
I vault the fence and cross the gravel at a dead run.
Hawk and Knox hit the east side simultaneously, their weapons punctuating the chaos as cartel gunmen scramble for cover. Someone inside the house starts shouting orders that go nowhere because Cipher has already severed every channel they had.
The front door is locked. Two rounds through the handle and a boot solve that. The entry hall is dim, lit by a single overhead fixture, and two men come around the corner with weapons drawn. I fire twice. Both men go down.
Deeper inside, the house opens into a large room that was built for ranch hospitality and converted into an operational staging area. The walls are covered with maps, folding tables hold communication equipment, and crates are stacked against the far wall.
A heavy wooden chair sits in the center of the room with cut zip ties on the floor beside it.
The blood on the armrest is fresh.
The world narrows to a point.
