Page 70 of Violent Skies

“And you’re desperate,” he reminds me.

I weigh the options back and forth: walk into an unknown job tonight with my family, risk it all for protection. Or walk away from him right now and take my chances with something much more sinister with way less information.

Fuck.

That leaves us an hour to prep, an hour to get in place, and an hour to pull off an impossible pick up without our best asset. Koa would already have a plan. I swallow tightly and nod, because I don’t have a single other option.

“Send the details to Murphy, everything you have,” I say to him. “No surprises.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Liloa grins, and I don’t trust it for a second. “And Riggs,” he says as I start to walk inside. “I want Cress to deliver the bags.”

“Show me again,” I demand to Murphy, who’s got a map laid out on the hood of the truck.

“Here.” He points to an unmarked intersection off the highway. “We’ll push the armored car toward you. All you have to do is hit it.”

“This is stupid,” Riggs grunts. “If she hits that truck going the speed you suggest, she’s going to fold like a fucking tin can. We’re not doing this.”

“We’ve been working on the truck.” Rafe clears his throat and Riggs looks up from the map like he’s ready to commit murder. “We wanted to be prepared if something like this came up. A run, something dangerous.”

“It’s reinforced,” I explain. “They all are.”

“The Subarus?” he asks and I nod. “When were you going to tell me that you were sneaking around my back doing this?”

“Roll cages could have saved his life. It only made sense to put them in. The truck is military grade. It took us months to get it in without you noticing. It’s actually pretty fucking impressive when you stop being pissy about it,” I snap and he narrows his eyes at me.

“She can hit the DEA transport and barely suffer a scratch,” Murphy backs them up.

“Are you sure?” Riggs asks me, his eyes locked on my face, watching for a shred of doubt that this might not work.

“I’ll be safe.” It’s as close to a promise as he’s going to get from me.

“Once the truck is pushed off the road, we swoop in, collect what we need for Liloa and get the fuck out of there,” Murphy explains.

“And no one kills anyone,” Cress says softly, her voice wavering. “Please.”

“These aren’t street rats, they’re high paid government officers. No killing.” Riggs confirms with a curt nod.

“Liloa promised a backup of fifteen guys for the race. That’s more than enough to keep everyone safe while this goes down. But we need to be successful, and we have an—”

“Hour.” Rafe swallows tightly, looking down at his watch.

“We can do this. We’re fucking good at it. Jesse is going to drive point with Birdie so she has an exit strategy. Rafe, you’re with Murphy, you don’t leave his fucking side. We need his eyes on the roads to pull this off, communicate constantly. If you go quiet I’m pulling it all. No questions asked. Do you all understand?” Riggs barks, but it’s not a demand, or an order. It’s a speech to live by. We do this together, completely or not at all.

“Yeah.” I’m the first to nod.

“Heads screwed on straight.” Jesse salutes like an idiot, his honey-blond streaks waving around his terrified face. He’s never come on a job like this before. He was good for transport, pickups, hand offs. His hands shake a little, but he’s determined to help.

“What about me?” Cress asks, fidgeting in the pockets of her cardigan.

“We need you here. If anything goes wrong—” Riggs chokes on the possibility. “We need you here.”

It’s clear she hates this; her teeth sink into her bottom lip.

“Here,” Murphy blurts, moving toward his desk and digging out a tablet that lights up as he moves back. “I’ll wire you into my laptop so you can see what I’m doing, see what everyone is doing? Does that help?” he asks her, hopeful that it’ll be enough, his big brown eyes full of optimism behind his glasses.

“That’s very helpful.” She nods, taking it with a shaking hand as he starts to type away to connect the two. I look at the map one more time, committing it to memory before wandering over to double-check the truck. I stare at myself in the mirror, inhaling once, holding it and begging my brain to get it together.

Everything is going to go as planned.