“Exactly what I say,” she says again, her voice ballooning around the first word.
“Yes,” I reply with a small nod, and then look over my shoulder to where I know Luke is quietly watching. “We’ll do whatever you say, right, Luke?”
“Of course,” Luke answers and walks closer to us.
“This is all fucking ridiculous but I don’t have time to yell at the two of you anymore. We’ve got work to do,” Sam says, crossing her arms and walking back toward a black moving truck parked in the corner of the warehouse. The back door of the moving truck has been rolled open and satellite phones, laptops, monitors, and other equipment have been positioned at the end of the bed, setting up a makeshift intel center.
Luke and Eduardo begin unloading weapons and extra satellite equipment from the backs of the two beat-up trucks, transferring them to the moving van. Cooper stands and types at his laptop while Sam gets back on one of the satellite phones. She’s shaking her head, I’m sure talking about me.
Laz puts his hand on my shoulder and leans in. “I think you need to be here,” he says quietly in my ear.
“You do?” I ask, raising my eyebrows. He seems to be the only one.
“Por supuesto,” Lazaro says and nods. His dark ponytail swings between his shoulder blades. “Your parents would be very proud of you. This is all they’ve ever wanted for you, mi querido.”
Laz wraps his arm around my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. I nod, hoping his words are true and that I am doing the right thing.
Eduardo drops my bag from the back of the truck at my feet. I lean down and sling it over my shoulder.
“We’ll find them,” Laz says softly as I head for the moving truck. I turn around, my eyes meeting his. His eyes are sad but determined. He nods, his hands tightening around an assault rifle.
We’ll find them. I let his words puncture my skin, sink into my veins, and pump through my body. I hold on to the promise of a complete stranger as I grip the worn straps of my go-bag and walk across the warehouse to the waiting truck.
Sam is on one of the satellite phones. She pulls it from her ear and cups her hand over the mouthpiece.
“Hey, guys, can we all huddle up for a second?” Sam calls out to Eduardo and Luke, reassembling the hollow trucks. They throw down the boards and jog across the warehouse. Sam pushes a button and puts the phone down on the edge of the truck.
“All right, Thomas, we’re all here,” she says, pulling out her tablet and turning it on.
“Okay, here is the latest,” a thin voice says on the other side of the phone. The connection is hollow and the line is scratchy. These phones are untraceable, so it’s a sacrifice the Black Angels are always willing to make. “We’ve gotten satellite images of Elizabeth and Jonathan being led into the back barn, about five hundred yards away from the main house,” Thomas says and my tense shoulders drop, a cold breath passing through my lips. They’re alive. “They were handcuffed and had bags over their heads when they were pulled off the truck. But we have every reason to believe it was them.”
My jaw clenches and my teeth bite down so hard I’m afraid they’ll break at the thought of my parents handcuffed and blindfolded, treated like criminals.
“An important note. Elizabeth was limping very badly when they pulled her off the truck. We don’t know if she was injured during the gunfight at the airport or on the plane down to Colombia, but…” Thomas takes a breath and sighs into the phone. “We have reason to believe that she is gravely injured.”
I lower my eyelids and stare at the ground so no one can see my reaction; a flood of rage cripples my veins and I swear it’s turned the whites of my eyes devil red. I dig my nails into the flesh of my hips and concentrate on the sting. What have they done to her? I’ve seen my mother bruised, cut up, stitched up, and sprained, but never truly injured. The image of her limping across a field, her foot dragging across the dirt, makes the knot in my stomach feel like a knife wound. I know my mother. She would never limp, never, ever, unless she was truly unable to put one foot in front of the other. She’d gather every ounce of strength, grind her teeth, and endure the worst pain possible before showing her enemies that she was anything less than superhuman.
“We will need to make sure we get all the guards down before we grab her because she cannot run. She will need to be carried,” Thomas continues. I don’t know if I’m allowed to speak, but right now, I don’t really care.
“I can carry her,” I volunteer. My voice is louder than I expected it to be and it echoes in the open space. Cooper flicks his glaring eyes up at me as the satellite phone cracks and squeaks.
“Reagan, is that you?” Thomas asks after a beat.