Finding out the Tierra Caliente’s leader would be there had been a lucky fucking break.
After he’d managed to jog Laila’s memory about Montilla’s love of classic cars, he’d scoured the internet for recent high-dollar sales. He’d found a 1962 Ferrari 250 GTO sold at auction for nearly fifty million dollars to an anonymous buyer. In Mexico. Because fewer than thirty of the classic cars were produced that model year, they now sold for record prices.
From there, Trees had worked backward, on the theory that someone who spent that much money on a car would want to show it off. Sure enough, he’d found a press release announcing that a professional driver by the name of Dantel Resendez had registered for the race in Florida, driving exactly the same rare vehicle. After that, he managed to dig up a picture of Resendez with Montilla, toasting in front of the red vintage sports car. Then he’d hacked the event organizer’s files to find the VIPs attending this week’s event. Montilla was on the list.
Bingo.
The Edgingtons, Deke, and Muñoz had come up with the tactical plan. It wasn’t going to be easy. Montilla traveled with an entourage. But they had tried to account for every possibility and cover every angle. Now Trees could only hope they didn’t encounter any unexpected curve balls.
“Hey,” Zy approached him with a slap on the back. “How are you doing?”
Nervous as fuck to get back to Laila. Driving away from her this morning had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done. There was so much unspoken between them, and he was dying to know what she’d thought about his declaration of love. He was really fucking worried he’d put his foot in his mouth. “Good. Congrats to you and Tessa on your engagement, man. I, um…heard it through the grapevine.”
Zy pulled at the back of his neck. “Yeah, sorry I didn’t call. We were…busy.”
Trees bet they rarely got out of bed. After being artificially kept apart for nearly a year, then nearly splintered in two by Hector Ramos and his crew, they deserved happiness. “Hallie good?”
“Great. She’s bounced back for the most part. The doctors don’t think she’ll remember much, and we’ll get her some therapy when she gets older if she needs it.”
“For sure. So, when’s the big day?”
“We’re working that out, but soon. Definitely soon. You’ll be my best man, yeah?”
“Absofuckinglutely.” Trees only hoped Zy got to perform the same service for him someday, but he wasn’t optimistic.
“Great. Thanks. So…how goes it with Laila?”
Trees shrugged. He was hesitant to open this can of worms. “One step forward, two steps back. But—”
Suddenly, his phone blared. He knew that sound—and his heart stopped.
He yanked the device from his pocket, suddenly aware of the chatter around him falling silent and every eye on him. He swiped, opened the screen, and waited for the cameras to connect to his device. Thank god for Wi-Fi on the plane.
But it was the longest thirty seconds of his life.
Finally, he got visuals, and his heart seized up in his chest. Someone unauthorized was on his property.
He watched the sleek black truck with the plates obscured by a gray plastic cover rumble down the dirt road. Through the cloud of dust, he saw one driver in the cab, his face too hard to discern.
Zy looked over his shoulder, his face grave. “Who the hell is on your property?”
“I don’t know.”
His fingers shaking so hard he fumbled, he quickly dialed Laila. He had to warn her. One ring, two, three… Voicemail.
Trees fought for his next breath and tried like fuck to tamp down his panic. He called her again. No answer.
“Hey, everyone,” Hunter shouted to the operatives on the plane, his voice grave. “Just got an update from the event organizer. The Ferrari pulled out of the race. Montilla is no longer on the VIP guest list.”
Shit. So where was the bastard now? Was that who had driven onto his property? He and the team had been trying to surprise the drug lord and take him hostage…but had the wily old bastard played them instead?
The camera from his porch picked up the black truck rolling to a stop. The driver jumped out, pulled a ski mask over his face before Trees got a good luck at him, then fired a shot through the front window, shattering the glass. The house alarm started blaring.
Laila was alone with someone armed and ready to kill.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Switching his view to the inside cameras, he looked for any sign of Laila. There. She dashed from her bedroom, heading down the hall to the kitchen.
Trees’s terrified heart threatened to pound out of his chest. Before he could figure out where Laila had fled, the intruder held up his middle finger to the living room camera, then shot it point-blank.