Scanning our target—a stumpy one-story concrete building, very low-key considering the owners—I catch sight of the three cartel men standing watch outside the isolated pumping station. Their shiny pistols pair well with their snazzy gunmetal-gray suits, and the S’s—are those diamonds I’m seeing?—on their bigger-than-my-fist belt buckles are a nice added touch, in case you forget what side they shoot for.

But getting past three guys with guns is a hell of a lot better than facing the scores of automatic rifles that would have greeted us if we’d tried to breach the main gate.

Let’s move! I want to command the team and lead them away from our ditch of a hiding spot and out into action.

I feel all keyed up, on edge, on the outer limits of my self-restraint. It’s vital I breathe, tell my jitters to cool it. But how can I chill? I’m sweating my skin off, packed under the dual layers of my civilian disguise and combat uniform.

And it’s still T-minus twenty minutes before the major trade meeting starts. Scratch that, we’re going to crash Roth and the capo’s let’s-end-the-world swap before it even begins.

It’s the final countdown before I send the ex-governor to his big sleep.

The thought is selfish, but it feels like a competition to be the one to pull the trigger.

Re-pocketing my binoculars, I eye the competitors: Ava, Mira, Haven—hell, I’d even throw Alexander into the running. It will be a fight for who gets to Roth first.

“I’m moving in,” Lucía announces via the placid translation of my ear cuff. “Follow on my signal.”

Standing from our crouched position inside the trench, she slips off her scarf and threadbare coat, uncovering a fancy getup. A gold suit paired with gold spiked heels.

Dressed to kill.

Matías kept a few items of Lucía’s old clothes—probably worth a month’s stock of water—for occasions such as this.

Espionage. Infiltrating the cartel’s ranks.

The militia has their own falcons.

“Final touches,” Mira says, staining Lucía’s lips a bruised plum before shadowing her eyelids a glittery gold.

“Rich looks good on you,” Skye whispers to Lucía, her normal barbed tone now smooth. Flirtatious.

“I’d rather be poor and free than live by the blood on my cousin’s hands,” Lucía answers, shoving her coat into Skye’s pack.

“I know, and I’ll make sure the lieutenant has no hands after tonight,” Skye says all amorous, like this offer is the height of romance.

“The lieutenant is mine,” Lucía asserts, as if they’ve been arguing about it for hours. She squeezes Skye’s hand and then she’s off, sauntering toward the pumping station like she owns the place.

Those two have been getting close, fast.

I steal a glance at Ava. Battle bonds.

No, our attraction—connection—has moved beyond the fight.

I smile, thankful, as always, for the cover of my bandana. The memory—the heat—of Ava’s touch burns up and down and sideways along my body. My bare skin. I feel a flash sensation of Ava’s far from delicate fingers trailing down my back, where the scars from the Guard’s bullets still hurt, across my chest, where my heart raced faster than a car could ever take me, to my lips, to make me stop talking, blabbering, confessing to her how much I have wanted this.

I suddenly feel Mira’s eyes on me. Can she read my thoughts? Taking zero chances, I quickly veer my line of thinking back to the here and now.

Lucía’s five yards from the cartel gunmen. And let’s just say they don’t look like they’re about to roll out the red carpet for her.

Are they not falling for the flashy getup? Or do the men recognize her as the runaway Salazar from Monterrey?

No way. That makeup job made her look nothing like the face on every hit list across this territory. It’s crazy what a little paint can do.

Though the cartel men point their guns at her, Lucía just keeps walking forward. She lifts her own weapon, a nabbed gold-plated cartel pistol Matías gave to her, and when she finally halts her approach and speaks, her command comes out in a tongue that sounds like a guttural form of Elvish.

“What the—? Is my translator malfunctioning?” I ask.

“I can’t follow anything she’s saying,” Ava whispers to my right.

“It’s not Spanish,” Mira confirms.

“A code lingo, then?” I reason, my ears perking.

Did the Salazar cartel invent their own communication?

It seems so, and Lucía speaks the language.

She volleys out a few more terse words that make all three men holster their guns and lift their hands in the air in a show of submission.

Damn.

With her gun hand, she motions to their truck.

I can understand that much. She’s telling them to leave. But before they vacate the premises, they watch her approach the pumping station’s door.

Good thing we have the keys.

With the confidence of a high-ranking Salazar, she scans her thumbprint—really the capo’s stolen prints, thanks to Matías—and the concrete door drags open.

We’re in.

Lingering suspicions satisfied, the cartel men kick off toward their truck. Beneath my bandana I crack a grin when the engine starts and the truck speeds down the muddy road.

“This is it, bud,” I whisper to Alexander, barely able to keep my adrenaline in check. “Lucky sixteen, our final mission. Theo’s coming back with us.”

Alexander gives me the cold shoulder, not even looking my way. He just stares straight forward, ready for Lucía’s signal.

He’s still peeved at me for not downloading the servers’ latest intel to him. Unfair, seeing as we’re all here only because I chased after the servers in the first place. And do I get a “thanks” from him? A “hey, sorry I jumped ship to another mission and abandoned you”? Nope.

But none of that matters now.

The floodlights flash off and on.

The signal to move.

In rows of two, Team Takedown hustles across the twenty yards of exposed Salazar territory.

We burst into the station to find Lucía, gun still raised, taking stock of the single room. She freezes when she spots a pair of flood boats stacked beside one of the sealed pipes.

The cartel watchmen were part of tonight’s program. Those, however, were not.

“Something is not right,” she says super uneasy. “The cartel never stores boats in their pumping stations.”

I have to admit my spider senses are tingling, too, and it’s not just because the floors are vibrating from all the pumps operating around us.

The purpose of this remote booster station is to help the water that’s flowing inside the pipelines get to the Salazar Reservoir faster. There’s no need for boats. Right?

Maybe to manually inspect the pipes for corrosion or damage from the inside? Questionable. I’m no water engineer, but I know there must be machines for that kind of work. Joyrides? Also doubtful. Then again, I’ve no clue how the cartel gets their kicks.

Mira either didn’t hear Lucía’s misgivings over the incessant noise of the pumps, or she just doesn’t care. She holsters her gun and proceeds to the massive main pipeline in the center of the station. She pulls back the seriously heavy-looking latch, sliding open a section of the steel pipe with a loud grunt.