Page 28 of Huck Frasier
“And hey,” I added, softer. “She’s not your mom.”
That hit her harder than I expected. Her chin wobbled slightly before she turned away and walked back inside.
I climbed in, fired up the engine, and grabbed the satellite phone.
“Axel, I need backup routes into southern Arizona. Minimal heat, quiet access.”
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“Marley walked into something dirty. I’m heading south.”
“You want eyes?”
“I want everything.”
“Say no more. I’ll get eyes on border cameras and traffic loops. Call me when you’re close.”
I hung up and pulled onto the road, tires spitting gravel.
I didn’t have a plan yet.
Didn’t have all the facts.
But I had a direction. Now I needed a plane.”
My phone buzzed and I looked at it. “Get to the airport, they’ll be ready for you.”
“That’s where I’m headed.”
And I had a woman worth bleeding for.
She thought she had to do it alone.
She was wrong.
20
Marley
Tucson, Arizona – 11:16 PM
Ishould’ve turned back.
Found a safe house. Regrouped. Waited for backup.
But I didn’t.
Because the second I stopped moving, I’d have to face the fear clawing its way through my chest. And if I let it take hold—if I let it win—I’d never forgive myself.
So I kept walking.
A mile from the failed meet, I found an old junkyard that matched a location from Reina’s original message. It looked abandoned, but the gate had fresh tire tracks in the dirt. Someone had been here recently.
I slipped through a gap in the fence, crouched low between a rusted-out El Camino and a mountain of busted refrigerators. The air smelled like oil and sunbaked metal. There were no cameras—none I could see, anyway—but a single storage building stood near the back with a light glowing beneath the door.
Voices.
Men. Spanish. Low and clipped.
