a section of bark. “Do you recognize this?”
For a second or two, Wade couldn’t breathe. “Yeah, I do.”
To the casual observer, the gouge mark near the bottom of the tree trunk would have likely gone unnoticed. But Wade recognized the mark from his years of working undercover.
Back then, he and his team in Guadalajara had developed an intricate series of signs and locations to communicate with each other. A short horizontal chalk mark on a fire hydrant in front of the fruit stand meant everything was going according to plan. The same mark on a mailbox on a specific street corner indicated he wanted to meet at the previously agreed upon time and place. And the same mark but at a ninety-degree angle in yet another location meant their cover was compromised and they needed an immediate extraction. It was a lot to remember but a safe and efficient way to send a message without saying a word.
There was nothing worse than the feeling that came with the realization you’d made a serious tactical error. Because when you made mistakes like that, people died.
He had no idea what this particular mark meant, but he knew it was a signal to someone nearby.
And Hector had been the one to leave it.
“It wasn’t here before we made camp,” Navarre said.
“Are you sure?” Wade asked, though he already knew the answer. A sinking feeling crept over him. He didn’t want to believe his own eyes. He didn’t want it to be true.
“Positive.” Navarre shifted his weight from one leg to the other. His posture was stiff, his grip tight on his rifle, while his eyes continued to scour the area for the least little sign of danger. Clearly, he knew as well as Wade did that things had gone seriously sideways. “I saw another one just like it the day before we caught up with you. Didn’t think much of it at the time.”
Austin crouched beside him, his brows drawn together and his lips a grim slash. “Any idea what it means?”
“Yeah, it means I’m a fucking idiot.” The betrayal hurt like a knife to the chest and tasted like ash in his mouth. He’d been played for a fool by the man he’d trusted for years. A man he’d treated like family.
How could he have been so stupid? Had any of their friendship been real? It made him wonder just how far back Hector’s treachery extended. Was this a recent development, or had he been the reason for what went down in Guadalajara?
All of those questions would have to wait. There were more important matters to deal with. “He’s got Hope.”
Not knowing what the traitorous asshole planned to do with her chilled Wade’s blood. Best-case scenario, he was leading her to safety and away from whatever Aranza intended to do to him and the guys. Worst-case scenario… his heart seized as the horror of Carmen’s last moments flashed in front of his eyes.
He’d die before he let that happen to Hope.
“What’s the plan, Wade?” Austin asked.
Wade stared at the gash on the tree while he silently assessed the situation. His closest friend had fucked them over and most likely set them up to be slaughtered. That might explain the convoy—reinforcements for whatever Aranza had planned. He didn’t intend to hang around long enough to find out.
He also had no intention of letting Hector slip away unscathed. But his number-one priority was ensuring Hope’s safety. If any harm came to her, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself.
At best, they had a couple hours of daylight. If they hurried, they might be able to catch up with them before nightfall.
Decision made, he stood. “Break camp. We’re leaving.”
They’d been hiking for close to two hours when Hector came to a halt at the edge of a stream. He unhooked his canteen from the clip on his belt, took a drink, and handed it to Hope.
“Thanks.” The water was warm, but it felt like heaven against her parched throat. But as she gave the canteen back to Hector, she couldn’t shake a growing sense of foreboding.
Something about Hector seemed…off, but she couldn’t pin down what it was. He still carried himself with an air of confidence, but it was mixed with something else, something that swirled in his deep-brown eyes and hinted at trouble. He’d barely spoken since leaving camp, only giving one- or two-word responses to her attempts at conversation. Perhaps he wasn’t happy with having to escort her to the consulate while