Judge Nowak had also given us a warrant to acquire Mason Baxter’s flight information, but it was too late. He’d already returned an hour before we received the warrant. Garcia had notified us with the locations of our recording devices and Jimmy strongly suggested we keep them intact if the situation turned intense. As if saving the department’s expensive recording devices would be the first thing on our minds if things went wrong.

  “I’m so bummed,” Levy said. She pointed to the wig she’d put back on the wig head and left on a conference table in the pit. “I looked hot.”

  “You did,” I said. “I was jealous.”

  Kyle laughed. “You should bring that wig home. Wear it later tonight.” He winked at me.

  Levy smirked. “Maybe I should take it home with me then?”

  “And what?” Michels asked. “Stare at yourself in the mirror?”

  She punched him in the arm.

  He grimaced. “Ouch. Why’re you always hitting me?”

  “Because you’re always an ass,” she said.

  “Time for us to go,” I said. “Unless you two need a minute?”

  “It would take a lot more than a minute to fix what’s wrong with Michels,” Levy said.

  Bishop cleared his throat. “Let’s roll.”

  28

  “Three men,” Garcia whispered into his mic. “One at the front gate, one outside the small stable about midway into the pasture. He could see you come through, so be quick and quiet.” He paused. “The other one is waiting with Baxter.”

  “Copy that,” I said. I motioned for our team to move. “Let’s go.”

  Levy, Michels, Bishop, and I moved toward our positions surrounding the small stable. I saw the guy in the pasture, but he wasn’t facing our direction. I couldn’t believe there wasn’t one behind the stable, but since it backed up to a dirt road, someone hanging out there might look suspicious.

  I crouched low, my heart pounding like a jackhammer in my chest. Walking into an intense environment without preparation was rough, but having a plan and knowing it could go wrong was worse. We knew what could happen and though we were prepared, we still had time to think about the worst, and that always made things more tense. I whispered into my mic. “Ryder in position.”

  “Copy that,” Michels said.

  “Levy in position,” Levy said.

  “Bishop in position,” Bishop said.

  We’d each taken a side of the stable, doing our best to stay out of any spotlights.

  Moonlight filtered through the gaps in the stable’s wooden boards, casting eerie shadows that danced like specters on the ground. I stood silent and stoic, my eyes focused, alert to every sound around me. Each of us needed to scope the area from our designated position to understand our surroundings.

  “Trailer’s pulling in now,” Garcia whispered.

  “Habersham just arrived,” an officer said. “He’s parking next to a black Mercedes. A man just walked out of the office.” He described the man.

  “Baxter,” Bishop whispered.

  “They’re heading toward the trailer,” Garcia said. “I’m going in.”

  Another officer stationed nearby with a powerful set of binoculars said, “Garcia’s with Habersham and Baxter.”

  At first their voices were too muffled to understand, but Garcia did something to adjust his mic and the voices were clear as day.

  “Get the horses to the back stables,” Baxter said. “We need them checked by Dr. Habersham there instead of the big stables. If they’re sick, we don’t want them getting our other horses sick as well.”

  “Sí,” Garcia said.

  I smiled to myself. Garcia was born and raised in Chicago, but his family was from Mexico, and he was fluent in both languages. He had a Chicago accent but could pull off a Hispanic one with ease.

  A few minutes later, Garcia said, “El Sr. Baxter quiere los caballos aquí para sus exámenes.”

  “Sí,” someone replied.

  “What’d he say?” Levy asked.

  “Baxter wants the horses there for the exams,” Bishop said.

  “Got it.”

  “Suspects one and two are getting in a four-wheeler. Garcia is driving the trailer to the stables,” an officer said.

  Michels pointed to the lights coming through the pasture. “There’s the trailer.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Bishop and I are moving to the back with you two. We’ll take our positions again as soon as they’re inside the building. No one goes in until Bishop or I give the okay.”

  “Got it,” Levy said.

  I eyed Michels.

  “I heard you,” he said.

  Baxter parked the four-wheeler near the entrance on Bishop’s side of the small stable. I glanced at my partner. He nodded, then removed a Swiss Army Pocketknife from his pocket. “All ready.”

  Habersham heaved a large medical bag off the back of the four-wheeler and lugged it inside behind Baxter. Neither of them said a word. I counted down thirty seconds quietly. “Now,” I said. I watched as Bishop snuck out to the four-wheeler and pushed the knife into the right back tire. He jiggled it around, removed it, then checked for air leakage, and moved onto the next tire. He hurried back to his spot on the front side of the stable.

  We needed to wait until Habersham had moved to action with at least one horse. Knowing he might have to kill one infuriated me. Garcia would give us the go-ahead with a cough.

  Garcia’s mic hummed with voices.

  “Only three?” Habersham asked. “I thought we had six coming?”

  “I don’t make the decisions,” Baxter said. “Just hurry up. I don’t like doing this.”

  “But you like the pay off,” Habersham said. “This one doesn’t look good.”

  I caught a glimpse of three officers running toward the man in the pasture. “Shit! He spotted us!”

  Shots rang out in the near distance, a deafening eruption that sent my heart racing even faster. The acrid smell of gunpowder filled the air as I instinctively dropped to the ground, seeking cover behind a stack of hay bales next to the stable. The gunshots continued, popping like firecrackers as half the department rushed into the pasture, guns drawn and firing in response.

  Through a haze of smoke and adrenaline, I locked eyes with Bishop. He nodded, and we made a beeline toward the stable’s entrance. My pulse thundered in my ears as the sound of my own breath mingled with the chaos outside. “They must have seen us,” I yelled.

  “Or expected us.”

  The stable door was shut. I tried to pull it open, but it wouldn’t budge. “I need to kick off the handle,” I said.

  “Shoot the damn thing,” Bishop hollered.

  I aimed my weapon down at the handle, then pulled the trigger. The handle disconnected from the door and hung uselessly from it. I yanked on the door, but it was stuck.

  “Kick it open,” Bishop yelled. He positioned himself beside me, providing cover as I kicked the door hard enough to bust the wood. I grabbed it and yanked it open.

  We burst inside. The horses inside the stable, startled by the commotion, let out deep, throaty roars, drowning out the sound of the firefight. The shouts of officers trying to coordinate over their microphones blended with the sound of gunfire, creating a confusing symphony of noise.

  "Freeze!" I bellowed as I caught sight of Garcia, the only visible figure in the stable. His eyes flicked toward an empty stall, the absence of a horse telling me that’s where the men had hidden. "On the ground!" I commanded, my voice tense and authoritative.

  Outside the stable, the firefight raged on, the echoes of shots reverberating within the confined space. Bishop and I pushed forward, charging into the fourth stall. Baxter and Habersham were lying on the ground, partially obscured by a layer of hay. We couldn’t see their hands and couldn’t tell if they were armed.

  "Hands where we can see them. Now!" I demanded. The pungent smell of hay mixed with sweat filled my nostrils as I cautiously stepped toward the pile. I nodded to Bishop and pointed to the second body. I placed my foot on the man's hands, ensuring he couldn’t reach for a weapon.

  Bishop swiftly dragged the other man out of the hay. He began to roll over, and Bishop’s stern warning kept him in place. "Don't move, Habersham," he barked, his gun steady and aimed at Habersham’s head.

  Baxter’s voice rose above the chaos, protesting the pressure on his hands. I crouched down to get a better look, still cautious of potential threats. "Stay down. Don't even think about moving," I said firmly, determined to maintain control of the situation. I released one hand, then quickly tugged it behind him. “Move, and I swear to God, I’ll shoot you!” I steadied myself, stood up with my left hand wrapped around Baxter’s arm, l leaned forward, grabbed the same arm with my right hand, kept my left foot on his right hand, then pushed his left arm against his back. “Bend your damn arm.”

  I crouched back down, released my foot from his right hand, pivoted slightly, then yanked it behind him and cuffed him. My eyes darted between Bishop and the two men we had apprehended. “Keep them down. I’m getting the other guy.” I kicked open the stall door, my heart pounding in my chest as I aimed my weapon at him.

  "Stand up with your hands in the air," I commanded, my voice resolute. Garcia avoided my gaze, his lips twitching with the effort not to laugh. I seized his arm and shoved him into the stall with the other two suspects. "On the ground!" I repeated, making sure he knew we meant business.

  "You’re all under arrest," Bishop said.

  The shots outside finally stopped. Levy and Michels rushed in, breathless and red-faced.

  Michels cussed like a sailor. “They had men hidden somewhere,” he said. “Those bastards were all over us.”

  “Any of ours hurt?” I asked as Bishop kept his weapon focused on the three men, and I cuffed Habersham and Garcia.

  “Ouch,” Garcia said. He dropped a few f-bombs and muttered in Spanish for effect.

  “Two shot,” Levy said. “Unknown injuries.”

  “And the shooters?”

  “Three down,” Michels said. “I counted six outside, but I can’t be sure there weren’t more.”

  I whispered into Baxter’s ear. “You’re going down, just like you do to those poor horses.”

  I yanked him up and shoved him into the side of the stall. The horse across the stable roared and reared upward, striking his feet toward the stall door.

  Five officers rushed in, making the horses even more nervous. One of them said, “I’ve got them.”

  The other officers escorted the men outside and, at our direction, stuffed them into squads to transport to the station. I needed a minute. I bent forward and caught my breath.

  “You okay,” Levy asked.

  I nodded. As I straightened, I watched the officer calm the three horses. Habersham had been right. One of them didn’t look well. “That one needs the vet,” I said.

  “Jimmy’s got a trailer ready to take them,” Levy said.

  “Once they’re calm enough, I’ll walk them out,” the officer with the horse said.

  I smiled. “Thanks, but you’ll need help.”

  “I’m good,” he said. “I’ve been around horses my whole life.”

  “Good.”

  “What the hell happened out there?” Bishop asked.

  “We don’t know,” Levy said. “They literally came out of the grass. One minute they’re not there, and the next, we’re being shot at.”

  Bishop dragged his fingers down the sides of his face. “Who tipped them off?”

  “No idea,” she said.

  I moved for them to follow me out. I needed air. Granted, it was air filled with gun smoke, but it was still air.

  29

  Michels and Levy went back to the station to process Baxter and Habersham while Bishop and I followed the horse trailer to the vet in Alpharetta.

  Levy sent a group text. Both lawyered up, and we let Garcia go.

  I responded. Expected that.

  Michels replied. It’s Martin Lansing.

  “Great,” Bishop said in the waiting room of the vet. “Lansing is a badass. They’ll get out.”

  “If they can make bond,” I said. “You know how it is here. Traffickers get bond, but they can rarely pay it.”

  “Lansing wouldn’t have taken them on if they couldn’t afford it.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  The vet walked out. “The x-rays are ready. Come have a look.”

  “How’s the one?” I asked.

  “He’ll be fine. He’s a little weak, but I suspect it’s from the trip. We’re giving him fluids, and we’ll keep him overnight to make sure he’s okay. I did draw blood, though I doubt it’ll come back with anything urgent.” He walked us into a small treatment room with a computer, large display screen, and an animal table. He clicked the mouse and an x-ray appeared on the screen. “Now, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but these horses are clean.”

  Bishop leaned in and studied the image. “What?” He stepped back. “You can’t be serious.”

  I took a closer look. “What about the intestines or stomach?”

  The vet clicked through to another image. “This is the stomach. It’s empty.” Another click, and he said the same about the intestines. “All three horses have nothing in their bodies. I drew blood from the other two as well. It’s possible they were used before and there are remnants of drugs in their system, but I don’t expect that to be the case.”

  “They planned this,” Bishop said.

  I agreed. They’d set us up.

  “I’m sorry I can’t help you any further,” the vet said. “We’ll arrange to return the horses with Chief Abernathy first thing in the morning. These guys are tired, and they could use a good night’s sleep.”

  “Thank you,” Bishop and I said.

  The weight of the failed bust was suffocating. My heart pounded in my chest. We’d been had, and I wasn’t sure we could recoup from it.

  "How're our men?" Bishop asked Levy, worry etched on his face.

  Her response was grim. "Already home. Both were just grazed. The three men in the pasture didn't make it."

  A heavy silence settled in the room as we absorbed the news. Bubba, peering intently at his laptop screen, added, "I'm trying to find out if they were cartel, but no luck yet."

  Thoughts of the fallen men's families haunted me. Regardless of their criminal status, someone loved them. Someone would mourn them. "Any family in the area?"

  "They didn't have ID on them," Michels replied, his voice carrying a hint of helplessness.

  "Great," Bishop muttered under his breath, frustration clear in his tone.

  Levy, trying to find a glimmer of hope, mentioned, "Dr. Barron’s got them. He'll keep them on ice for ninety days, and then they'll be handled accordingly."

  Michels, always blunt and often without tact, couldn’t resist expressing his darker thoughts. “That's a nice way to say dumped in a mass grave."

  Levy retorted, "I have more compassion than you."

  Just then, the door swung open with a bang, and Jimmy stormed into the room, his eyes ablaze with fury and distress. Deep furrows marred his forehead, and his lips formed a thin, straight line, revealing the intensity of his emotions. It was evident that something else had gone wrong. "We have to let them go. No drugs, no charges," his voice trembled with a rare intensity, directed at everyone in the room.

  I stepped forward to explain the unfolding events, "Baxter has to know we're onto him. He set us up. We bust him and don't find anything, he's off the suspect list."

  Bishop chimed in, reassuringly, "But he's not off it."

  "Of course not," I agreed, "but he's not smart enough to realize we're smarter than him." I turned my attention to Jimmy, a determined glint in my eyes, "Can we try to talk to him?"

  "Not here,” Jimmy said. “They’re already on their way out. Lansing has me by the balls.”

  Undeterred, I persisted. "It's worth a shot to drop by Baxter’s place.”

  “I can get all dolled up again and visit Habersham. Rescheduling my appointment is easy.”

  “Do that,” Jimmy said. “We’ll need a wire on you.”

  “Got it,” she said.

  Kyle, who had been silently observing, finally shared some crucial information, "Martin Lansing knows his stuff. He moved from Texas to Georgia in 2010. His client list in Austin featured several well-known, high-level cartel members. The DEA made multiple arrests on several investigations in the Austin area, and every time, Lansing got them off."

  Bishop probed further, "In federal court? How? Are the judges dirty?”

  "Some are owned by the cartel," Kyle revealed, painting a disturbing picture we all knew as truth.

  Eager to understand the extent of Lansing’s involvement, I asked, “What's his client list here?"

  Kyle responded, "No known cartel on it, but that doesn’t mean he's not still working with them in some capacity."

  Michels connected the dots. "Like coming to Baxter and Habersham’s rescue."

  Kyle nodded, confirming, "You got it."

  Levy acknowledged the gravity of the situation. "That means Lansing could be involved, but you'll never get him on any charges." The resignation in her tone was obvious.

  As the reality of our adversary’s power sank in, a heavy sense of unease settled over the room. We were up against an opponent held in the cartels’ hand, and the prospect of escaping justice seemed all too real.

  Kyle looked me in the eyes. “Lansing knows you’ll go to Baxter. He’s already told him to keep his mouth shut, but if what you’ve said about him is true, his ego will get the best of him. He’ll want to let you know he got one over on you. Push his buttons. He’ll give you something.”

  He was right. Baxter had an inflated ego, and it would make my day to poke at it.

  Kyle added, “It’s good Levy’s going back to the vet. Since she already had an appointment, she’ll be off his radar. My suggestion would be to get in there early in the morning. I’d call first thing.”

  Levy nodded. “That means I’ll be up early getting made up by Manny’s wife. I’ll need to call her.”

  Bubba’s laptop dinged with an unfamiliar sound. “They’re here.” His fingers attacked the keyboard like a maestro conducting a symphony.

 

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