But I forced myself to breathe, counting the seconds in the dark.

Vanessa walked toward the window, looking out into the blackness of the yard.

The low-light lens caught the expression on her face.

It wasn’t just coldness.

It was a look of deep, simmering hatred.

She reached up to her neck and touched a silver pendant hanging from a thin chain.

It was a small, ornate key made of blackened silver.

My breath caught in my throat.

I had seen that exact key before.

Three years ago, in a dusty safehouse in Nuevo Laredo.

It was the personal insignia of Hector Vance, the leader of the cartel I spent eighteen months dismantling.

Hector Vance was currently serving a life sentence in a federal maximum-security facility.

I zoomed the camera in as far as the digital sensor would allow.

The engraving on the silver key was identical to the tattoos Hector’s inner circle wore.

Vanessa turned her back to the window, speaking into her cell phone now.

“Is the transport ready?” she asked the caller.

I adjusted the receiver to catch the signal, but the encryption on her line was blocking the audio.