The entire military dining hall froze the moment Captain Ryan Cole slammed Lieutenant Ava Mercer’s face into her lunch tray.

“I’m breathing… collarbone’s smashed. Get out… Ava, they’re coming down.”

Footsteps crunched against the wet gravel above.

Ava drew her P320, kicked her buckled door open with both feet, and rolled out into the muddy ditch just as a burst of automatic gunfire tore through the roof of the sedan. Glass exploded in every direction.

“Check the car! Make sure they’re finished!” a voice shouted over the rain. It was Higgins.

Ava pressed her back against the concrete wall of the culvert. She counted the footsteps. Three men. Heavily armed, but moving sloppy because they assumed the crash had done the work for them.

*One… two… three.*

Ava took a deep breath, ignored the throbbing ache in her skull, and pivoted out from the culvert with surgical precision.

*Bang! Bang!*

Her first two rounds struck the lead contractor in the center of his chest rig,

dropping him instantly into the mud. Higgins screamed, blindly spraying his rifle toward the culvert. Ava dropped to one knee, letting the rounds shred the brush above her, then returned fire with two measured double-taps.

The second gunman collapsed with a cry. Higgins dropped his weapon, clutching his thigh where Ava’s round had caught him, screaming in agony as he fell backward into the dirt.

Silence returned, punctuated only by the drumming rain and Higgins’s ragged sobs.

Ava walked up the embankment, her weapon trained squarely on Higgins’s forehead. Mud streaked her face; her eyes were incandescent with fury.

“Higgins,” Ava said, standing over him like an avenging ghost. “Where is the rest of the convoy going?”

Higgins stared up into the barrel of her gun, trembling so violently his teeth clattered.

“Hangar Four… the south hangar… they’re loading the executive transport. Please… don’t shoot…”

Ava kicked his fallen rifle into the darkness, stepped on his wounded leg just hard enough to elicit another shriek, and grabbed his radio from his vest.

At my sister Olivia’s birthday dinner, my mother raised her glass and ca…

2My father slapped me across the face at Atlanta’s airport because I ref…

My twelve-year-old daughter was on her knees scrubbing our entryway when…

Chap 4

The south airfield was an expanse of slick, reflective tarmac shrouded in mist. In the middle of Hangar Four, a twin-engine corporate jet stood with its cargo doors open. Forklifts were moving unmarked olive-drab crates into the hold with frantic urgency.

Overseeing the operation was Major Donald Hayes, the base’s chief logistics officer.

For months, Hayes had projected the image of a quiet, bookish bureaucrat who kept his head down and balanced spreadsheets. Now, he stood in a civilian rain jacket, holding a suppressed tactical submachine gun, checking his wristwatch every ten seconds.

“Move it!” Hayes barked at two private contractors. “CID already locked down the main armory. Once this bird is in the air, we don’t land until we cross the border into Mexican airspace. You want to spend thirty years in a federal cage?”

“They’re not making it into the air, Major.”

The voice echoed from the shadows near the hangar’s side entrance.

Hayes spun around, bringing his weapon up. The contractors dropped their crates, reaching for their holsters.

Ava stepped out into the harsh glare of the halogen work lights.

She had wrapped a clean field dressing around her forehead. Her dark trench coat was soaked, clinging to her frame, but her posture was rock-solid. Behind her, stepping out of the mist like phantoms, were twelve heavily armed tactical MPs, their assault rifles raised, laser sights painting crimson dots over Hayes and his men.

“Drop your weapons!” an MP sergeant yelled. “Hands where we can see them!”

Hayes glanced around, calculating his chances. The laser dots converged on his chest. His men slowly raised their hands, dropping their pistols onto the concrete with dull thuds.

Hayes, however, kept his submachine gun gripped tight. A bitter sneer spread across his lips. “Mercer. You really don’t know when to die, do you?”

“Put the weapon down, Hayes,” Ava said, taking slow, deliberate steps toward him. “It’s over. Ryan gave you up forty-five minutes ago.”

“Ryan is an idiot who couldn’t keep his mouth shut or his temper in check,” Hayes spat. “He thought he was invincible because of his daddy. But me? I earned every cent of this. You think this base pays enough to raise three kids and care for an ailing wife? The military throws us into the dirt when we’re broken. I took what was mine.”

“You sold state-of-the-art military firepower to cartels who murder innocent people, Donald,” Ava countered, her voice ice-cold. “Don’t lecture me about family. You’re a traitor. And worse, you hid behind Ryan Cole’s arrogance so he would take the fall if things went sour.”