Don't try to be a hero. Get out alive and leave Holt to me. She smiled, fierce and unyielding. I promise to be careful, she said. But I won't promise to run if you're in danger.
"We're partners now, Dax," she said. "Partners don't leave each other behind." When she kissed me that time, it felt like a promise and a goodbye. At dawn, we would ride straight into the heart of darkness to face one of the most dangerous men in the territory. But that night, we still had each other, and that was enough.
The morning we rode out for Dead Horse Canyon came cold and clear, the kind of air that made every detail of the land stand sharp. Rook had done his work well. The setup looked real. Sihaya's hands were bound with rope that appeared tight, but could be slipped free if needed. Her dress had been torn just enough to sell the story.
Remember, Rook said as we neared the canyon, you have to look defiant, but beaten, angry, but not foolish. Holt needs to believe he's broken you enough to control you, while still enjoying the fight. I understand, Sihaya said. There was steel in her voice, enough to make me believe she could pull it off. I split off from their path about 2 miles from the canyon entrance, taking a longer, quieter route that led me to higher ground overlooking Holt's camp.
I moved carefully, avoiding the lookouts Rook had warned about, until I found a narrow perch among the rocks. From there, I could see everything. Through the binoculars, I studied the camp spread out below. Rough shelters and makeshift lean-tos circled a natural spring. Horses were penned in a crude corral, and I counted at least 20 men moving between tents.
Varick Holt was easy to pick out. Big man, graying hair, the kind of presence you could feel even at a distance. He stood near what looked like the main tent, talking with two others like he owned the ground beneath his boots. Then Rook Vatcher rode in with Sihaya tied behind his saddle. Even from where I was perched, I could see the ripple it caused.
Men stopped what they were doing. Heads turned. Conversations died mid-sentence. Holt's attention snapped toward them instantly. I couldn't hear a word, but I didn't need to.
Holt was pleased. Too pleased. And Rook, he played it perfectly, pointing, talking, gesturing like he was explaining exactly how he'd caught her, like he was handing over a prize. For the next hour, I watched as Holt questioned Sihaya while his men gathered around. This wasn't just curiosity.
This was a show, something important to their leader. Through the glass, I saw her hold steady, tall, controlled, proud. She gave him just enough, but never more than she had to. Then Holt gave an order. Two men stepped forward and took her away toward one of the larger shelters.
Cold hit my chest like a blade. They were separating her from Rook, cutting off any chance of coordination. This was the most dangerous part of the plan. For the next few hours, Sihaya would be alone, right in the heart of Holt's operation. No backup, no signal, no way out if things turned bad.