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Jon got on the radio. “What do you see?”
    “Looks like a white Tahoe,” Whitfield responded. “They’re parking near a low canyon that runs east-west. I’m pulling over. I’ve got the listening equipment. Lemme set up and see what I can get.”
    “We need tags on that Tahoe,” Jon said. “You got your scope?”
    “I’m working on it.”
    Torres looked at him. “He needs help. Want to try and get there on foot?”
    Jon went still. He buzzed down the windows. “Hear that?”
    Silence in the truck as they both strained to listen. And then Jon heard it again, a faint hum.
    “We got company,” he informed Whitefield, turning to look out the back window. He spotted a pair of headlights coming up fast. “A pickup, it looks like, coming out of the south, possibly from Hardin’s ranch.”
    “Shit.” Torres looked around. There was no time to move, so it was a matter of pure luck whether they were spotted or not.
    “Whitfield, you copy?”
    “Affirmative.”
    This was where their ICE vehicles came in handy. It wasn’t that unusual to see border agents trucking through the desert in the middle of the night. The real problem was that if anyone spotted them, they’d abort the meeting, and Jon’s team would miss a much-needed chance to gather intel.
    The engine drew closer. Jon watched in the rearview mirror as the twin beams bumped over the landscape. The truck came within fifty yards of their location and zipped past without slowing.
    “Whitfield, he’s coming your way,” Torres said. “It’s a pickup.”
    Jon shoved the truck into gear and followed the taillights, keeping his own lights off and maintaining a safe distance. He skimmed the horizon, looking for the low canyon Whitfield had mentioned, but it was too dark to make anything out.
    “Whitfield, there’s a pickup moving toward you,” Torres repeated. “You copy?”
    “Shit.”
    “What is it, Whitfield?”
    “I’m lit up like a Christmas tree. They definitely spotted me. Everyone’s bugging out.”
    Jon hit the brake. There was a sudden flash of light as one of the trucks veered in their direction, then abruptly changed course.
    “We’re burned, too,” Torres said into the radio. He looked at Jon. “What do you want to do?”
    Jon spotted the white Tahoe and punched the gas. Torres picked up the radio.
    “Tell him to follow the Tahoe,” Jon ordered. “We need that tag.”
    Torres relayed the message as Jon checked the mirrors and saw two pairs of red taillights disappearing into the night, along with whatever intel they might have gleaned from this meeting.
    Unless they could ID the Tahoe.
    Jon switched on his strobes.
    Torres looked at him. “You’re gonna pull him over?”
    “That’s the plan.”
    The Tahoe sped up. Jon floored it.
    “Looks like he doesn’t want to talk to us.”
    They jerked and bounced over the terrain. Jon tried to close the distance.
    “Where’s the road?” Torres fiddled with the GPS as the engine whined and Jon edged closer.
    The Tahoe veered south suddenly. Jon did the same, following the bobbing red taillights over the prairie. He barreled over low bushes and cacti, still keeping an eye out for boulders.
    Jon glanced down at the navigation system. “He’s going for the highway. Tell Whitfield to get ahead of us and head him off.”
    Torres relayed the message as they lurched over the uneven ground. Jon pushed his speed, trying to get close enough to read the tag, but they were too far away and the ride was bumpy. Torres took out the binocs.
    “Anything?” Jon demanded.
    “No.”
    Jon checked his speed. He was doing forty-five, but it felt faster with all the dips and rises. Once they reached the highway, he could open up the V8 and overtake them, but out here they were limited.
    Jon tracked them doggedly through the scrubland. The brush grew thicker, funneling everyone into a tighter and tighter gap as they neared the road. Jon glanced at the GPS and tried to gauge how much farther.
    They hit