She opened her eyes, and Vasquez dropped to the floor beside her, his lifeless face a mere inch or two from her own. His blood, which had splattered across her, was pumping from the bullet wound that had ripped through the back of his skull and through his forehead. As his lifeless body twitched beside her, Alex screamed, her terror muffled by the duct tape. As she scrambled to the side, Wyatt stepped over the man he’d just killed and squatted down beside her, peeling back the duct tape.

He offered her a smile.

‘You have some explaining to do.’

Alex looked at her saviour with trepidation, and he pulled out a pocketknife and cut through the tape that had bound her wrists together. Wyatt’s own forearms were covered with blood, having disregarded his own pain threshold to escape. As he released Alex’s ankles from her confines, he offered her a hand up, which she cautiously took. As he turned around, Sinclair held a gun to his face.

‘Alex, with me.’

Wyatt sighed, showing little fear of Sinclair. Alex looked at the two men, confused. Whatever the hell was going on, her life was in imminent danger. What worried her was that Alan hadn’t reappeared since she’d seen him snooping by the window.

What terrified her was the absence of Sam.

‘What are you doing?’ Wyatt asked Sinclair, clearly irritated.

‘Alex, now,’ Sinclair demanded. ‘I’m walking out of here, with her, and with that money. If you make one move, Trent, I swear to god I will bury you.’

Wyatt shook his head and then pulled the trigger. A bullet blasted from his gun, straight through the top of Sinclair’s foot. The disgraced agent crumpled to the ground, howling in agony as he reached for his foot, the wound already pumping blood onto the dusty concrete. Taking a cold, calculating step towards Sinclair, Wyatt ignored Alex’s pleas, and he raised the gun once more, aiming it squarely at Sinclair.

‘You made a serious error when you tried to cross me, son. A very serious error.’

‘Drop the weapon.’

Alan’s booming voice carried over the motorcycles, which were a few hundred yards away. Wyatt regarded Alan with respect, understanding that unlike Sinclair, Alan had the courage of his convictions. Considering that he’d emerged from where Sykes had disappeared, it didn’t take Wyatt long to connect the dots.

‘You really going to protect this piece of shit?’ Wyatt asked Alan, who stepped a few more steps out from the mill.

‘He is still an agent of the United States Drug Enforcement Agency. Killing him would leave you in a whole heap of shit, Wyatt. You know that.’ Alan turned and looked at a hopeful Sinclair and took pleasure in dousing his optimism. ‘Besides, he’s under arrest.’