“I’ve missed your sunny disposition, Vaughn. I’ve got a job for you. Pays well.” With Dante’s money. “You feel like being a hero and taking down some perverted creeps?”
Gunfire sounded, and a bullet ricocheted off metal. “That’s the sort of shit I was born for. I’m in,” Decker said, not at all flustered that he was being fired upon. “Starting to feel like I’m not wanted around here, anyway.”
“I need you in Philly tomorrow.”
The engines grew louder. “Might need a fuel stop after I cross the border, but I can be there by sunup.”
“Good. And Decker?”
“Yeah?”
“If you’ve stolen an aircraft, don’t expect me to cover your tracks.”
“Haven’t stolen it. I won it fair and square playing poker. Not my problem Los Zetas are a bunch of sore losers.” More gunfire pinged off metal as the plane took off.
I sighed. “Fine. Head to the Saint Maurice when you get here. I need you fresh, so get some sleep once you’re checked in. We’ve got plans to discuss.”
“Copy that.” Decker hung up, and I only hoped he wasn’t losing fuel over the Gulf of Mexico. Even if he was, I didn’t need to worry. Vaughn Decker was a capable bastard who managed to find his way out of any situation. He was just the guy I needed to help get a team together and bring down this trafficking ring. As testy as Shep but with mildly better people skills, Decker was cool under pressure and shrewd beyond his twenty-eight years, even if he was a little screwed up from combat.