She surprised him by running straight into his arms. She hugged him tight, and he wrapped his arms around her. She sobbed into his neck, and he let her release her pain in silence.
Stay strong. Keep it together, he willed himself. Not an easy thing to do when the mother of your child—and a woman you had once loved more than anything else in the world—wept in your arms because your daughter, the child you conceived together out of love, had been kidnapped.
“We should go in,” she suggested after a moment. “Chris and the detective are in the backyard.”
Hunt looked at his ex-wife, and even though her salty tears had washed away her usual blush, she still looked beautiful.
“Okay,” he said, wiping her tears away with his thumbs.
“And, Pierce, I’m sorry about what I said.”
“Don’t worry about it, Jasmine, but thank you.”
She led him into the house. There were lots of windows, lots of light coming in. Expensive paintings hung on the walls. Hunt didn’t know much about art, but he felt that some of the pieces would be right at home in a museum or art gallery. They stopped by the kitchen, which was large, bright, and modern, and she asked him if he wanted a drink.
“I need one,” she added.
“Sure. Okay.”
With shaking hands, she pulled two crystal tumblers from a cabinet and poured a generous amount of whiskey into them. She threw her whiskey back in two gulps, and he did the same. The alcohol burned as it slid down his throat. He’d always enjoyed a good whiskey and the burn that came from it. But not today.
Jasmine left her empty glass on the quartz countertop and headed outside to the patio without another word. The moment he stepped foot outside, the scent of salt air teased his nose. The whole backyard, with its manicured grass, looked like a tropical oasis. It featured a massive in-ground pool with its own waterfall, perfectly hedged bushes, and a collection of flowerbeds filled with exotic flowers.
Chris Moon and a man whom Hunt presumed to be the detective Jasmine had talked about were standing next to the pool. Moon saw him first and nodded. He looked miserable. As much as Hunt resented him, Hunt knew he adored Leila, and for that he was grateful.
They shook hands, and Moon introduced him to Detective Milburne.
Their eyes met, and Hunt thought he saw a brief smile of recognition on the detective’s face. “Nice to make your acquaintance, Special Agent Hunt. I’m sorry we meet under such unfortunate circumstances.”
“What can you tell me, Detective Milburne?”
The detective cleared his throat. “We know that Tony Garcia’s daughter was taken too. They were headed to a movie theater—”
“How do you know this?” Hunt asked.
“My partner spoke with Mr. Garcia. She relayed what she learned to me. May I continue?”
“Of course.”
“Their SUV was attacked—ambushed, really—by four vehicles. Men came out of the vehicles and killed Sophia’s driver and bodyguard with automatic weapons before taking Sophia and Leila away.”
My God. Hunt could see the whole incident play out in his head.
“One more thing I should add, Agent Hunt,” Milburne said. “Your daughter didn’t go down quietly.”
“What do you mean?”
“Somehow she managed to gain access to a gun—”
“A gun?” he asked incredulously. “How’s that even possible?”
“We think she took it from the dead bodyguard.”
“And you know that how?”
“A motorist captured the event on his dashcam.”
“I want to see that video,” Hunt said. “When can I watch it?”
“I don’t think that will be possible, but please let me finish. Your daughter fired the gun numerous times and injured one of her kidnappers.”
Hunt didn’t know if he should be proud or terrified at the news.
“She shot one of them?” he asked, exchanging a look with Moon. The big footballer seemed lost for words.
“I’m told our forensic team found traces of blood,” Milburne said, but he added quickly, “We’re not sure who it belongs to.”
Hunt’s gut tightened. He wasn’t afraid of much. As an Army Ranger, and now as a DEA special agent, he’d seen plenty of terrifying shit. He’d been shot, stabbed, hunted, and tortured, but he’d never been as scared as he was now.
My baby girl. My Leila. Injured. Gone.
A feeling of anger started to bubble up from within, a kind of anger he usually reserved for people trying to kill him. Whoever had done this was going to pay. He didn’t care who they were. He didn’t care whom they worked for. He didn’t care if it cost him everything he had, even his life. He’d find the people responsible. Not just the ones who had snatched his little girl but also the ones who had ordered the hit.
And he would crush them.
Detective Milburne was still speaking, but Hunt had tuned him out, his mind already planning his next move. He needed access to the dashcam footage.
“I need to see the video,” Hunt said, interrupting Milburne midsentence.
“What?”
“The dashcam video. I want it.”
Milburne shook his head, and Hunt knew that whatever the detective was about to say wasn’t what he wanted to hear. In a flash, Hunt grabbed him by the collar and pulled him close.
“Listen to me, Detective,” he growled. “That video you talked about, I want to see it now. My daughter has been taken, and I’ll get her back. And this starts with me watching this video. Got it?”
Milburne’s face had turned red, and, for a moment, Hunt wondered if he had gone too far. He released his grip and pushed off the detective. Moon, who had been too stunned to intervene, was still standing next to Hunt, his mouth agape.
“I’d feel the same way if I were in your shoes,” Milburne said a moment later, massaging his throat. “The video is evidence, Agent Hunt. You know that.”
Hunt had to give the detective credit for keeping his cool. Still, Hunt’s gaze narrowed on the detective, willing him to agree to show him the video.
“But since you’re a colleague, and my boss is a fan of yours, I’ll make a couple of phone calls and see what I can do about that footage.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Coral Gables, Florida
Anna Garcia had deep worry lines carved in her face. The kidnapping of her niece and the murder of her father had been part of a series of violent events across the city. Her brother, Tony, and his men were shaking down their contacts, hoping to find clues as to who was responsible. Anna’s associates within the police force had told her there was a video of Sophia and her friend’s abduction. Anna had offered $10,000 to the first cop to bring that tape to her or her brother.
The living room of Tony’s eight-thousand-square-foot classic Spanish two-story home had been transformed into an operation center. A bay of computers and sophisticated phone-tapping equipment were set up on a folding table, and a large corkboard was filled with neatly organized photos and other pieces of intelligence Tony’s men were calling in.
So far, with the exception of the dashcam video, there had been no solid leads. It was driving Anna nuts. Their failure to find Sophia was digging into her heart and soul, leaving her feeling helpless and vulnerable.
Vulnerable. Not a sensation she enjoyed. Her family’s betrayal by Terrance Davis—a.k.a. Pierce Hunt—had transformed her. She had fallen in love with the man. Hard. She had given him everything and introduced him to her family. When she’d realized she had fallen for a lie, she’d started questioning her own self-worth. Hunt’s treachery had stolen her pride and her heart, had put her father in jail, and had now gotten him killed. There was no man on earth she hated more than Pierce Hunt.
But that’s not true anymore, is it? Whoever had kidnapped Sophia and Leila had taken the prize. It wasn’t a stretch to link the attack on her father’s motorcade to the girls’ kidnapping—all of it a ripple effect from Hunt’s betrayal.
After her fath
er’s arrest, she had tried to track Hunt down, but like a ghost he had disappeared, helped by the all-powerful DEA. She had never seen or heard from him again.
Until Chicago.
At first she hadn’t been able to believe it. Was it really him? Then the media had reported his name.
Pierce Hunt.
Dios mío.
Hunt had almost killed a reporter, they’d said. Pointed a gun right at his head. That had surprised her. Hunt was an impulsive man, yes, but very protective of the ones he loved. He could be a meticulous son of a bitch too. How else could he have played her for two years? The man was like a chameleon, and for him to lose his cool, the reporter must have done something stupid.
Hunt used to be protective of her once, which was why his treason wounded her so much. After her father’s trial, she had begged her brother to send a hit team after him, but he had refused, saying it was too dangerous, that it would start another war with the DEA. They had enough on their hands as it was. She understood why her brother had been reluctant, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t pursue him on her own, like a ferocious tigress.
She would get her revenge. One way or the other, Pierce Hunt would pay for his sins. But first things first. They needed to find Sophia and her friend.
Then it would be Hunt’s turn.
When Tony came home an hour later, he was pissed. Anna had seen him in a bad mood before, and it was always best to keep a distance when he was like that. Tony was a loving father, but he was a different man when it came to the family business. He was prone to using violence when things didn’t go his way. There was a reason his men feared him. Anna wasn’t scared of her brother, but with Sophia’s kidnapping, all bets were off.
Tony’s eyes were just visible beneath the brim of his Miami Dolphins cap as he entered the living room. His lips were pressed together so tightly that Anna could barely see them, and the seething anger in his eyes sent shivers down her spine.
Anna’s heart rate soared, and she felt weak at the knees.
Oh no. Please God. Not Sophia. I’ll give my life for hers.
“What’s wrong?” she asked shakily, fearing the worst. “Is Sophia—”
“It’s the Black Tosca,” he spat. “That double-crossing, backstabbing cockroach.”
The Black Tosca? Valentina Mieles?
“Why would—” she started to ask, but her brother cut her off with a wave of his hand.
“There are things you don’t know, Anna,” he said curtly.
She wasn’t about to let her brother walk all over her, so she held his glare. Sophia was her blood too. “Then tell me.”
He looked at her, his face a mask of rage.
“You’re the best dad I know, Tony, but you’re also a controlling, manipulative asshole,” she added. “I have a right to know.”
Her scolding seemed to surprise him. All of a sudden, it was as if all his strength left him. Tony slumped onto the sofa, his face haggard, worry clouding his eyes. Anna put her hand on his arm and gave it a little squeeze before kneeling next to him.
“Let me help you, Tony. We’re family.”
“You can’t help me, little sister,” he said, blinking back tears, all trace of anger gone.
“What happened out there? Where are the men?”
He sighed. “We’re under attack, Anna. I’ve ordered the men to patrol the property.”
Tony’s property was huge. His house was nestled on a two-and-a-half-acre lot at the end of a cul-de-sac in the prestigious gated community of Journey’s End. In addition to the eight-thousand-square-foot house, the exterior included a large separate guesthouse, a five-car garage, staff quarters, and a grand private driveway surrounded by lush tropical trees. His security system was the best money could buy, but it didn’t mean a clever kill team couldn’t breach it.
“By the Black Tosca? Why?” Anna pressed him.
“Because Father was about to testify against her.”
She stared at Tony blankly. “What?”
His words had left a sickening sensation in the pit of her stomach.
“Don’t look so shocked, Anna. With Dad in prison, someone had to lead the family. Under my leadership, we became the de facto organization for anyone wanting to move product in and out of Miami and along the Florida coast.”
Anna didn’t know all the operational details, but she knew the family money came from the drug trade. She understood this and was a willing participant in the family business. Nonetheless, her father and brother had always been the ones making the hard decisions. Her job was to keep the books straight and to perform computer-generated trend analysis. Tony had developed some legitimate businesses—mostly in construction—but most of the family’s activities revolved around the illegal drug trade. She hadn’t chosen any of this, but it was her family, and loyalty to her clan was central to her identity. Family first.
Always.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t Father have an arrangement with the Black Tosca?”
Tony chuckled derisively. “She’s the Black Tosca, Anna. Valentina Mieles does what she wants, when she wants.”
Anna didn’t respond, so her brother continued. “She approached me some time ago. In fact, she sent her cousin Hector to make me an offer to buy out the business. I refused. The terms weren’t satisfactory.”
“And?”
“Hector left, and I thought that was it.”
“But it wasn’t it.”
“No,” Tony admitted. “A couple weeks later, our shipments started to get confiscated at the port, and one of our eighteen-wheelers was stopped on the highway. We lost a lot of money, and six of our men are now in jail.”
“You think the Black Tosca is responsible?”
“I know so, and Father did too.”
“That’s why he decided to go against her?”
Tony nodded. “But someone betrayed him, and the only explanation I can come up with is that the Black Tosca had someone inside the DEA feeding her intel.”
“Why the hit on Sophia, then?”
Tony hesitated. “I don’t know, Anna. To show me we’re all vulnerable?” He seemed as though he wanted to add something else but didn’t.
“What is it that you’re not telling me, Tony?”
Her brother didn’t reply. His face had turned pale, and there was a wild grief in his eyes. She could only imagine the agony he was in and how guilty he must feel that his actions had gotten his daughter kidnapped. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something else. Whatever it was, her brother wasn’t ready to share it with her.
“What do we do next?” she asked.
Tony pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He bowed his head and closed his eyes. “She called me,” he said.
“Who? The Black Tosca?”
“She wants my head, Anna. She literally wants my head,” he said, his voice cracking. “If my severed head isn’t in her possession in forty-eight hours, she’ll burn Sophia alive. And she’ll stream it live.”
Tears flooded Anna’s eyes. This isn’t happening. “And what about the other girl, Leila?”
“They’ll burn her too,” he whispered. “I can’t allow this to happen.”
Her brain went into overdrive, dark images crowding out her thoughts. She tried to push them away, but they became more insistent.
“What will you do?”
“Do I really have a choice? I’ll cut my own head off if it means—”
Anna slapped him so hard the crack of her palm against his cheek echoed in the living room. “Shut up!” she yelled. “Don’t say shit like that, Tony.”
Tony looked stunned, but his voice was flat. “What do you want me to do, Anna? The Black Tosca has my balls in a vise, and she’s tightening the fucking screws.”
Anna knew he was right. The family had taken painful hits from their enemies. But they had to fight back. Somehow, they needed to turn the tables and go on the offensive.
But how?
Then an idea came to her, and she almost dismissed it right off the bat. How could she think about him now? He had betrayed her trust and broken her heart. He had lied about who he was.
Pierce Hunt.
If she was right, Hunt’s quick mind—the one he had used to trick her—his tactical prowess, and his sheer determination could be exactly what she needed.
Would he answer her call? Deep down, she knew the answer to that question. It hadn’t all been a lie between them. It couldn’t have been. She had seen him struggle with his emotions while on the witness stand during her father’s trial. The passion they’d shared—nobody could fake such intensity.
She’d never dialed the contact number written on the small piece of paper he had left on her desk the night before the DEA had barged in and arrested him and her father. Even after the trial, when she’d needed answers, she had resisted the urge to call and had even thought about burning the damn thing. But she had held on to it. She could recite its message from memory.
Just know you’ll always have a home in my heart. If something happens, call this number. I’ll always be there for you.
Chances were he’d tell her to fuck off, but it was worth a try.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Miami, Florida
In the formal living room, Hunt had settled into an uncomfortable silence with Jasmine. Moon was in the kitchen fixing everyone a drink, and Detective Milburne was on the phone in the adjacent room. The more Hunt thought about what had happened to his daughter, the more irritated he became. His heart wanted to blame Jasmine and Moon for the situation Leila found herself in, but his brain told him he was as guilty as they were. There was nothing to gain by playing the blaming game.
Hunt also had to concede that it was hard to control whom your child hung out with at school. Sophia Garcia seemed to be a great kid—if a little bit spoiled—and, knowing Jasmine, he was sure she tried as hard as she could to permit Leila to hang out only with peers who would be good influences. He couldn’t fault her for not knowing that Sophia’s father was the Tony Garcia. She had never talked to the man—only Moon had—and it was clear to Hunt that the football star hadn’t known about Tony’s ties to the drug trade. Hunt believed Moon when he told him that as far as he was concerned, Tony Garcia was a legitimate business owner.
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