On the bright side, Leila was safe, and that thought brought a huge smile to his face. Carter’s predicament, though, wiped it off. Hunt felt enormous guilt for what had happened. But at the same time, he was furious at Carter for saving his life, as he might have destroyed his own in the process.
Abigail’s words rang in his head. He can’t feel his legs.
Hunt forced himself to get his mind back on the business at hand. He’d have plenty of time later to reflect—and torture himself—about what happened.
“Nicolás is coming,” Egan called through gritted teeth. “Get ready.”
Egan watched as Nicolás walked toward the SUV. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a slim waist, black hair, and brown skin. The guy was good-looking. Egan gave him that. What Egan didn’t like, though, was Nicolás’s walk. It was confident and assured. Not good.
As Nicolás came closer, Egan noticed a pistol tucked in the man’s waistband. Egan lowered his window, thinking Nicolás would want to talk to him, but the man climbed into the passenger’s seat and pointed his pistol at Egan.
“Put your hands on the steering wheel,” Nicolás instructed. “Palms out, fingers spread, and lay them down easy. No sudden movements.”
Egan did as he was told.
“Are you armed?”
Egan’s eyes moved to the glove box. “In there.”
Nicolás didn’t bother checking. “Anything on you?”
“Glock 22. Left shoulder holster.”
“That’s it?”
Egan nodded. It was. But I have Pierce Hunt in the back.
“Use your right hand, and slowly reach into your jacket. Don’t think you can draw quicker than I can shoot. It would be your last mistake, Mr. Granger.”
Nicolás extended his hand, and Egan gave him his Glock. Nicolás handed it to the security guard waiting outside the SUV.
“Why are you here?”
“I have a gift for the Black Tosca.”
Nicolás cocked his head to the side. “A gift? What kind of gift?”
“Behind you, in the black garbage bag.”
Nicolás’s eyes briefly moved to the back seat. “What is it?”
“A severed head,” Egan replied truthfully.
Nicolás’s face beamed with pleasure. A faint smile lurked at the corners of his lips. “I’m sure she’ll love it,” he said, lowering his weapon. “Drive forward, Mr. Granger. The Black Tosca is looking forward to seeing you.”
Egan started the engine and put the transmission into drive. The front gate closed behind him the moment the SUV had gone through. Egan followed the winding driveway up the gentle slope for about a quarter mile until he reached the Black Tosca’s magnificent colonial house. Two guards waited for them outside the main entrance. These men weren’t rent-a-cops. Their demeanor, the relaxed-but-alert way they were standing, was a dead giveaway that they were Hector’s men and former members of the Mexican military.
“I would have thought there’d be more than two guards,” Egan said for Hunt’s benefit.
“We’re heading west to the coast tomorrow,” Nicolás said. “Most guys are already there, preparing the compound for her arrival.”
“Where’s Hector? I’m sure he’d like to see the gift too,” Egan said. “He gave me the contract.”
“Hector and his crew will join us shortly, Mr. Granger,” Nicolás said. “Please follow me.”
Egan grabbed the black garbage bag from the rear seat and climbed out of the SUV. One of the guards opened the front door for them. The interior of the house was spectacular. Nothing about the elegant exterior prepared Egan for the sheer opulence within. It almost looked staged. It was just too damn perfect—crystal chandeliers on the ceilings, heavy red velvet drapes on the larger-than-life windows, and bronze statues filling every corner. As he followed Nicolás deeper into the house, Egan noticed that all the rooms flowed into each other and were all meticulously decorated in authentic Mexican fashion with exquisite, high-end furniture. Nicolás led him down a long hall, their footsteps echoing on the marble floor. They made a right at the end of the hallway and entered a huge library dominated by a wide, curving staircase that spiraled up to the next level. The Black Tosca, magnificently dressed in a long, very tight red dress that didn’t leave much to the imagination, was seated in a plush, green leather armchair.
“Hello, Cole,” she said, lifting her eyes from her mobile phone. “How nice of you to stop by.” She pointed at the armchair in front of her. “Come on—don’t be shy. Have a seat.”
She turned her attention to Nicolás. “I’ll be fine,” she said, dismissing him. When Nicolás didn’t move, she whooshed him off with a wave of her hand. Once he was gone, the Black Tosca leaned forward. She delicately touched his knee and squeezed, and then she said, a half smile on her full lips, “I’m told you brought a gift?”
Hunt started counting the moment he heard Egan slam the door. When he reached six hundred, he pulled back the tarp, transitioned from his back to his belly and then to his knees, and slowly raised his head until he could see out the SUV’s windows. Through the front windshield, he spotted one of the guards. Egan had mentioned two guards. Where was the other one? Hunt angled his head left to right. There was no sign of him.
Egan had been inside the house for ten minutes now. It was time for Hunt to make his move. He waited until the guard’s attention was away from the SUV before climbing over the rear seat. He confirmed the SUV’s doors were unlocked. With his eyes on the guard, Hunt raised his left hand and grabbed the door handle. In his right, his suppressed Glock was ready to go. Hunt threw the door open—not powerfully enough for it to bounce back—and raised his pistol to eye level. The guard, who had probably caught the movement in his peripheral vision, moved his hand to the inside of his jacket. The guard gave Hunt the same surprised, stunned look a six-year-old child gives his parents after they tell him Santa Claus doesn’t exist. Hunt squeezed the trigger, burying a bullet in the guard’s heart. The Oyster silencer jumped half an inch, and Hunt fired his second round the moment his sights were on the guard’s head. The bullet tore away the right side of the man’s face, spun him around, and dropped him on the polished marble of the entryway. From there, Hunt moved rapidly. He scanned around for the missing guard one last time and then entered the house, dragging the dead guard behind him.
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
San Miguel de Allende, Mexico
The Black Tosca accepted the plastic bag. She untied it but recoiled immediately, taken aback by the pungent smell emanating from the bag. She closed it without looking inside.
“Whose head is this?” she asked, holding the bag in one hand.
“Pierce Hunt’s.”
“Is it really?” she asked, wondering why he hadn’t simply texted a picture to her. But she was glad to see him. It had been quite a while since their last “encounter.”
“How’s Katherine these days?” she asked, even though she couldn’t care less.
For a fleeting moment, she saw something dark flare in his eyes, but it was gone the next instant. Had he fallen for Katherine? A surprisingly strong jolt of jealousy rushed through her. How dare he?
She felt as if she was being robbed. She, and she alone, was allowed to do whatever she wanted with whomever she wanted to do it with. Her expression hardened. She was about to shout something but remembered she needed “Mr. Granger” in Florida for the foreseeable future. So she bit her lip, almost drawing blood, and promised herself she’d find a way to hurt him in a way that wouldn’t compromise the work he did for her.
Nicolás appeared silently behind Egan, a baseball bat in his trembling hands. His teeth were clenched, giving his usually soft and beautiful face a hard, set facade, and his eyes were wild with anger. She didn’t know what this was about, but Nicolás had never failed her, in life or in bed. This must be important.
Then Egan lunged at her.
Egan sensed someone approaching behind him. The Black Tosca betrayed and confirmed the person’s
presence by moving her eyes above Egan’s head. Egan planted his feet on the ground and propelled himself forward. The baseball bat that smashed across his back slammed Egan onto the swanky carpet of the library. The bat struck again, this time landing directly at the back of his neck. Lights exploded behind his eyes. He tried to turn to his side and use his forearm to protect his head against the next blow, but he failed. He blacked out when the next blow connected behind his left ear.
“Stop! Stop!” the Black Tosca yelled.
Like an obedient child, Nicolás stopped midstrike. Cole Egan was convulsing on the floor, his legs kicking and thrashing. Brain damage. No longer useful. These were the first two thoughts that popped into the Black Tosca’s head. Then she looked at Nicolás and asked, “What have you done, you fool?”
“Hector’s dead, and so are the men who went along to Óliver Sáez’s with him. He might not be alone.”
Nicolás picked up the black garbage bag and emptied its contents onto the floor. Two dead mice fell from the bag, followed by Hector’s head, which rolled past the carpet and onto the hardwood floor. The Black Tosca’s knees buckled at the sight, and she had to grab onto Nicolás’s arm to remain standing. She began to feel violently ill, and a moment later, she threw up in short, violent spasms. When she was done, she wiped her mouth with her forearm. She looked around her but was too stunned to move. Then a weird feeling engulfed her, and, oblivious to her surroundings, she made her way to the bar area of the library and poured herself a large quantity of single malt. She drank half the glass. Nicolás was next to her, and she saw that his lips were moving, but she couldn’t understand anything he said. It all sounded like gibberish to her. Nicolás moved to her face, forcing her to meet his gaze.
“Valentina! Valentina! We must go!”
She pushed his hands aside and screamed, emptying her lungs in a guttural cry of pure agony.
“Valentina, we have to go,” Nicolás repeated.
To her horror, her eyes filled with tears, but they never fell. It was as if her body was telling her she had no right to be sad, that she didn’t deserve the relief they promised.
Nicolás grabbed her by the arm, but she broke free. “No,” she told him. “We finish this.”
She looked over at Egan. He had stopped twitching. He lay motionless on her carpet between the two armchairs. “Carry him downstairs, Nicolás. We’ll add his name to tonight’s main event. With luck, his Katherine will be watching.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
San Miguel de Allende, Mexico
Egan came to with a splitting headache. His temples throbbed with each beat of his heart. He was naked and covered in sweat. At his feet, Nicolás was in the process of tying his ankles to a straight wooden chair. His hands were already behind his back, secured together. Two large industrial centrifugal fans attached to the ceiling hummed loudly.
He moved his eyes around in search of Hunt. He was relieved when he didn’t find him. Egan tried to say something to Nicolás, but, for some reason, he couldn’t. He opened his mouth again but had to close it. It was as if he didn’t know the words. Saliva escaped from the corner of his mouth and slowly drooled down his chin. The saliva then formed a thin, glistening thread that swung back and forth over his chest and abdomen.
“So you woke up,” the Black Tosca said. “We weren’t sure you would, to be honest. But I’m glad you did. I really am.”
Egan’s eyes followed Nicolás, who was walking back toward him with two jerry cans, one in each hand. Egan panicked. He knew what was in the jerry cans. Gasoline. Behind him, someone cried for help.
Sophia.
“You can scream as loud as you want, honey,” Nicolás told her. “Nobody will hear you.”
“Nicolás,” the Black Tosca said, “please turn our traitorous Mr. Granger’s chair around so that he, too, can watch.”
Nicolás put the jerry cans down and turned Egan’s chair around. “How’s the head?” he asked. When Egan didn’t reply, Nicolás looked at him strangely. “Can’t talk?”
Five feet in front of him, Sophia was tied to a bed frame. She was still screaming, but she had almost no voice left. Her legs and arms were tied so tightly that she hadn’t enough room to move even an inch. Egan thought he heard a pinging.
Nicolás’s face materialized in front of Egan. The man grinned. “He’s gone in there,” he said to the Black Tosca, circling the top of his index finger around his ear. “I’m not even sure he’ll understand what’s going on.”
The Black Tosca joined Nicolás, and they both examined Egan.
“Last time I saw you naked, you were happy to see me,” the Black Tosca said, looking at his manhood. “I guess that changed too.”
Egan cringed inside, not because of what she had just told him but because of how powerless he felt. The feelings of embarrassment and frustration were overwhelming, his despair total.
Where the fuck are you, Pierce?
“We’re ready,” Nicolás said, pulling down a ski mask to hide his features.
“How many viewers?”
“Fifty thousand and climbing fast. And we aren’t even live yet!”
“Start streaming.”
Nicolás walked to a small desk where a laptop was set up. He typed for a minute and said, “We’re live.” He waved at the camera before walking to Sophia, jerry can in hand. For the first time, Egan noted the four GoPros set up around the room. Nicolás looked at Egan with a sadistic smile as he unscrewed the lid off one of the jerry cans. “I’ll start with her,” Nicolás told him. “But you’re next.”
Nicolás gently poured gasoline over Sophia, as if he was watering a flower. Egan’s frustration reached a new height, but he must have been hit on the skull harder than he had originally thought because he couldn’t even summon enough strength to move his head around. Sophia had stopped moving too, but, unfortunately for her, she was still alive. Egan could see her chest heaving up and down. For her sake, he wished she were dead.
Nicolás walked back to the laptop and announced proudly that they had reached seventy-five thousand live viewers. Then, as promised, Nicolás came to him and poured gasoline over his head. Egan felt the liquid run down behind his neck and ears and over his back and chest. The smell was awful, and the vapor burned his lungs. He closed his eyes and held his breath for as long as he could. Visions of his past appeared before him. His first vacation at the beach. His first kiss. When he received his Airborne wings and Ranger tab. Gaza. Fucking Gaza. Mr. Granger. The murders. All those murders. Katherine. His eyes became moist at the thought of Katherine. She deserved better than him. He hoped she’d never learn the truth about him, about the monster he really was. She would be a good mother. She’d know what to do.
Cole Egan let himself slide into darkness.
CHAPTER SEVENTY
San Miguel de Allende, Mexico
Hunt had been inside the house for three minutes, and he was getting irritated. He was worried that something had gone horribly wrong. Would it have been better to get into the house sooner?
Hunt cursed.
Egan had insisted that Hunt give him ten minutes with the Black Tosca. He’d sworn he’d be able to not only pinpoint Sophia’s location inside the humongous estate but also neutralize Nicolás. Hunt would simply need to take care of the two guards and make sure no other bad guys came in. That was the plan anyway.
The house was silent, and Hunt kept getting lost. It took him longer than he wanted to clear the first floor, and he only discovered the library wing by chance. He wanted to move faster, but it wouldn’t serve anyone any good if he ended up dead because he hadn’t cleared a corner correctly. Clearing a house room by room was a complex operation and very stressful. Hunt wiped his brow to keep the sweat from stinging his eyes.
The library was enormous but somehow maintained a cozy feel. There was a bar area, a couple of reading tables with plenty of chairs for a large family to sit together, and four oversized green leather chairs next to a bulky fireplace. A wide, curv
y staircase dominated the center of the library. He was cautiously advancing toward the staircase when he saw Hector’s head.
As he got closer, he realized that the staircase wasn’t only spiraling up to the next level; there was a basement too. Hunt stopped, listening for any hint that would help him locate either Egan or Sophia. The first thing his senses picked up was the smell. And it was a smell he recognized.
Gasoline.
This was no time to be timid or cautious. He busted his ass down the stairs, his Glock leading the way. When he hit the bottom step, he stopped to peek down the hallway. From where he stood, Hunt could only see one door. Unfortunately, it was made of reinforced steel.
As he drew closer to the door, the stench grew worse. A red light started blinking, and there was some sort of electronic locking system attached to the door. When he was within ten feet of the door, he heard something in the background. A low humming, like a big electric fan. Then he heard something else and stopped walking. He heard it again, but by the time his brain realized what it was, it was too late. He had fallen into the deadliest trap an operator could fall into—tunnel vision.
Two rounds slammed high into his back, sinking into his vest and forcing him forward into the reinforced steel door. Hunt turned around and dropped to his knees just as the man fired again. The zip of bullets cracked above his head and pinged against the reinforced door a millisecond later, just as Hunt leveled his Glock and returned fire, a tight, three-round grouping into the man’s center of mass. The cartel member fell backward but fired another round that went wide. Hunt got back to his feet, hurt and dazed, but kept his Glock trained on his assailant. The man gave a barely audible moan. He tried to get up, but Hunt dropped his left foot into his sternum. The man was wearing a bulletproof vest under his suit. Hunt aimed the Glock at the man’s head.
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