“What’s the code?” Hunt asked.
The man was quick—Hunt gave him that. He tried to stick the knife that had appeared almost magically in his right hand into Hunt’s left leg. Hunt fired one round, and the man’s elbow exploded. Before he could yell in pain, Hunt dropped his left knee onto the man’s chest and jammed his Osprey silencer deep into his wide-open mouth.
“You done?”
The man blinked several times. “Do you need a code to access the door at the end of the hallway?” Hunt said.
A nod.
“Do you know what it is?”
Another nod. Hunt removed the silencer from the man’s mouth.
“You have a family?”
“Yes. Three girls and a dog. I have a dog!” the man said, as if that were going to save his life.
“Your boss kidnapped my daughter and her friend,” Hunt explained, his voice a rasp in the darkened hallway. “Tell me the code, and your family will live a long and happy life. They’ll never see me. But give me the wrong one, or simply refuse to tell me what it is, and I’ll fucking kill every one of them.”
The man was crying now. He was under no illusions about his own life. The only decision to make was whether he wanted his family to survive. For most men, it was an easy decision, but, for this one, it seemed a little more complicated. Hunt supposed the man was considering whom he was most afraid of—the guy in front of him with a gun pointed at his head, or the Black Tosca.
“One, three, one, four.”
“Only four digits?” Hunt asked, but he already knew the man was telling the truth.
The man nodded.
Hunt was about to shoot him twice in the head but changed his mind at the last second. There was no point in killing the man. Instead, Hunt brought the butt of his pistol down on the man’s head, knocking him unconscious, then secured the man’s hands behind his back. Hunt inserted a fresh magazine into his Glock and moved quickly down the hallway.
The humming was much louder now, but Hunt couldn’t hear anything else. He punched in the four-digit code. There was a deep, metallic clunk and a sucking sound. Hunt pushed down on the door handle and shoved the door open.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
San Miguel de Allende, Mexico
A couple of loud pinging sounds, like metal on metal, rang inside the room and jerked Egan awake. He opened his eyes. Nicolás was standing next to him, holding a lighter. He had heard the sound too, and his face registered surprise. He pulled his pistol from his waistband and aimed it at the door.
“Get behind me, Valentina.”
Once she was next to him, Nicolás told her, “I have a revolver in an ankle holster. Take it.”
“Set them on fire, Nicolás,” she urged him. “Do it now!”
Nicolás didn’t question her order.
Egan knew what was coming and accepted it. If this was the price to pay to atone for his sins, he was ready.
Hunt barged into the room, gun drawn.
Thank God, Egan thought, as the lighter landed on his lap. At least Katherine and the baby would be saved. Hunt would liberate them from the Black Tosca’s grasp. Thank you, my friend. Thank you.
The flames started to lick his skin.
Hunt rushed into the room and instantly moved to his left, away from the door. In a flash, his eyes took in the whole scene. To his right, Egan was tied to a chair, naked, his body wet with gasoline. In front of him stood the Black Tosca. She was holding a small handgun, but it wasn’t aimed at him yet. Towering next to her, and in the process of throwing a lighter in Egan’s direction, was a man wearing a ski mask. Nicolás? To Hunt’s left, Sophia Garcia was tied to a bed, wearing only gasoline-soaked underwear.
Then, as his eyes returned to his right, he saw something that gripped his heart with icy fingers. Egan was on fire. Before Hunt could react, the Black Tosca fired twice, and, at a distance of thirty feet, she’d be hard-pressed to miss with both shots. She didn’t. The first small-caliber bullet caught Hunt high in the left shoulder, and the other one embedded itself in the wall five inches above Hunt’s head. But the Black Tosca wasn’t Hunt’s priority. His priority was the man with the ski mask. He had pulled another lighter from his pocket and was about to lob it at Sophia. Hunt pulled the trigger twice in quick succession. His rounds tore into the masked man’s upper body, propelling him back against the wall just as the Black Tosca emptied the last four rounds of her revolver into Hunt.
A high-pitched shrieking rushed out of Egan’s gaping mouth. In a flash, the flames devoured their way through the gasoline. Then it was his flesh. He howled as the fire engulfed him.
The next round the Black Tosca fired missed Hunt, but the two after that smacked into his chest, thudding against his body armor and driving him back. The last round grazed his right side and doubled him over in a firestorm of agony. His Glock slipped from his fingers, and Hunt fell to one knee. Egan screamed, which made Hunt look up just in time to see the Black Tosca lunge, her eyes filled with murderous rage. Hunt was ready for her and grabbed her by the throat. Using her own momentum, he lifted her above his head. He released her midflight and sent her crashing into a work desk on which a laptop was set up. The work desk split in two on impact.
Hunt turned his attention back to his friend. Egan let out a horrendous, desperate scream. Hunt’s heart plummeted. His friend had become a human torch. Hunt tried to pick up his pistol, but his right arm didn’t respond the way he wanted it to. The stabbing pain in his shoulder was getting worse. He used his left hand to pick up the Glock and, as tears rolled down his cheeks, shot his friend in the head, ending his misery. Remorse immediately filled his heart. Dread crammed his mind, but he had to push through.
Sophia.
She was still alive, but her eyes were staring blankly at the ceiling. He walked back to the Black Tosca, who was slowly getting up, and punched her in the face. Blood spattered in every direction. She was barely conscious when Hunt grabbed her hair and pinned her against the wall. Her eyes widened with fear. He pressed the silencer against her belly and fired twice.
Pffft. Pffft.
A soft cry escaped her lips, and her hands moved to her stomach. There was an expression of pure disbelief on her face, which pleased Hunt. He let go of her hair, and she slowly slid down the wall. Next, he used his knife to saw through Sophia’s restraints. He was about to take her in his arms when he heard a rasping sound coming from the masked man. Hunt had seen him go down in a mist of blood and had wrongly assumed he had killed the man. The man’s pistol was out of reach, but Hunt kicked it away anyway. He pulled the man’s mask off his face.
“Hello, Nicolás,” Hunt said.
The man just blinked; he didn’t answer. His face was covered with sweat, and his pupils were unfixed. Hunt lifted the man’s shirt. There were two neat holes three inches to the right of the man’s heart. Blood flowed with the rising and falling of Nicolás’s labored breath. He had minutes to live.
Hunt went back to Sophia and picked her up gently. His shoulder protested, and it took Hunt every ounce of control he had not to scream. Sophia opened her eyes.
“Sophia, I’m Leila’s dad. My name’s Pierce,” Hunt said, introducing himself. “I’m here to help.”
Sophia offered him a weak smile.
“You’re safe now,” Hunt continued. “I’ve got you. You’ll be home soon. I promise.”
As he stepped out of the room, he glanced once more at Cole Egan.
Sorry, brother. I failed you. You, on the other hand, held on to your promise to help me save my daughter. Thank you for your sacrifice, old friend. It wasn’t in vain.
“Are you sure you can walk, Sophia?” Hunt asked in between grunts of pain. His hand slid over to his shoulder. It was soaked in blood. He needed medical attention. Soon.
“Yes, I’m fine,” the teenager replied, shivering. “I can walk.”
They were on the first floor, standing in the library. Hunt made sure Sophia had her back to Hector’s severed head. She had
had enough traumas for a lifetime.
Hunt grabbed a blanket from one of the armchairs. He wrapped it around her shoulders. Sophia hugged herself with it.
“Where’s Leila?”
“She’s fine. She’s with Chris and your aunt Anna.”
Sophia started crying. Hunt was lost for words. Comforting teenage girls wasn’t one of his strengths. Hunt patted Sophia awkwardly on the shoulder and said, “We need to go, okay?”
“Please, I hate this fucking place.”
Hunt didn’t think it was the right time to discipline Sophia on her use of swear words, so he said, “Me too.”
Hunt led the way, with Sophia following closely behind him. Hunt had his left arm extended in front of him, pistol in hand. His right arm was now hanging at his side, useless. They were thirty feet from the door when it blew inward with spectacular energy. The blast sent a hailstorm of wooden shards and rocks in all directions. One, with a thump, sank into Hunt’s leg, above his right knee, as he and Sophia were propelled back through the air. Hunt landed on his back next to Sophia. He lay on the floor, stunned, as smoke and a contingent of black-clad men sporting rifles surged through the foyer. He crawled on top of Sophia to provide her with the protection his body armor offered.
“Policía! Policía!” the black-clad men yelled, but Pierce Hunt didn’t hear them. He had already passed out.
EPILOGUE
Three months later
Miami Beach, Florida
“How have you been?” Hunt asked Anna.
“I don’t know, Pierce,” she said. She sounded exhausted. “It’s been busy.”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” he replied, taking a small sip of his beer.
They were on a terrace on Ocean Drive, less than a mile from Graham Young’s condominium.
What used to be Graham Young’s condominium, Hunt thought. The DEA had seized all of BlueShade Rental’s properties, and the FBI had arrested Graham Young for money laundering and drug trafficking, among other charges. He was now awaiting trial.
Sophia and Leila had their own table inside the restaurant, pigging out on deep-fried chicken wings and sugary sodas.
“It’s nice to see you,” Anna said, offering him a shy smile. “I’ll never forget what you’ve done for Sophia. And for me. Thank you.”
“I’m glad she’s okay. We got lucky that Dante was able to get through to the Mexican authorities. To be honest, I’m surprised they responded at all.”
“The live feed forced their hand. Someone tipped them off. They had no choice but to respond. I’m just glad they were able to cut it off before it turned morbid.”
“As I said, we were lucky.”
“Sophia was lucky to have you.”
“And now she’s lucky to have you.”
Anna sighed. “It’s harder than I thought, Pierce. I have no idea what I’m doing.”
Hunt chuckled. “Me either. Welcome to the club.”
Anna reached for her glass of cabernet. She swirled the wine around, sniffed it, and then tasted it.
“I’m so sorry about your brother, Anna,” Hunt said. “I meant to call.”
She looked down and rubbed her eyes. Tony Garcia had died due to complications during the surgery to remove the bullet lodged in his abdomen. The bullet had caused serious damage. The doctors had been unable to stop the internal bleeding.
“He passed out in the car on the way to the hospital,” Anna said, her eyes wet with tears. “He never woke up.”
She buried her head in her hands. Hunt leaned toward her and lifted her chin. A big, sloppy tear ran down her left cheek. Hunt wiped it away with his thumb.
God, she’s beautiful, Hunt thought. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize to me, Pierce. Not anymore. Not after what you’ve done for Sophia.” She reached up and pressed his hand against her face. She held his gaze. Then she asked, “What about you? You still have a job?”
McMaster had reached out to Tom Hauer—the acting administrator of the DEA—who in turn had called in pretty much all the IOUs he had in Washington, DC, to get Hunt off the hook regarding his actions within the United States. In exchange, Hunt had had to write an affidavit in which he’d admitted to all his wrongdoings. The documents had been signed and reviewed by a couple of bigwigs in Washington and ordered sealed by a federal judge. Hunt, though, had had to return his badge and gun to McMaster.
“Let’s just say I no longer receive a paycheck every two weeks.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“They say people change careers three or four times these days.”
“So you’re okay with this?”
“I guess.”
The events in San Miguel de Allende had shaken him. Cole Egan haunted him every single night. Hunt knew he had done the right thing by his friend, but it didn’t make him sleep better. Hunt was tired of the violence. In fact, he was sick of it. How long could he stay away, though? He had once sworn he’d never lose control again. Clearly, he had broken that self-made promise—first in Florida and then in Mexico. He had lived a life full of violence. Could he learn to live without it? He knew some people who couldn’t. He prayed he wasn’t like them. Only time would tell.
“Anything on your mind you’d like to talk about?” she asked, bringing her wineglass to her lips.
“There are so many things that I don’t even know where to start.”
“How are you and Leila doing?”
Hunt sighed. His relationship with his daughter was complicated.
“I need to have ‘the talk’ with her. You know? I still can’t summon the courage to do it.”
“Why?”
Hunt chuckled nervously, crossed his arms on his chest, and said, “Our relationship is so fragile that I’m afraid I’ll ruin it all the moment I open my big mouth.”
“Did you talk to your ex-wife about it?”
“She’s more open-minded than I am, so I’m afraid we won’t have the same discourse.”
Hunt shook his head, exhaled, and looked up.
“What is it?” Anna asked.
“How would you react if you’d found a picture of your daughter’s half-naked boyfriend on her cell phone?”
Anna cocked her head to one side. “It depends what half is naked.”
Hunt smiled. “The top half.”
“They’re fifteen, Pierce. At some point, they’ll start experimenting. You have to establish ground rules. Talk to Jasmine and Chris about it. Come up with a game plan, and talk to her. It’s not rocket science.”
“It is to me,” Hunt said, scratching the back of his head.
“I think the important thing is for her to know that you’ll be there, no matter what.”
“I know that.”
“Yeah, but does she?”
Anna was right, of course. He’d talk to Chris and Jasmine later today after dropping Leila back at their place.
“Thanks. I needed to hear that.”
“You’re welcome.”
They sipped their drinks in a comfortable silence for a bit.
“Will you be looking for a job?” Anna asked after a few minutes.
“Simon and I were actually thinking about becoming private detectives.”
Anna choked on her wine and coughed, red liquid coming out of her nose as she laughed out loud. Hunt noticed that her nose crinkled and the wrinkles around her eyes—not that she had lots of them—clustered when she laughed. It made her look even more attractive and real. He had fallen hard for this woman once before. He could fall again.
“Please tell me you’re kidding.”
Truth was, Hunt hadn’t even started to consider what he was going to do with his life. His skill set wasn’t the kind civilian employers needed in great numbers. Now that he thought about it, maybe being a private detective wouldn’t be that bad. Part of Carter’s immunity agreement with the Department of Justice was that he had to resign from the DEA. With the dismantling of the RRTs, Hunt knew Carter wouldn’t have ret
urned to the DEA anyway. He was upset the DEA hadn’t offered his friend any kind of financial package, but Carter had been adamant. “Don’t fight this, Pierce. Please. I’m just happy I can walk again. I’m set, man. Trust me.”
When Hunt had asked him to elaborate, Carter had replied, “Talk to Chris Moon.”
Hunt had. And, once again, Moon had surprised him. Without anyone asking for it—even though Hunt was pretty sure it was Jasmine’s idea—Moon had opened an account for the Carter family and deposited a cool million in it with a promise that he’d top it up if needed. He had done the same thing for Katherine Egan. As far as she and her father were concerned, Cole had been killed in action during a black CIA operation in Mexico to rescue American hostages.
“Hey,” Anna said, bringing him back. “Where were you?”
“Did I miss something?”
“I was telling you my plan to close up the family business.”
That was music to Hunt’s ears.
“This makes me very happy, Anna. What are you gonna do?”
“I’m good with numbers and computers. I’ll find something. I know it’s gonna take time, but with Tasis’s help, I think I can do it.”
Hunt smiled, then asked, “Do you sometimes wonder about what could have been if we had met under different circumstances?”
Anna grinned and reached for his hands. “I do, but we already have our answer, don’t we?”
Before he could reply, Leila and Sophia joined them. Hunt and Anna quickly withdrew their hands, looking a bit silly in the process when Hunt knocked over his beer with his elbow.
“I thought you guys wanted your own table so you could talk about your boyfriends,” Anna said, winking at Hunt.
The girls looked at each other and giggled.
“What is it?” Hunt asked. “What’s so funny?”
Hunt Them Down (Pierce Hunt Book 1) Page 27
