Fatal Strike

by DiAnn Mills

  Once they had their own spot on the ferry, they just needed to wait and watch. Jon pressed the automatic button and the windows rolled down. The salty air and sound of lapping waves and crying seagulls had become a large part of their days. Leah peered at the white foam and spotted a dolphin leaping gracefully in the water. Any other time, she’d snap a pic, except her thoughts were focused on trying to take Dylan into custody. Doing so could secure answers to stop the violence, ending the wave of murders and panic on the island. And dissuade other gangs from spreading crime.

  The agent ahead of them confirmed Silvia was seated in her car and not on her phone.

  Eighteen minutes later, the ferry docked. Slow and orderly. Agitation seared her nerves. Finally Jon drove off the ramp onto Bolivar Peninsula. Silvia remained several vehicles ahead. She pulled into a parking area, and the surveillance agents drove past and into a new strip center on the opposite side of the street. All had eyes on Silvia’s car. Jon chose a parking area three rows back from where Silvia sat with her car’s engine running. Leah grabbed binoculars from her shoulder bag, and Jon reached for the same on the seat between them.

  Leah studied the surrounding area. A young man strode across the parking lot toward Silvia’s Toyota and opened the passenger door. “Dylan,” she said.

  “Let’s go.”

  Leah and Jon drew their weapons and raced toward Silvia’s vehicle. The two agents on surveillance rushed several feet behind them as backup. Jon raised his hand to slow them.

  Dylan must have seen them because he bolted around the Toyota to the driver’s side and jerked the car door open. He heaved Silvia out. His left hand gripped her lower neck, and he held a gun to her head. “I will shoot,” he said.

  The woman who’d raised him, loved him like no other? How could he be so callous? Silvia whimpered.

  “Dylan, let your mother go.” Leah spoke compassion into her words. “You don’t want to hurt her. She loves you.”

  “I’m no fool. You’re not taking me in for a crime I didn’t commit.”

  Leah crept ahead, making eye contact with him and avoiding the distraction of Silvia’s trembling. “Like your mother, I want to help. I’ve always wanted to help.”

  He glanced around and said something to Silvia, but Leah couldn’t hear what. None of them had a clear shot at Dylan. Had the other agents requested more backup?

  “You’ve run from the police and FBI,” Leah said. “Now you’re holding your mother at gunpoint. Explain this to me. I want to understand. Because right now your actions are not those of an innocent man.”

  “Please, Dylan.” Silvia’s tears streamed down her face. “We can work this out.”

  Leah stepped closer. Jon moved to her far right.

  Dylan said something to his mother, then shoved her aside. Silvia tripped on the rough pavement as Dylan climbed into the driver’s seat. The car charged in reverse.

  Leah dove onto the pavement out of the way, grabbed her weapon, rolled, and came up firing. Jon dashed after the car, unloading bullets into the back window.

  Silvia shrieked.

  Dylan squealed tires around the corner of the parking lot toward the departing ferry.

  Leah raced to Jon’s truck, where the keys sat in the cup holder. Pressing the ignition button, she brought the engine to life and stomped the gas. Dylan would not get on the ferry alone. She had her own driving tricks. She palmed the steering wheel.

  He drove onto the ferry.

  Three more vehicles slid in behind him.

  Leah entered the ramp, and it closed behind her. Dylan slid into place five vehicles ahead. He exited the car and bounded toward the upper deck, where people milled about. She bolted from the truck and zigzagged around cars and people up the metal stairs toward him.

  No point in shouting for him to stop. He’d successfully placed men, women, and children around him. She wouldn’t risk anyone’s life to capture this young man. Pushing past them, she shortened the distance.

  He ran along the deck railing, stopped, and aimed his weapon into the crowd. “Drop your gun, or I’ll unload mine.”

  A woman screamed. Shouts rose, and the crowd struggled to clear themselves from danger.

  Leah laid her Glock on the deck and held up her hands. “Turn yourself in, Dylan. You can’t keep running. But you can help us arrest those responsible. My original deal still stands. I’ll speak to the judge on your behalf.”

  He shook his head and escaped down another nearby staircase to the lower car level. In the distance, a speedboat was moving their way. Leah snatched her gun and pursued him while shouting for people to stay down.

  “Dylan, this is a mistake.”

  He climbed over the rail and jumped.

  Leah rushed to the railing. Waves crashed against the side of the ferry. Dylan surfaced and swam toward the speedboat. A driver and an armed man came into view. The gunman raised an automatic and took aim at her.

  Leah fired first, sending the armed man overboard. The driver raised his own weapon.

  Bullets pelted the ferry. More screams.

  The speedboat jumped over the wake.

  Leah directed a shot at Dylan and pulled the trigger.

  63

  SILVIA’S RIGHT ARM AND LEG stung from her tumble to the pavement. Blood seeped through the right leg of her green scrubs, and her arm and elbow fared the same. Her son had caused this? The last few moments with Dylan squeezed her heart as though she’d met a stranger.

  Agent Colbert jogged to her. “Are you okay? Do I need to call an ambulance?” He eyed her bleeding leg. “You might need stitches.”

  Be strong. No reason for him to see your distress. “I’ll be okay. A little hydrogen peroxide will clean me up. Are you okay? And the other men who were with you. Are they hurt?”

  “They’re fine.”

  She was afraid to ask, afraid to voice her fear, as if doing so would cause it to come true. “And Dylan? What’s going to happen now with him?”

  “I’ve texted Agent Riesel to contact me as soon as possible.”

  She braved forward. “You’ll tell me the truth, no matter how bad it is?”

  Agent Colbert hesitated for a fraction of a second and then nodded. “Ms. Ortega, I know you want answers. I feel the same. We’ll see what Agent Riesel learns.” His phone rang, and he moved away to answer. Silvia studied him, but his facial expressions gave no indication of the conversation. The evening heat bore down, increasing the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  What possessed her boy to hold a gun to her? She didn’t know he owned one. She’d never permitted a weapon in their home and denied Dylan access to toy guns. Had she instilled an unhealthy attitude? Or had his time in jail changed him, turned him against her though he promised he’d learned his lesson? He’d been forced to live with bad people, and their habits had woven into the fabric of her son. Had he panicked when he saw she’d been followed?

  She touched her temple, where he’d pressed the barrel against her head. No. Silvia drew in her shattered emotions. She couldn’t believe that, wouldn’t believe her boy had substituted his upbringing for greed.

  He told me he was sorry for causing me grief. He asked me to forgive him for what he was about to do. When I fell, he told me, “I love you, Mom. I’d rather die an innocent man than live as a guilty one.”

  Mi hijo. My precious boy. I’d give my life to erase this evening.

  “You’re not taking me in for a crime I didn’t commit.” Words of innocence. He might believe she’d set him up. But betrayal of her son wasn’t a part of her thoughts. She’d always be on his side.

  Agent Riesel was on the ferry now with Dylan. She’d attempt to talk to him, just like she’d promised when he’d agreed to meet with the agents near Willy G’s. Silvia rubbed her scraped arm. Was she kidding herself? If Dylan pulled a gun on Agent Riesel, she’d have no choice but to fire at him. Were the people on the ferry in danger?

  Dear God, what have I done wrong for Dylan to act this way?
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br />   She should call Father Gabriel to ask for prayers. Silvia shook her head. Her cell phone was in the car with Dylan. She desperately wanted to hear Warren’s strong and reassuring voice.

  Agent Colbert walked her way. The closer he came, the more his eyes shone with kindness.

  “Any word?” she said.

  “Yes, ma’am. Dylan jumped from the ferry. A speedboat picked him up.”

  A sharp breath cut across her chest. “You mean police officers?”

  “The men who picked him up were armed.”

  This meant Dylan had planned an escape. All he wanted was the money? She stared at her scraped arm. It was time to acknowledge the truth: Her son was a Veneno. He knew who’d murdered those people. Threatened Warren? Killed his stepfather?

  Jon smiled sadly and she knew there was more.

  “Dylan was wounded.”

  She felt nauseous. Dylan had gotten away, but he’d been shot. God, no. Please. This kept getting worse.

  64

  JON WALKED ON BOARD the next ferry with Silvia. He considered requesting the woman join him and the other two agents in the car, but Silvia was suffering not only with physical pain but also emotional. She’d refused an ambulance or first aid, and her injuries required attention.

  “If you want to talk, I’m here,” he said. He had already asked her to explain what led to her meeting with Dylan on the peninsula.

  She held her right arm. “I’d rather be alone with my thoughts. Thanks anyway.”

  “Sure?”

  She nodded. “This is the most difficult ordeal of my life. I hope you never face the heartache of a child’s actions.” Her face tightened. “Dylan promised me he hadn’t killed anyone. Then he saw you and everything changed.”

  “Silvia—” his tone rang with disbelief—“he tried to—”

  “I know my son, and there’s more to this than what you saw or I experienced.”

  “I’m sorry.” Life had no guarantees. “I need to check for updates.”

  She looked out over the water. “Go right ahead, Agent Colbert.”

  “Jon. The name’s Jon, short for Jonathan.”

  “Like in the Bible.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He moved several feet away to a secluded spot. He pressed in Zachary Everson’s number and quickly briefed him about the last hour. “Appreciate it if you’d alert the local hospitals and clinics. Dylan has to get treatment somewhere.”

  “On it,” Everson said. “So he had a backup plan in case the money transfer went south.”

  Jon’s thoughts mirrored Everson’s. “I’ll ask Leah to escort Silvia for medical treatment before bringing her to your office. Based on what’s transpired, it’s clear Dylan did a 180 on his mother.” He glanced back at Silvia. Pity washed over him.

  “See you at police headquarters,” Everson said.

  Jon made arrangements with Leah, then phoned Rachel Mendez. He was convinced she was concealing information, but what would it take for her to open up? “We have reason to believe Dylan is working with those responsible for your husband’s death. Have you spoken to him?”

  “No, sir,” Rachel said. “I’m having a difficult time accepting this. Is Silvia aware?”

  “Yes, I’m with her.”

  “What does she have to say about Dylan’s involvement?”

  “She’s still in denial.” Jon took a harder tone with the widow. “Listen, Mrs. Mendez, the time’s come for you to tell us what you know.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t say anything more, Agent Colbert.” Rachel sighed. “You can call off the agents guarding my house. I’m sending my mother and my children to California. But I’m staying here until my husband’s killer is found.”

  While leaving town could be the best way for the Mendez family to remain safe until arrests were made, Jon still needed answers. And he heard another emotion besides control in her voice. “What are you afraid of?”

  “Nothing, sir, except my son could be a murderer, and his victim was a man I loved. Excuse me. I have things to do.” She ended the call.

  Frustrated, Jon dialed a number he’d memorized in the last few days.

  “How can I help you?” Father Gabriel’s tone dripped with exhaustion and rightfully so. They all were tired.

  Jon told Father Gabriel about the incident on Bolivar Peninsula, omitting the part about a surveillance team keeping an eye on Silvia. “As expected, she’s upset. May need your counsel.”

  Father Gabriel groaned. “Poor woman. She’s always done her best for Dylan, believed in him when no one else did. I’ll wrap up things here and drive to the police department.”

  “She seems to be eaten up with shame.”

  “Shame is a very powerful psychological theme. It gets in the way of forgiveness. Weave it with rejection, and we get misery.”

  Jon understood exactly what Father Gabriel meant. “One more thing: Dylan was shot during the firefight on board the ferry. I have no idea how badly.”

  “It’s hard for me to believe Dylan would take money and treat Silvia with such disrespect. He didn’t learn a thing in prison.”

  That was the most condemning word Jon had heard from Father Gabriel. “Reminds me of what my granddad used to say. ‘Son, when you learn a tough lesson, keep the receipt, because some lessons are too hard to repeat.’”

  Father Gabriel chuckled lightly. “I’ll be using your granddad’s line. Appreciate your contacting me.”

  Jon pocketed his phone and returned to Silvia’s side. Her eyes were red, her face puffy, and she radiated a grief that came from a source far beyond the physical fall. Taking her hand in his, he spoke silent comfort into the woman who was guilty of loving a son who’d broken her heart.

  Leah sat with Silvia in the chilly emergency room. Silvia had nothing to say, a nasty brew of fear and grief. She’d received three stitches to her lower right leg and multiple scrapes due to the rough tumble—in far too many ways. Silvia contacted Warren and downplayed her injuries. She told him what happened, then asked him to wait for her call.

  “I need time to think,” she’d said. “We can talk later.”

  While they waited for a nurse to deliver and administer a tetanus shot, Leah tried to engage Silvia in a conversation. “Would you like to talk about this afternoon?”

  “Jon asked the same thing. My son disappointed me.” Her chin trembled. “Somewhere he’s hurt, and I ache for him.”

  Leah formed the words she needed to convey. “Silvia, I’m the one who shot Dylan.”

  She buried her face in her hands. Sobs rose from what appeared to be her soul. “I assumed you had. Did he shoot anyone?”

  “He threatened the people on the ferry, but he didn’t open fire. The gunfire erupted from the speedboat that rescued him. When Dylan jumped, I shot him.”

  “It’s all a nightmare, and I can’t wake up.” Silvia grasped her middle. “I’m going to be sick.” She walked to the sink and emptied the contents of her stomach.

  Leah wet a paper towel and wordlessly handed it to her. Had her own mother reacted to Leah’s behavior like this? Had her mother regretted leaving her alone in a dressing room at the mall when her emotionally upset sister demanded she come home immediately?

  Leah felt a sense of shame wash over her. Perhaps she had been justified in feeling hurt and abandoned in the moment. But hadn’t she done the same thing to her family, leaving them and cutting off all communication? And hadn’t she been miserable as a result?

  As Silvia returned to her chair from rinsing out her mouth, Leah wondered what Father Gabriel would say to the hurting mother . . . and to herself. She faced the distraught woman. “What is your faith, your God, saying to you?” An unusual subject for Leah, but the woman might share her feelings.

  A tear trickled over her cheek, and she whisked it away with a bandaged hand. “I learned the value of faith from my parents. They moved here from Mexico when I was a young girl. My father was a dentist, and he opened his practice here in Galveston. My mother worked as his
receptionist. They instilled in me the power of God and His sacrifice for us. Everything they earned above paying for basic needs went to the church. From them I learned no matter what life brings, He is always there.”

  “Even now? In the midst of so much pain?”

  “I trust God for His provision. And He’s telling me to forgive Dylan.” Silvia paused. “Do you know our heavenly Father?”

  “Let’s say I’m researching Him.”

  Silvia gave her a weak smile. “Faith isn’t about something you can see or document on a report. We’re human and clinging to God isn’t easy. It’s a choice, one we have to make on a daily basis, sometimes even minute to minute.”

  Silvia had effectively reversed the conversation. Leah thought about Terri and how easily her friend had been able to forgive her for the silence she imposed on their relationship. Had Terri’s faith helped her find the strength to do so?

  “And what about you?” Silvia said. “Are you allowing the poison of disbelief to stand in the way of your relationship with God?”

  “When I see horrible crimes and compare them to a deity who’s supposed to be in control, I’m skeptical. Angry.”

  “People aren’t perfect—” Leah smiled at that as Silvia continued—“and God gives us freedom to make our own decisions. I’m doing my best to hold on even though I want to sink into a pit of fear and despair.” Silvia touched her nose, and Leah gave her a tissue from the counter. “I must have made mistakes with Dylan to push him into breaking the law.”

  Leah envisioned how Silvia must have nurtured her son. “I don’t think you taught him how to use a gun or rob a convenience store. He did those things on his own. You took him to church and taught him how to live life according to your beliefs.”

  “No matter how many times I tell myself I did the right things, the guilt is still there. When you’re a mother, you’ll understand. We mothers can be illogical about our children and blame ourselves when they go astray.”

  Did Mom and Dad blame themselves for her mistakes?

  “What I’m saying is I can’t take another breath without God. And I’m going to cling to Him even when I don’t understand why bad things happen. Because I believe good can come out of bad things. I may not see the good right away, but I trust God for it.”