Whitewater (Rachel Hatch #6)(37)

In the dark gap between the crossing headlights of the two police vehicles stood the barely visible Lieutenant Eddie Munoz. Even now, he struck the same cocky pose, his muscular arms folded neatly across his chiseled chest. He continued to bark at the front door of Ernesto's house.

"You've gotten yourself into a whole mess of trouble with people that don't like trouble. I'm here to sort all of that out."

Hatch saw what he meant by “sort out”. She counted a total of four men, all outside of their vehicles. The driver of the vehicle closest to her was a fat man who she had never seen before, but he wore the uniform of the Nogales Police. Munoz was next, standing to the right of an opened passenger door shielding his torso and lower extremities. The driver of the far vehicle stood a few feet away from Munoz, leaving his door open. The two doors, Munoz’ and the other driver's, nearly touched ends. The fourth man was barely visible except for his hand reaching out into the light. In it, he held a pistol. They all did. All the policemen had their weapons drawn and pointed at the front door of Ernesto and Josefina Cruz’s house, except for Munoz. He remained still with his arms folded.

"You've taken something that belongs to us," Munoz continued as if he was on the podium pontificating a speech to the masses. "Did you not think we'd find out? First, you burned down one of Mr. Fuentes' favorite nightclubs and then you relieved him of his property."

Hatch understood why men like Munoz used words like property or package. Men like Munoz didn't see girls like Letty or Angela as human beings. These girls in their possession were commodities to be traded and sold, to be discarded when used up. Nothing more. From the looks of the way Letty was being treated or about to be treated in that room at Club Fire, she appeared to be heading toward the discard pile.

What bothered Hatch was how quickly Munoz and his goons had been able to track them down. Munoz did not seem like the brightest in the bunch when she’d encountered him in the police department lobby. Yet, here he was, standing outside with a smug look.

"Mr. Fuentes keeps tabs on all his property."

There was the word again. The gears shifted in Hatch's mind and now she had a better inkling as to why or possibly why. Maybe they had tracked the transponder to the mission where they dumped the van and picked their trail up from there, but it seemed doubtful. She'd kept watch the entire way and saw no tail. But he'd managed to show up, in spite of all that.

"The kindness of my offer will only last a very short period of time. The clock has started. I'm going to give you a minute to think about it. At the end of which, I will help you along with your decision.

“There's two ways this can go. In the end, it doesn't matter to me or my men which you choose. The result will be the same. You're coming with me, and the property taken from Mr. Fuentes will be returned to its rightful owner. When those two things happen, I will determine how I handle the three others who chose to help you. But hey, I'm a reasonable guy. And I'm sure I can work something out."

The fat cop to his left laughed. Munoz leaned over and said something in Spanish that even if she could hear, based on the speed at which Munoz spoke, it was doubtful she would have been able to comprehend. But the message was clear.

The heavyset police officer moved off into the darkness, stepping wide, careful to avoid the cone of light flooding the front porch. He began making his way around toward the back.

Hatch pulled her weapon tight to her chest and readied herself for the man who stalked toward the tree she pressed against.





Twenty-Four





The large Cypress painted her in its dark shadow, further masking Hatch's approach under the cloud covered moon above. The man positioned on the back corner of Ernesto's house had radioed to Munoz, letting him know there was no back door access. She heard Munoz's response and understood enough of it to know he told the fat policeman to hold the corner and wait.

He took an interest in the window she'd just escaped from and walked to it. Standing beside the bike she'd soared over, he looked up and lowered, but did not holster, the semi-automatic pistol in his right hand. He was shorter than the bottom lip of the windowsill by a few inches. He forced the balls of his feet to endure the brunt his weight as he pushed himself up on his tiptoes.

The large man wobbled on his stilted toes as he peered in the window. He holstered his weapon to pull out the radio positioned behind it on his patrol belt. The heavyset cop didn't have a lapel microphone attached and had to unclip his radio each time he needed to use it, which this time, he didn't get to do.

While the officer was engaged in a tug of war over his radio with impressive girth spilled out atop of it, Hatch struck the butt end of her pistol against the base of his skull. He fell to ground knocking over the bike she'd narrowly avoided. It clattered loudly in the silent countdown Munoz had given.

Hatch quickly used the man's two pair of cuffs to bind each wrist to his opposite ankle, the crisscrossed shackles rattled as the unconscious man now lay hogtied where he fell. She stuffed his wallet in his mouth and unholstered his pistol and tossed it in the bathroom window. Hatch hoped, should she not make it, the gun would provide Ayala and the others another option before submitting to the hitmen. Hatch hoped they never had to find it.

The gun landed softly on the towels Josefina had set out for Letty. Hatch rounded the other side of the small house, staying out of the light emanating from the patrol cars parked in front. She used the trees as cover while she snaked her way through the darkness, leading up to the other men holding the good people inside hostage.