Hunt Them Down(13)

“Are you okay, sir? You’re quite pale.”

He looked at the prosecutor, an intelligent and stylish woman in her midthirties. Her form-fitting black dress showed off her slim figure as she made her way to the witness stand where he was seated.

“I’m fine. Thank you.”

“Please say your name for the court record,” the prosecutor requested.

Hunt couldn’t resist. He looked in Anna’s direction. She met his gaze from the gallery. There was no emotion on her face, but a multitude of questions hovered in her eyes. He closed his eyes and exhaled, wishing he was anywhere but in this courtroom.

“Sir, your name, please,” the prosecutor insisted.

“My name is Pierce Hunt.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hunt.”

Mr. Hunt. There it was. His real name, out in the open. No longer a secret to the woman with whom he had shared everything for the last two years. Almost everything, Hunt reminded himself.

Hunt caught Vicente Garcia staring at him. The man’s scowl made his intent crystal clear. Murder.

“And what is your profession, sir?” the prosecutor continued.

Hang on, Anna, this one is going to hurt.

“I’m a DEA agent.”

There was a collective gasp in the courtroom.

“And is it true that for the last two years you infiltrated the Garcia family—”

Hunt barely registered the prosecutor’s question. His attention was on Anna. The last hopeful gleam had finally vanished from her eyes. He had lost her, like he knew he would. Still, it tortured him to see her broken, utterly hopeless because of his actions. But the fact of the matter was that he had a job to do. People like Vicente Garcia thought the laws didn’t apply to them. They were wrong. Drug dealers had taken Hunt’s younger brother’s life. The least he could do to avenge Jake’s death was to send the Vicentes of this world behind bars. It was his sacred duty to do so. He owed it to Jake and to the thousands of families who had lost a loved one to illegal drugs. They were the true victims, not Anna Garcia.

“Would you like me to repeat the question, Agent Hunt?”

“Yes—”

A cry of rage interrupted him. In shock, he watched as Anna sprang out of her seat and jumped over the next one. She took three quick steps and lunged at him. The security officer to Hunt’s left, taken by surprise, was slow to react, but the one standing next to the judge was quicker, and he intercepted Anna midflight. He slammed her to the ground.

The courtroom fell silent. Even the judge didn’t seem to know what to do.

Anna turned her head toward Hunt and yelled at the top of her lungs, “You fucking bastard! I trusted you! I trusted you!”

Then, quieter, as if all strength had left her, she said, “How could you do this to me? I loved you.”

The agony and tears in her voice ripped at him. Her eyes, though, no longer held anger but pain. A pain that was so intense it sliced him open.

I loved you too.





CHAPTER NINE

Present day

San Miguel de Allende, Mexico

Valentina Mieles banged her fist on the table.

“The ungrateful son of a bitch!” Mieles raged. “After everything I’ve done for him and his entire goddamned family. This? This is how he repays me? By talking to the DEA?”

There were five other people seated around the opulent dining table. Anywhere else in Mexico, these men would be feared. But here, in the sanctuary of the Black Tosca’s private residence, they were the ones bowing to a higher power. They worshipped her the way abused animals served their vicious owners, doing anything for even an illusion of approval. Her displeasure, she could tell, made them all nervous.

“Why am I just hearing about this now?”

Only one man was courageous enough to look at her and speak his mind. Hector Mieles. Her cousin.

“It was a mistake to think Tony Garcia would simply roll over and go quietly,” Hector offered. He was her right-hand man. “As you know, over the years he and his father have built a solid distribution network. It would be wise for us to keep as much of it intact as we can. As for the reason why you’re learning about it tonight, I myself just got word from our man in Florida.”

The Black Tosca, dressed in an elegant nightgown, rose from the chair she had occupied at the end of the table. She looked at Hector. Even seated, he looked tall. He was her opposite. She was petite, barely five feet, and he was only four inches shy of seven feet. Over the years, most probably because of her physical appearance, many men had made the mistake of underestimating her. In several cases, it had cost them their lives. What she lacked in physical stature, she made up for tenfold in wit, determination, and a healthy dose of brutality. And what she couldn’t do by herself, Hector did for her. Her cartel had its own intelligence division, and most of the intelligence assets in her network were sources she had developed personally. Some were former lovers she had blackmailed; others she had bought outright.

“Be that as it may, Vicente needs to be stopped. He knows too much about our operations. He’s a threat to all of us.” The Black Tosca looked around the table. “Don’t think for a minute that you’ll be safe if the Americans come after me. Because you’ll be next.”

They were all aware of the far-reaching hands of the American special forces and the DEA. The new American president didn’t care much about his relationship with Mexico. He didn’t mind rattling the cage, which made him a very dangerous man.