Hunt Them Down(30)
Hunt’s thoughts moved to the last time he’d spoken to his daughter. They had argued about her boyfriend.
A boyfriend.
It seemed so trivial now. Had he been too harsh with Leila about it?
Moon came back to the formal living room carrying several drinks on a tray. Hunt’s cell phone rang before he could take his Diet Coke, and he excused himself and stepped into the hallway to answer.
McMaster said, “Heads up, Pierce. The FBI just issued a warrant for your arrest.”
The words were so unexpected that Hunt froze.
A warrant? What in hell for?
He didn’t have time to deal with this bullshit. “On what charge?”
“I’m not exactly sure, to be honest. I got a tip from one of my contacts at the MDPD. He said it’s about today’s ambush.”
None of this was making any sense. He had done nothing wrong.
McMaster continued, “The moment I’m officially notified about the warrant, I’ll have to disclose your location to the investigators. If I were you, I’d ditch that phone of yours.”
Clearly, his boss was trying to help him. Getting a new phone was easy, but what was he supposed to do with the fingerprints he’d taken from the assaulters? He didn’t have the freedom to wait any longer to decide whether he could trust McMaster. He had to.
“Can you do me a favor?” Hunt asked.
“I just did,” McMaster replied before hanging up.
Damn!
Could he really blame McMaster? He barely knew the guy, and McMaster had put his neck out for him by telling him about the warrant. But that didn’t explain why a warrant had been issued in the first place.
It’s about the ambush, McMaster had said.
Hunt’s phone chirped again, this time with an automatic alert from the call center he used to monitor his former undercover phone numbers. There was a message waiting for him. He entered his nine-digit personal identification number and listened. His heart skipped a beat when he recognized Anna’s voice.
I’m not even sure you’ll get this. But if you do, please reach out to me. You know how. If what we shared ever meant anything to you, I beg you to make contact. I need your help.
Did she know Leila was his daughter? No, it was impossible. She had no way of finding out, unless Leila had said something. Highly unlikely. His daughter barely talked to him, and their relationship was touch-and-go. Plus, Leila was using her mother’s maiden name.
Should he call Anna back? What guarantee did he have that she wouldn’t try to kill him for what he’d done to her? And what about her brother, Tony? He wasn’t the forgiving type, and, with the warrant, Hunt certainly didn’t need any more trouble at this point.
Hunt sensed a presence behind him, the same way a blind man might sense the position of the sun from its warmth. He didn’t have to turn around to guess who it was. If McMaster’s contact at the Miami-Dade Police Department knew about the warrant, so did Detective Milburne.
“Do you have the dashcam video of my daughter’s kidnapping, Detective?” Hunt asked, keeping his back to the detective and turning off his phone.
“I’m afraid the camera disappeared from the evidence locker, Mr. Hunt,” Milburne replied. “I’m sure someone misplaced it—that’s all.”
Hunt cursed. Like things aren’t bad enough already.
“There’s another delicate matter we need to discuss, Mr. Hunt,” Milburne said, his voice strained. Hunt noticed the detective had used the word mister, not agent.
Yes, I know. My arrest, Hunt thought.
Hunt turned to face him. The detective was standing a safe distance away, his right hand on the butt of his pistol. No doubt Milburne had called for backup. The idyllic island of La Gorce would soon be cordoned off.
“What is it?” Hunt said, letting things play out. He hoped to learn who had authorized the arrest warrant and why.
“I know this isn’t a good time, and I’m sure this will be cleared the moment you speak with the FBI, but they’ve issued a warrant for your arrest.”
Hunt made an effort to appear surprised and docile. “Really? On what grounds?”
“I don’t know,” Milburne replied, but Hunt sensed the detective was lying.
“Stop the bullshit, and tell me what’s really going on.”
“Aggravated battery.”
Hunt frowned. “What are you taking about?”
“One of your rounds hit a bystander,” Milburne said, his voice sincere and apologetic. “I’m truly sorry.”
Hunt’s right knee buckled, and he had to hold on to the wall to remain standing. Could it be true? Harming an innocent bystander was a law enforcement officer’s worst nightmare.
“Is the person okay?” Hunt managed to mumble.
“I’m told he’s in surgery. The bullet missed his shinbone by a fraction of an inch and tore through his calf,” Milburne explained, using his fingers to show by how much the round had missed the bone.
Hunt breathed a sigh of relief, but the respite was short-lived.
“You’ll have to come with me,” Milburne said, pulling out his handcuffs. “I’m sorry, but I have no choice. Someone caught the whole scene from an adjacent building. The person you shot is pressing charges.”
Hunt grunted. He felt terrible for the bystander, and his sense of duty told him to follow the detective. But now that his daughter had been taken, he couldn’t.