Hunt Them Down(33)

“I live with him and Mom now,” she explained, her eyes pleading with Hector to believe her. “My real father has no money. He couldn’t pay you. The ransom, I mean.”

Hector nodded.

“What’s your father’s name?”

“Pierce Hunt.”

“And where does he live?”

“Right here in Florida.”

“What does he do?”

“He works with the DEA.”



A ransom. Hector believed her. He didn’t think she had lied to hide her real father’s identity. She thought her survival depended on someone paying a ransom. Chris Moon was wealthy; Pierce Hunt wasn’t. It was as simple as that.

But the fact that her father was a federal agent changed things a bit. It wasn’t cause for alarm yet, but he needed to check a few things out.

Pierce Hunt. The name rang a bell he couldn’t quite place, and it bothered him. Google was a big help once again. An in-depth article about an incident involving a DEA agent named Pierce Hunt and Luke Moore, a Chicago reporter, darkened Hector’s mood. Hunt wasn’t a typical federal agent. He had served with the Army Rangers before joining the DEA. When the incident with the reporter happened, Hunt was an RRT team leader. Hector clicked on the images tab.

Unbelievable. A chuckle escaped his lips. Not that there was anything funny about the situation. It was more like a nervous laugh.

He knew who Pierce Hunt was after all. Hector touched the bloodstained bandage on his left arm. He had exchanged a few shots with the man today. And he had the distinct impression he and Hunt would see each other again very soon.





CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Miami, Florida

Hunt eased off the throttle and turned on the boat’s remote-controlled spotlight. A powerful beam immediately reflected off the water. Hunt used a joystick mounted on the dash to direct the beam. He quickly found the two long poles indicating the entrance to the narrow channel leading to Tony Garcia’s house and steered the boat in that direction. The house was hard to miss. Not only was it huge—at least by Hunt’s standards—but spotlights were also aimed at the surrounding grounds. Hunt knew the residence was protected by an elaborate security system. As he got closer, he noted the armed men waiting for him on the dock.

Hunt used the joystick to back the boat into one of the slips. Hunt killed the engines, and one of the men threw a couple of lines to secure the boat.

“Leave your weapons in the boat, Mr. Hunt,” he said.

Hunt didn’t need to look up to recognize whom the voice belonged to. Mauricio Tasis, Tony Garcia’s most brutal and loyal enforcer. Out of necessity, to strengthen his cover, Hunt had once forged a friendship with Tasis. His method of intelligence gathering was crude but highly effective. He wasn’t afraid of breaking a bone or two, if needed.

“I’m not armed,” Hunt lied. If Tasis thought Hunt was going to face Tony and Anna Garcia weaponless, he was badly mistaken. His pistol would remain in the boat’s cabin, but his ceramic knife, which he could draw at a moment’s notice, was secured to the underside of his left forearm. It wasn’t much against the submachine guns Garcia’s men were carrying, but it beat the hell out of having to count on one’s fists to kill a man.

Tasis gestured for him to join him on the dock. Hunt obeyed and stepped out of the boat. One man pressed a gun into his back and used it to push him toward the edge of the dock. They were going to search him. Hunt had expected this and didn’t complain. The handheld metal detector they used let out a low humming noise but didn’t beep when it went over the ceramic knife. Still not satisfied even though the wand hadn’t beeped, one man started to pat him down. That, though, Hunt wouldn’t allow.

He pivoted 180 degrees and grabbed the man’s left wrist, then twisted it to lock the elbow. The man’s eyes opened wide in pain and shock. Hunt drove his left hand into the locked elbow, dislocating the man’s arm. He then slammed his right elbow into the man’s face, breaking his nose, before pushing him off the dock and into the water. The man’s partner was quick to react and lashed out at Hunt with a knife while Tasis yelled at his man to stand down. Hunt stepped clear as the tip of the knife swung wildly past his chest. Before the man could try again, Hunt buried his knee deep into his abdomen, doubling him over and dropping him to his knees before easily wrenching the knife out of his hand. Hunt threw the knife into the ocean and then kneed the man again, this time under the chin, knocking him out. Hunt looked at Tasis. He hadn’t moved an inch. He was still standing twenty feet away, a smile on his lips with his MP5 hanging from a sling on his neck.

“You haven’t changed at all,” Tasis said.

“We’re still friends?”

The smile vanished, replaced by a sidelong look of disgust.

“You betrayed everyone I care for, Mr. Hunt, and not stopping you is my biggest failure.”

“They kept you around nonetheless.”

“Because I promised I’d kill you one day.”

“So why don’t you shoot me?” Hunt said, tapping his finger on his forehead. “This is your chance.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Tasis replied, his voice cold as ice. “There’s nothing I’d like to do more than put you down like the dog you are.”

Hunt didn’t doubt the man’s seriousness. He’d feel exactly the same if he was in Tasis’s shoes. Still, time was of the essence, and they had already lost enough of it bullshitting each other.