Hunt Them Down(48)

“There’s another house. In Hallandale Beach,” Pomar said.

The other property rented out in Pomar’s name. At least he’s telling the truth. “Go on.”

“There’s a team there.”

“A team?”

“I don’t know who they are, but they’re heavy hitters. Hector Mieles might be on-site.”

Hunt assumed these men were either part of the assault team that had ambushed Vicente Garcia’s motorcade or part of the snatch team that had grabbed his daughter.

“How many of them?”

Pomar’s shoulders sagged, and Hunt swore under his breath. Pomar didn’t know the answer, so he asked, “Why do you think the girls are there? And think before you try to feed me some bullshit.”

“Because it has holding rooms,” Pomar explained. “It’s either that or they’re already on their way to Mexico to be sold or—”

Pomar didn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t need to. Hunt knew exactly what Pomar was thinking. Pretty teenage girls like Leila and Sophia were often beaten, raped, and—once their spirits were broken—forced into prostitution or slavery.

Just like the girls in Chicago, Hunt thought, remembering the twelve dead young women in the warehouse. To ensure Leila didn’t meet the same fate, he’d break the promise he’d made after Gaza a thousand times.

Pomar suddenly started to shake violently. Hunt, alarmed, released Pomar’s throat and tilted his head back. Pomar’s eyes were empty pools, and his mouth hung open.

Not good.



It was becoming harder and harder to think through the throbbing in his shattered knee and the all-consuming agony coming from his forehead. Pomar felt his body starting to jiggle uncontrollably. The pain was unbearable now, and his mind started to drift. His body was shutting down, and his eyes were heavy with resignation. He hadn’t done much good in this world. Beyond his extreme physical pain dwelled the gnawing feeling of utter failure. He should have joined the army instead of the cartel. The pay sucked, but at least he could have been proud of his accomplishments. He had so many regrets, but at least he had told the man everything he knew, which, he had to admit, wasn’t much. For reasons he didn’t understand, since it defied any kind of logic, he didn’t hate the man for what he had done to him. As Pomar slipped into unconsciousness, the last thing he saw was the man’s face and the glint of a knife.



There was nothing to gain from staying in the condominium any longer. Pomar hadn’t been part of the team that kidnapped Leila—that much was clear—but it didn’t mean he didn’t deserve what Hunt had done to him. Hunt cut the duct tape around Pomar’s wrists with his knife. Since Pomar was a cartel member, Hunt wasn’t worried about him calling the police.

Hunt was halfway up the stairs when he stopped dead in his tracks and listened. He thought he had heard something coming from the third floor. He took a deep breath and held it in. He waited. There it was again. A soft scratching sound faintly touched his ears, followed by an even quieter click. It took Hunt a moment to place the sound. Was someone picking the lock? Hunt unzipped the bottom pocket of his backpack and pulled out his pistol. His heart thudded in his chest as he weighed his options. His exit strategy was to continue to the fourth floor and to go out the balcony and down the drainpipe. An alternative was to go back to the third floor and see who was trying to gain access to the condominium.

Hunt brought his gun up, and, praying for no squeaky steps, went down the stairs. He took position behind a doorframe so he could cover the front door. The door cracked opened. The hall light cast half a human shadow through the opening. Someone was waiting just outside the condo, listening. A moment later, the muzzle of a pistol appeared, and then a figure slipped inside the condo. The figure silently closed the door. There was just enough light for Hunt to recognize the intruder.

Anna Garcia.

“Anna, it’s Pierce,” Hunt said from behind the doorframe. “What are you—”

“Damn it, Pierce! You’ve been gone for more than fifteen minutes. What do you want me to do? For how long did you expect me to wait in the car? I came here to help you.”

He switched the light on. Anna held a hand up to her face to shield her eyes from the sudden glare. Hunt was both pissed and impressed at the same time. The fact that Anna had the guts to gain access to the building, pick the lock, and come in with her gun drawn showed him she wanted to find the girls as much as he did.

“There were two cameras covering the front entrance of the building,” Hunt said.

“No worries. I took care of them.”

“You took care of them? How?” he asked, making his way to Pomar’s bedroom.

“Through their Wi-Fi network,” Anna explained, holstering her pistol.

Hunt squinted at her. “You know how to hack?”

“Don’t look so surprised. You don’t have to be trained in information technology to know how to break into a simple system.”

Hunt shook his head. Given how much of himself he’d concealed from her, he supposed it was only fair that she had some secrets too. “Anyhow, this Pomar guy didn’t know much. He said that Hector Mieles might be in Miami. More specifically, in Hallandale Beach.”

“At the other Black Tosca safe house?”

“Yes.”