Hunt Them Down(60)

The Black Tosca had always allowed him maximum flexibility regarding how he accomplished his missions over the years. What he had in mind this time around, though, would require her approval. The only question was if he should call her now or once he had set the wheels in motion.

“Sir,” his driver said, pointing outside.

Hector looked up from his phone and spotted a number of police cars parked on the highway’s shoulder about a quarter mile ahead of them.

A knot formed in his stomach. Could the police be looking for them? Doubtful. Still, Hector had a hard time believing how fast this mission was turning into a clusterfuck. He didn’t need any more problems. He had enough shit to deal with.

“Make sure you aren’t speeding,” Hector said to his driver. “And relax.”

The driver nodded, but his fingers tightened on the wheel. The presence of the police cruisers clearly bothered him.

His two men in the back shifted in their seats. A quick look confirmed they were getting ready to face the new threat if it materialized. A moment later, they drove past three marked Florida Highway Patrol cruisers. Six officers, coffee cups in hand, were standing in front of their vehicles, laughing.

Keep laughing and having fun, guys, and you’ll go home at the end of your shift, Hector thought.

But he knew that wasn’t to be when, one minute later and only five minutes away from Palm Beach County Park Airport, he saw a riot of flashing red emergency lights in his mirror.





CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

South of Hypoluxo, Florida

Corporal Ryan Steck from the Florida Highway Patrol was looking forward to the end of his shift. His wife, Mary, had given birth to their fourth child forty-eight hours ago. In two days, he’d be on paternity leave for a full month. Mary was a fantastic mother, but he knew she was looking forward to getting some help. She kept an immaculate house and was also a great cook, but with a newborn and three children all under the age of five, it was about to get very, very busy.

It was three in the morning. His shift would be over in four hours. It had been a slow night. A few routine traffic stops, a drunk driver, but nothing too serious. For Corporal Steck, staying awake at this hour was the hardest part of the shift. He had stopped at the Dunkin’ Donuts to pick up six large coffees and six donuts—three vanilla-frosted and three coconuts—for his crew. He hoped the coffee and sugar would keep them alert until the end of their shift.

He asked his crew to meet him on the highway at a specific mileage sign a few miles south of Hypoluxo. By the time the rest of his team arrived at the meeting point, his partner, Trooper Erica Eiderzen, had gulped half her coffee and eaten all of her donut.

“I don’t understand, Erica, I really don’t.”

“What?” she asked, licking her fingers.

“Your fitness level is light-years ahead of mine. How many donuts do you eat a day again?”

“I don’t count,” she replied, drinking the last of her coffee. “Three or four, maybe? It really depends who’s buying.”

Erica was a tall, hardy woman with a handsome but serious face. She wasn’t talkative by nature, but Steck liked her very much. They’d been partners for three years, and she was the godmother of his third child.

“I wish I had your metabolism,” he said, opening the door of his police cruiser.

She shrugged. “How many hours do you spend working out, Ryan?”

He didn’t work out anymore. He’d love to, but with three kids—now four!—there weren’t enough hours in the day. And he felt it too; his stomach wasn’t as hard as it used to be.

“I walk my dog twice a day,” he said. “Does that count?”

Steck loved his crew. They were hardworking guys and girls—and they trusted each other. He was sad to see one of them go. Tonight was Trooper Linda Farrell’s last night shift. Two weeks from now, she was to report to the FBI Academy to begin training. Steck was convinced Farrell would become a great FBI special agent. She had the strength, tenacity, wits, and guts to reach the higher echelons of the federal police force. Steck had always known the highway patrol was only a stepping-stone for her, but he didn’t mind. He’d shared with her everything he knew about the job. She had repaid him in kind with hard work, loyalty, and dependability.

“I’ll miss you guys,” Farrell said, accepting a coconut donut from Steck. “What I’m not gonna miss are these romantic highway impromptus.”

Steck was big on dissuasion. He was a firm believer that motorists would change their driving habits if they saw enough FHP cruisers on the highways. Statistics supported his claim, so he continued to hold team meetings off the highway’s shoulder.

They exchanged a few jokes and anecdotes before Steck asked them if anything had spiked their attention since the beginning of their shift.

“The report about the red Jeep SRT was kind of out of the ordinary,” Farrell said.

Steck had thought so too but hadn’t dug any deeper. “Why’s that?”

“It said a man knocked out two patrol officers before climbing into a red SRT.”

“And?”

“Well, I took the liberty to investigate a bit further,” Farrell said.

“What did you learn?”

“The patrol officers said that the man who had assaulted them had also savagely beaten up the occupant of one of the units.”