Hunt Them Down(84)

“Hello, Cole,” she said, lifting her eyes from her mobile phone. “How nice of you to stop by.” She pointed at the armchair in front of her. “Come on—don’t be shy. Have a seat.”

She turned her attention to Nicolás. “I’ll be fine,” she said, dismissing him. When Nicolás didn’t move, she whooshed him off with a wave of her hand. Once he was gone, the Black Tosca leaned forward. She delicately touched his knee and squeezed, and then she said, a half smile on her full lips, “I’m told you brought a gift?”



Hunt started counting the moment he heard Egan slam the door. When he reached six hundred, he pulled back the tarp, transitioned from his back to his belly and then to his knees, and slowly raised his head until he could see out the SUV’s windows. Through the front windshield, he spotted one of the guards. Egan had mentioned two guards. Where was the other one? Hunt angled his head left to right. There was no sign of him.

Egan had been inside the house for ten minutes now. It was time for Hunt to make his move. He waited until the guard’s attention was away from the SUV before climbing over the rear seat. He confirmed the SUV’s doors were unlocked. With his eyes on the guard, Hunt raised his left hand and grabbed the door handle. In his right, his suppressed Glock was ready to go. Hunt threw the door open—not powerfully enough for it to bounce back—and raised his pistol to eye level. The guard, who had probably caught the movement in his peripheral vision, moved his hand to the inside of his jacket. The guard gave Hunt the same surprised, stunned look a six-year-old child gives his parents after they tell him Santa Claus doesn’t exist. Hunt squeezed the trigger, burying a bullet in the guard’s heart. The Oyster silencer jumped half an inch, and Hunt fired his second round the moment his sights were on the guard’s head. The bullet tore away the right side of the man’s face, spun him around, and dropped him on the polished marble of the entryway. From there, Hunt moved rapidly. He scanned around for the missing guard one last time and then entered the house, dragging the dead guard behind him.





CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

San Miguel de Allende, Mexico

The Black Tosca accepted the plastic bag. She untied it but recoiled immediately, taken aback by the pungent smell emanating from the bag. She closed it without looking inside.

“Whose head is this?” she asked, holding the bag in one hand.

“Pierce Hunt’s.”

“Is it really?” she asked, wondering why he hadn’t simply texted a picture to her. But she was glad to see him. It had been quite a while since their last “encounter.”

“How’s Katherine these days?” she asked, even though she couldn’t care less.

For a fleeting moment, she saw something dark flare in his eyes, but it was gone the next instant. Had he fallen for Katherine? A surprisingly strong jolt of jealousy rushed through her. How dare he?

She felt as if she was being robbed. She, and she alone, was allowed to do whatever she wanted with whomever she wanted to do it with. Her expression hardened. She was about to shout something but remembered she needed “Mr. Granger” in Florida for the foreseeable future. So she bit her lip, almost drawing blood, and promised herself she’d find a way to hurt him in a way that wouldn’t compromise the work he did for her.

Nicolás appeared silently behind Egan, a baseball bat in his trembling hands. His teeth were clenched, giving his usually soft and beautiful face a hard, set facade, and his eyes were wild with anger. She didn’t know what this was about, but Nicolás had never failed her, in life or in bed. This must be important.

Then Egan lunged at her.



Egan sensed someone approaching behind him. The Black Tosca betrayed and confirmed the person’s presence by moving her eyes above Egan’s head. Egan planted his feet on the ground and propelled himself forward. The baseball bat that smashed across his back slammed Egan onto the swanky carpet of the library. The bat struck again, this time landing directly at the back of his neck. Lights exploded behind his eyes. He tried to turn to his side and use his forearm to protect his head against the next blow, but he failed. He blacked out when the next blow connected behind his left ear.



“Stop! Stop!” the Black Tosca yelled.

Like an obedient child, Nicolás stopped midstrike. Cole Egan was convulsing on the floor, his legs kicking and thrashing. Brain damage. No longer useful. These were the first two thoughts that popped into the Black Tosca’s head. Then she looked at Nicolás and asked, “What have you done, you fool?”

“Hector’s dead, and so are the men who went along to óliver Sáez’s with him. He might not be alone.”

Nicolás picked up the black garbage bag and emptied its contents onto the floor. Two dead mice fell from the bag, followed by Hector’s head, which rolled past the carpet and onto the hardwood floor. The Black Tosca’s knees buckled at the sight, and she had to grab onto Nicolás’s arm to remain standing. She began to feel violently ill, and a moment later, she threw up in short, violent spasms. When she was done, she wiped her mouth with her forearm. She looked around her but was too stunned to move. Then a weird feeling engulfed her, and, oblivious to her surroundings, she made her way to the bar area of the library and poured herself a large quantity of single malt. She drank half the glass. Nicolás was next to her, and she saw that his lips were moving, but she couldn’t understand anything he said. It all sounded like gibberish to her. Nicolás moved to her face, forcing her to meet his gaze.