by Donna Young
“Cal,” Julia warned quietly, but her gaze slid past Cal to just beyond the lights.
Cal saw dozens of silhouettes outlined, each holding rifles, others machine guns. Most were pointed at him and Jason.
“Looks like I’ve finally got your attention,” Cristo said loud and sharp. When neither man responded, Cristo nodded to Jorgie.
“I haven’t seen you since the airport.” Jorgie strolled over to Cal. “Miss me?”
Jorgie drove his fist into Cal’s stomach. He doubled over and dropped to his knees.
“Not as much as you missed me, obviously.” Cal coughed up the bile that slapped at the back of his throat.
Jorgie took his machine gun and slammed it into Cal’s back. Pain exploded, nearly rupturing Cal’s spine. He struggled to breathe through it.
“Now we’re even.” Jorgie laughed.
“Ms. Cutting.” Cristo greeted her as if they were at a dinner party. “I’m glad you could join us. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you for some time.”
He strolled over until he was standing directly in front of her. Suddenly, he gripped her throat just beneath her jaw and squeezed.
Julia sensed Cal go deadly still behind her.
“We are going to have quite the conversation later,” he murmured. “I hope you’re looking forward to it as much as I am.”
Julia glared at him, but said nothing—afraid that any confrontation would push Calvin to do something foolish to protect her.
“Solaris, bring Marsh to me.”
Solaris grabbed Jason by the hair and dragged him over to Cristo’s feet.
“Are we done playing games, Mr. Marsh?”
Cristo pointed his pistol at the agent. “Are you going to tell me where the MONGREL prototype is?”
“He doesn’t know,” Cal interjected.
“Shut up, West,” Jason rasped, then glared at Cristo. Blood glistened, flowing from the cut on Jason’s face down his chin. Giving him the look of a madman. “Go ahead, you son of a bitch. Pull the trigger.”
Jorgie kicked Jason in the back of the head, sending him sprawling.
Argus stepped forward, then hesitated. “Don’t,” Julia warned, then grabbed the boy and pulled him back.
“It’s amazing how fast you’ve changed loyalties, son.”
Argus stared at Jason, who lay still on the ground, unconscious.
“I don’t care about him,” he said to Cristo. Tears wet his cheeks. But his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides.
“But do they care about you?” Cristo asked Argus before his eyes scanned the three adults. “By the end of the day, we will know for sure, now won’t we?”
“It’s time for you to make a choice, West.” Suddenly, the drug lord pointed the gun at Argus. “So what will it be? The child? Your friend?” He swung the gun barrel toward Julia. “Your lover?”
He cocked the hammer with his thumb. “Or the several thousand poor, little rich kids who get their kicks off my cocaine?”
“WHY NOT ME FIRST, CRISTO?” Cal suggested. “That’s what you’ve wanted for a while, anyway. This…” His hand waved around the courtyard. “This was never about gaining control of the MONGREL, was it? It’s all about this moment and your vendetta against Jason and myself. Tell me, Cristo, what bothers you more? The fact that I was the one who got away? The one man who almost killed you. The one who threatened your inner sanctum? The great Delgado family?”
Cristo laughed, a harsh sound that grated deep in his throat. “Haven’t you heard? I have no family anymore. Even my daughter has turned against me. The girl actually thinks she can sue me for custody of the boy.” Cristo spat on the ground. “It does not matter now, does it? He’ll die with the rest of you.”
“You might not have a family, but you still hide behind your men.”
“I lead my men, West.”
“Even when you’re not quite a man yourself?” Cal continued taunting. “Everyone knows now that Jason gave Rosario what you couldn’t manage yourself. A son.”
“She was a whore.” Cristo cursed and took a step forward. “Now she isn’t even that.”
“Deep down you knew Argus couldn’t be yours. How many women have you slept with in your lifetime and have gotten pregnant? Not one, I’m sure. You were lucky to have your daughter. If she really is your daughter. It wasn’t your wives who couldn’t have kids, it was you. Not quite the man you wanted to be remembered as, are you?”
“Man? You speak of men when you’re nothing more than a British pig.” Cristo shoved his pistol at Solaris. “I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”
“Come get me, you bastard,” Jason rasped from the ground.
“Remember Argus, Jason,” Julia warned softly. She tightened her arm around the boy and drew him to her side.
“Yes, Marsh. Remember your son,” Cristo mocked, glancing over at Argus.
The boy lifted his chin, ignored the tears on his cheeks and stepped away from Julia.
Cristo spoke directly to Argus. “After I kill West, I will take care of the woman and your father while you watch, boy. Then you and I will have a painful talk about loyalties.”
“That’s so courageous of you, Cristo. Threatening to torture a boy,” Cal snorted, deliberately drawing Cristo’s attention back. “You’re not a man, Cristo. You’re a coward. And I promise I’ll bury you before we’re done.”
“And I promise to bury you alive,” Cristo bellowed, his hands fisted and up.
Cal shifted into a predatory stance.
“Put all the lights down here,” Cristo ordered.
Almost instantly, a circle of spotlights hit Cal. Momentarily blinded, Cristo tackled him, slammed him back into the dirt.
The guards cheered their leader. Others fired rifles into the air.
“Hear that, West? My men are loyal. I am respected!”
Cal’s back slammed into the ground, jarring his body. Cristo scrambled to his feet. Cal rolled over just as Cristo’s foot came down toward his head.
“They cheer because they are too stupid to know better.” Cal rolled again and came up on his feet. “Is this how it was with Esteban, Cristo? You had your men do your dirty work?”
“Esteban is done,” Cristo spat. “Why do you think this shipment is so important? Why the device is more important?”
“You finally think you found a way to put him out of business, is that it?”
“More than put him out of business,” Cristo corrected, his breath coming in heavy gasps. “Destroy him.”
“Jealous of his success?” Cal circled the drug lord. “Or finally realized the extent of your inadequacy?”
Cristo roared, a bull enraged. He charged, but this time Cal was ready. He stepped to the side, brought up his knee, caught Cristo in the face, shattering his nose.
One of the guards stepped forward, raised his rifle. A shot rang out and the man dropped his weapon. A small bullet hole marked dead center of his forehead. The man fell forward, lifeless.
“You son of a bitch,” Jorgie screamed and stepped forward.
Solaris kept his rifle raised and pointed at the other man’s chest. “Twitch and I will kill you.”
Slowly, Jorgie dropped his machine gun to the ground and moved his hands to his sides. But anger blotched his pock-marked cheeks.
Solaris told Calvin, “Finish this.”
Cristo swore, realizing for the first time that Solaris was backing Calvin. “You son of a bitch,” he said, then spat blood on the ground. “I’ll see you dead.”
Cal took the opening and let go with a round kick that caught Cristo in the jaw. The drug lord staggered back, his knees buckled, his hand found Jorgie’s rifle. He pointed the barrel toward Calvin.
Without warning, a gunshot hit the air. Cristo grunted, then looked down. Blood spread across his chest.
“I killed you first, Papa,” Argus shouted, tears streaming down his cheeks.
Cristo fell backward onto the ground, his body trembling, his chest heaving.
Slowly, Argus walked over to Jason and dropped the pistol in front of him. “You promised to save my mother. And I believed you.”
“Argus—” Jason started.
But the boy shook his head and walked over to Julia.
Jason picked up the pistol. Julia immediately recognized the pearl handle. “Where did you get the gun, Argus?”
“From Padre Dominic’s room.”
She hugged the boy tight to her chest.
Solaris walked over to Cristo. The drug lord groaned and looked at the giant.
“Julia, cover the boy’s eyes,” Cal said quietly.
Solaris pointed the gun and fired point-blank into Cristo’s forehead. “For Rosario.”
He glanced at the boy. “You did what needed to be done. Never regret your actions.”
A roar of rage hit the air. Without warning, Jorgie dropped to his knees and rolled, coming up crouched with his assault rifle in his hands.
“Get down!” Cal screamed as Jorgie’s weapon swung toward Argus and Julia.
Cal dove into the South American. The assault rifle discharged. Cal felt the punch in his stomach, his side catch on fire.
Through the pain, his hand found the other man’s knife.
Jorgie grunted with pleasure, his eyes on Cal’s. “I killed you, West.”
Cal shoved the knife up under Jorgie’s ribs. Realization etched the other man’s features. His body went lax. Cal used the last of his strength to shove Jorgie away.
The man slumped to the ground. Dead before he hit the dirt.
Cal’s knees buckled. He tried to keep upright, but the ground tilted beneath his feet.
“Cal!” Through the haze of pain, he felt Julia beside him. She gripped his arm and eased him to the ground.
“Couldn’t…let…him…shoot…you…the boy.” Fire burned in his chest, stopping the words.
Tears ran down Julia’s cheeks. “Stay with me, Cal! I mean it! If you don’t, I won’t tell you where I hid the MONGREL. I mean it! I won’t tell anyone.”
“In…the…bear.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Grainger’s Bar was located on the edge of D.C.’s Georgetown district. A tribute to the owner’s sense of humor.
An English bar right near the Yank’s Naval Academy.
The owner, Michael Grainger—a retired British naval officer—served with his father through two wars. And several police actions.
The neighborhood bar had been there for years. A place that Cal frequented many times as a young boy with his father. The first place Cal ever got drunk.
And right now, he certainly needed to get drunk.
A shot glass slammed on the table rousing Cal from his thoughts. “You still here?”
“Yep,” Jason said. “We need to talk. But I can wait until you’re ready.”
Grainger walked up to the men in the booth. He set a fifth of scotch on the table between them. “Now, you chaps best behave this time. I don’t want to come back to find my place the mess you left it last time.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Cal argued, his head pounding from lack of painkillers. “My friend here got too enthusiastic over making a point.”
“I left cash on the bar for the damage.”
“And it took three weeks to get it taken care of,” Grainger countered. “My customers suffered.”
“No fights tonight,” Jason promised. “Just a few drinks.”
“All right then,” Grainger said, then patted Cal on the shoulder. “Tell your father I said hello, Cal. I’m closing up. The taxicab number is written on the bottle label. Make sure you lock the door on the way out.”
The big man whistled in a soft, off-tune melody as he walked away.
“If you don’t go away, Marsh, I just might shoot you again.”
Jason considered the possibility for almost half a minute. “Might let you. Seemed to work out for me last time.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“After you put a bullet in my leg, it ended up getting infected. Took me weeks to recover.”
“So?”
“I recovered at Delgado’s villa,” Jason continued. “Under the special care of Rosario.”
“That’s when you got her pregnant.”
Jason studied the shot of whiskey for a moment, then downed the whole thing. “I can honestly say she seduced me, mate. Didn’t find out until much later.”
“So why aren’t you with your newfound family?”
“I’m working on it,” Jason replied without taking offense. “I could ask you the same question.”
“No questions. Just say what you have to, Marsh, and then get the bloody hell out of my life.”
“You called me for a ride home from the hospital, remember,” Jason remarked, his brows drawn together.
“Only because Cain left orders with the hospital not to call me a taxi. Bloody military hospitals. You were the only one I knew who didn’t give a damn that I checked out a few days early.”
“Almost a week early. Considering you just had major stomach surgery, most people would be worried,” Jason commented, then tapped the whiskey bottle. “I’d have to agree. As much as I like the idea of you suffering, this is a bit much. Isn’t it?”
Cal slammed back his shot. “If you’re staying here just to babysit—”
“Actually, I’m here to knock some sense into your head.” Jason poured Cal and himself another two fingers. “You’re a mess, West. You must be in love.”
Cal swore, telling Jason exactly what he thought of his opinion. He laid his head back against the booth and closed his eyes, hoping Marsh might take the hint.
“She’s leaving,” Jason stated.
“It’ll be better for her. She’s not cut out for this town.”
Jason snorted. “You know as well as I do that she could run this town and the people in it. I think that’s one of the things that used to scare me about her.”
Cal raised his head, opened his eyes and cocked an eyebrow, then immediately regretted it when a sharp pain shot through his forehead.
“Look, here’s the deal. She loves you and it’s the right kind of love. Not the kind you and I are used to. What she’s giving you is a gift and you’re walking away from it.”
“It’s not her that’s the problem, Marsh. It’s me. She deserves a better life than sharing mine.”
“Bugger that,” Jason retorted. “Then give her that life, you stupid son of a bitch. Share hers.”
“I’m an unemployed government assassin. That won’t go very far on my résumé,” Cal stated.
“You’ve got money—”
“It’s not enough,” Cal snapped.
“Then use some of it to buy you time to decide,” Jason said.
They heard the front door slam shut.
“Go away, we’re closed,” Cal yelled, disgusted. All he wanted was some peace and to get slowly drunk out of his mind on whiskey.
“That’s my cue.” Jason got up, reached into his pocket and pulled out some cash. He threw it on the table.
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means, I’m your ride, Cal.” Julia walked up to the booth.
“I called her,” Jason said and gave Cal a short salute. “I’m off to mess up my own life some more. You’re going to have to figure yours out on your own, West.”
He leaned over and gave Julia a kiss on the cheek. “Be kind to him, he’s slow.”
Julia nodded, then grabbed his arm as he walked away. “Please be careful, Jason.”
Cal scowled but said nothing.
Jason patted her hand. “I will.”
After he left, Julia reached for the scotch and poured herself two fingers. She picked up the glass. “Cheers, Cal.”
She slammed the drink back in one gulp.
When she reached for the bottle again, he snatched it from the table. “What the bloody hell are you doing?”
“Something I should have done a long time ago,” she admitted. Without
waiting for an answer, she got up and walked over to the bar. “There’s bound to be more, right?”
She slipped behind the counter and searched the shelves. A moment later, she came back with another bottle of MacAlister whiskey. She clinked her bottle against the one Cal held. “His and hers. Beats bathroom towels.”
She poured the whiskey until it hit the brim of the shot glass. “You see, for the first time in my life, I’m not hindered by rules and social etiquette. Growing up, my marriage to Jason, even working for Jon Mercer, I had no choice but to be politically correct, follow social graces.”
She swallowed part of the shot, then blinked when it hit the back of her throat.
“Now, I’m not the Goody Two-shoes of Capitol Hill anymore. I quit my job and am currently unemployed. And free to do as I please.”
If she wanted to drink herself sick, it was fine with him. He’d call the taxi for both of them.
“Why did you tell Jason to be careful?”
“He’s flying to New York,” Julia replied. “It seems Alejandra Delgado went to court and has been granted custody of Argus. She claimed Jason was an unfit parent. The New York court system agreed.”
“Jason’s going to fight for Argus?”
“It looks that way,” Julia answered. “He quit the DEA. He’s going back into law.”
“That’s going to be interesting,” Cal commented. “I almost wish I could watch.”
“I can think of a lot of other words besides interesting.”
“Such as?”
“Ugly,” she answered. “Jason’s changed, but I’m not sure for the better. He’s directed all of his rage at Alejandra. I hope she can handle it.”
“And the boy?” Cal asked. “What does he want?”
“I’m not sure,” she answered. “But I know what he needs is stability and love. I’m not so sure Jason’s ready to give him that yet.”
Rather than her usual tailored business suit, she wore a black leather jacket that skimmed the waist of her slim-fitting black jeans, the curve of her hips. Underneath the jacket was an oversize cowl-neck sweater of deep bronze that set off the gold highlights of her hair and matched the suede brown boots that stopped just below her knees.
“So all the changes you’ve made since we returned from South America—the hair, the clothes, the whiskey,” he observed when she downed another shot. “What is this all about, Julia?”