He showed her the basics of loading the clip and snapping it into place. How to clear the weapon and release the clip. After several practice tries, she got the hang of it without pinching her skin. The pistol was a lot heavier with the loaded clip. He made her practice aiming at the logs against the berm.
Standing behind her, he braced his arm against her shoulder, helping her aim down the barrel’s sights. His warm breath against her neck sent tingles down her arm.
“When you’re ready to fire, take a deep breath, then squeeze the trigger on the exhale. Don’t pull it. Just squeeze, nice and steady.”
He stepped back.
The log through the sights was tiny. Her imagination was far too trained from her mystery novels, and she imagined a dark-hooded man aiming a weapon at her.
She fired.
A puff of dust rose up from the berm several feet off-target.
The recoil jarred her arm and set her heart racing.
“Not bad for your first shot,” Reed commented behind her. “Use your core muscles to brace yourself against the recoil.”
She fired again, and this one went several more feet off-target in the other direction. The casing flew up over her head, the metal bouncing off her hand and burning against her skin.
“Now you’re compensating for the recoil. Expecting it and dipping the pistol in the other direction. Remember, just a light squeeze of the finger.” He moved in behind her, gently pressing a hand into her shoulder. “Again. Breathe in, then fire.” His whisper grazed along her neck, setting her pulse fluttering for a different reason.
Her third shot hit the top of the log, wood splintering into the air.
Skye allowed herself to smile. She glanced back at Reed.
He kissed the tip of her nose. “Keep going. You’re on a roll.” When he stepped back, she refocused and fired again. And again. Down the line, until she’d plugged a bullet or two into each log. Then he helped her practice reloading the clips with fresh bullets.
“If someone is coming at you, one shot out of this nine-millimeter won’t do it. It’ll take three or four shots. Or for someone bigger, you need to empty the clip into their chest. So, you’ll need to practice firing back to back in the same spot.”
Her heart stammered on that image. “Do you think it’s going to come to that?”
“Probably not. But having the practice can’t hurt.” He helped her start reloading the clip. “Better safe than sorry.”
“Um, this partner of yours…” Skye began, pressing the metal into the sheath. “Was he as good with a weapon as you?”
He paused for a long time, just watching her hands. “No. He was a much better shot.”
“Hard to believe. Even better than what you did at the cabin?”
Reed scoffed. “He would’ve only needed one clip to take down those thugs. Then again, he was also more seasoned.”
“He was older than you?”
Reed checked the clip before he loaded it into the pistol, his face concentrated. Methodical. “Joe was the tactical part of our team. Front lines, if you need a term for it. He did all the face-to-faces with our targets.” A hint of a smile crossed his lips. “Playing the part of a Mexican cartel druggie came easier to him. Fluent in Spanish and had a few family members in the drug scene. He once told me every time he had to meet with his contacts, he pretended to be one of his cousins. Who’d spent most of his life behind bars smuggling drugs into prison.”
“And computers were your part of the team?” Skye aimed the gun at the log again.
“I came from computer forensics. My specialty was cybersecurity, and Joe convinced his superiors to recruit me from that department to join him on his case. He needed someone close by, hands-on, who could run the operation’s tech part.” His smile widened. “He chose me since I was the one who first cracked into the cartel’s accounts and moved their money around for three months.”
She lowered the weapon. “Seriously? How much money are we talking about here?”
“A couple hundred million.” Reed grinned. “That wasn’t even my directive.” The look on his face was full of pride. An ego that she’d seen on him only three times before. First, after she tested his first bowl of clam chowder at the diner. Second, after he’d bested Vance at the festival. And again after their lovemaking, where he’d made her climax three times in a row.
Normally, an overinflated head was a major turnoff to her, but on him, with the millions of dollars, he’d hidden from criminals… So damn appealing.
“Why’d you do it?” she asked.
“Because I could. I heard my bosses complaining about the cartel leaders being a step ahead of them time and time again. The enemy had taken a giant leap forward in their technical capabilities. DEA couldn’t keep up. So they put a contest out to our team. Find their shell companies and freeze their bank accounts. Winners would get a huge bonus and a case of tequila.”
“And you won?”
“Yep. I tasted that first smooth shot of Cristalino right at my desk. Then took it a step further. I moved their money around. Had them chasing their cash around the globe like a cat on a laser pen.”
Skye laughed at the image. She aimed again and went down the line of logs, plugging a bullet into each one. She missed about half of them and frowned. “Did they eventually catch up to you?”
“Several times. That’s how I proved they had a more sophisticated tech person on their team.”
“Which is when Joe asked you to join him?” She handed him the emptied gun.
He nodded, taking the weapon and clearing it. “The dynamic duo for three years. He’d find a lead, I’d follow it and give him everything he needed to confront the next target. All the while, I’d protect his back with surveillance, phone taps, the works. I got really good at hacking into GPS devices and putting trackers on cars. One of the few tasks I’d leave the safehouse for.”
“You were stuck in the safe house the whole time?”
He reloaded the clip, bullet by bullet, taking a long time before he answered. His expression softened, the pride slipping from his gaze. “I didn’t have as much field experience as he did, even though I’d been through the academy. Joe was extremely protective. Saw firsthand the carnage these bastards left behind. It’s one thing tracking them down behind digital walls and screens. It’s quite another to see the disturbing, bloody shit up close. He was trying to spare me that as long as possible.” He started packing up the guns.
“You don’t want to have a turn?” Skye asked, gesturing to the logs.
“Better to save the ammunition.” He zipped the bag closed. “You’re a quick study, Skye Winters. You’ll be a sniper shot in no time.” He grinned.
She sighed. Many of her shots went wide, and it would require a lot more precision to take down anyone coming at her. This was one activity she had very little faith in herself. “Maybe I’ll just stick to moral support.”
Reed stepped forward and curled an arm around her shoulders. He pulled her in for a gentle hug, placing a sweet kiss on her forehead. “You did great for your first time. This takes practice, like everything else.”
She wrapped her arms around his middle, breathing in his cologne. Hoping it would soothe her a little more. He was way too kind. Trying to amp up her confidence. But she wasn’t stupid. If thugs really were after him and his life depended on her ability to fire one shot when it counted, they were in serious trouble.
“You have no idea how great it feels to have you with me,” he continued. “This whole thing will be over soon.”
Diego downed his fifth shot of tequila. He’d bought a brand new bottle of his favorite to celebrate this night, supposed to be the culmination of his hunt for that bastardo DEA agent. Closing off that final loose end would prove to his uncle and all his generals that he was more than just a tech genius. That he could be trusted with the more strategic moves of their family’s business. He was more than just a bastard child to burden the cartel with another mouth to feed. He was the nex
t in line to take over everything.
But his plans had gone far left of his intended solution. More than twenty-four hours had passed, and those two jackasses he’d sent to Washington to take out the Hooverite still hadn’t checked in. In this line of work, no news was definitely not good news.
His cell phone twerked across the dining room table. A blocked caller ID. This had to be them.
Diego scooped it up and answered. “What the hell took you so long?”
“Diegocito.”
His lungs froze. That tranquil voice did not belong to the scout. It belonged to his uncle.
“Jefe. Que paso?” Keeping his voice calm was well-practiced, despite his amped-up blood pressure.
“I hope I’m not disturbing you. You sound troubled.”
Diego knew better than to trust the man’s calm demeanor. Behind that cordial facade was something more brutal. Meant to throw people off their guard.
“Not at all. How is everything?”
“Come outside.”
Diego stood, his heart rate now overloaded. He looked around, expecting two men to jump out of the shadows to throw a hood over his head. “You’re here?” He forced his own voice to remain friendly. “Come inside for a drink, Tio.”
“I have other plans tonight. So do you.”
A knot crawled up his throat. The tequila threatened to expunge from his stomach in a violent escape. “I’m not dressed to go out, Tio. Perhaps tomorrow.”
“Now.” The line clicked off.
A harsh knock made him jump. His hands turned clammy, and the phone nearly slipped from his fingers. The sweat on his neck had nothing to do with the humidity.
He had no choice but to open the door. There was no ignoring Carlos Cabello. The more he delayed, the worse it would be.
He shucked the wrinkles out of his shirt and pants and brushed his fingers through his greasy hair. He’d just have to play this cool. Hopefully, his uncle had something else on his mind.
When he opened the door, Emilio stood on the stone porch. His uncle’s head henchman leaned against the frame as if he was bored. The large brute always carried at least three weapons. And his disinterested air was nothing more than a cover. Calculating brutality was his whole existence. They merely tolerated each other.
Diego sent up a silent prayer that Emilio’s ugly face wouldn’t be the last face he ever saw on this Earth.
At the end of the pavestone walkway was his uncle’s gray sedan. With the back door open, awaiting him. He doubted Carlos was inside. That man rarely met anyone outside his hacienda—too paranoid people would follow him. And he was right to worry. Diego had lost count of how many international agencies were looking for the cartel boss. He wouldn’t be surprised if they had a whole satellite pointed at him right now.
Diego slowly approached the car, Emilio following closely. He also knew better than to ask him what his uncle wanted. Even if the second-in-command knew, he would never speak for Carlos Cabello.
Outside the car windows on the thirty-minute drive to his uncle’s hacienda, all was quiet. Eery for the early evening, as if everyone knew the local cartel was out in force to pull in perceived snitches or to collect on loans.
What felt like only moments later, he stood before his uncle in the back of the hacienda. In the lion’s den. The boss sat behind his ornately carved desk and sipped an expensive red wine. A soccer game played softly on the flatscreen television on the other side of the room, the announcer’s voice providing a play-by-play accounting. He could almost hear the guy calling out the sequence of events coming up in this very room. Something similar to the killing by the barn a few weeks ago. Only with his own brains splattered across the handwoven rug under his feet.
Sweat dripped down Diego’s spine, but he kept silent. His hands remained nonchalantly in his pockets. “Buenos noches, señor.”
“Actually, it hasn’t been a good evening, Diegocito. But you already knew that.”
“I didn’t. How can I help make it better for you?”
“You can stop giving my men orders. I never approved of them running errands for you.”
His gut clenched. He wasn’t stupid enough to think his uncle wouldn’t find out he’d asked two of his thugs to go up to Washington State to remove that DEA agent. He was only hoping they’d be back by now with great news. “You’ve asked me to take care of the pest problem. That’s what I’m doing.”
Carlos slammed his fist on his desk. The sound echoed off the brick walls. “What you’ve done is caused me much bigger headaches. Your plan failed. Both my men are dead, and I’m now all over the radar in the Pacific Northwest.” He grabbed a stack of papers from his desk and threw them at Diego. “Thanks to you and your stupidity.”
Diego bit back a curse. He hated being called that name. He should’ve known his uncle sent scouts to find the whereabouts of his men. That was the only way he would’ve known the outcome before Diego. He caught one of the papers that slowly drifted toward the floor. It was a print-out of either a satellite image or a drone camera over a wooded area. Two bloody bodies lay outside a mountain cabin, with deep tire tracks leaving the gravel drive.
He forced a small smile to prove he wasn’t afraid. “At least I found that bastard’s location. I told you I would.”
“And made him more untouchable in the process,” Carlos bit back. “The man has already fled. You think you’ve actually helped me?” He scoffed and stood. Then started to prowl around the room. “I’ve killed men for lesser offenses, cabron.”
“Then do it.” Diego put up his hands in mock surrender. “I’ve tried everything I can to make you happy.”
“No. You’ve done everything you can to surpass me. To take control away from me. Because you think you could do it better?”
The danger behind the old man’s words could’ve been measured by a bullet.
Diego forced a deep breath to calm his anger. “I’ve created a state-of-the-art distribution and communication system for you that no one will ever detect. I’ve ensured your security and secrecy for the next decade. All for you. And the only thanks I’ve received is more ridicule. More leashes. If I’ve pissed you off that much, then just do it. Better that than being a puppet you still see as a liability, instead of family.”
Carlos scowled. In the dimly lit room, the shadows made him more formidable than he already was. “You are lucky I don’t. You have my brother’s face. And his impatience. What did I tell you all those years ago, niño?”
Fury flared up in his chest. “I am not a child!”
“Then stop behaving like one. Your time will come when you’re ready. The only thing you’ve shown me, Diego, is that you are not ready. You still make careless mistakes caused by your arrogance. Mistakes I have to fix.” He moved in front of his nephew and swiped his shoulders as if to clear the wrinkles.
Diego flinched.
Carlos’ scowl turned to disdain. “You look like you just crawled out of a whorehouse. And you reek of that tequila—the sweet one.” He grimaced. “Tomorrow, you’ll go to la casa del lago while I clean this up. You will stay there until I tell you to return.” He turned and stepped closer to the windows. Surveying his little fucked-up kingdom.
It took everything in Diego’s power not to scream. La casa del lago. The hacienda at Lake Chalapa in southern Mexico was exile. Remote and disconnected, and where the cartel patriarch shoved aside problems until he could deal with them. It was the last place Diego wanted to go.
He followed him, clenching the paper in his fist. “No. I know where the DEA scum is. I will handle it myself.”
“No!” his uncle bellowed. “You are to do nothing. Lay low, unseen.”
“But what about the new system? My game launch needs to be managed to keep your mules up and running. Only I can do that.”
“I am prepared to make certain sacrifices to ensure my business is secure. Including going back to my old methods for the time being. One of the most important lessons you will learn is when to strike and
when to duck back into the sands. Like a scorpion. Come out too soon during sunlight, and you’ll be scooped up by vultures.”
“I can do this, Tio. I’ve worked too hard to disappear now.”
Carlos whirled and wrapped his hand around Diego’s neck. The grip suffocated him. “You will do as I say,” he whispered harshly. “Disappear.”
“Fine.” The word scraped along his crushing vocal cords.
His uncle let go.
Diego gasped for breath and massaged his throat. Resenting every single one of the painful breaths, because they were all controlled by the son of a bitch in front of him.
The announcer from the soccer game bellowed out, “Goal.” His uncle smiled at the television and started clapping his hands.
The sick bastard.
Emilio escorted Diego out, back to the gray sedan where another one of his uncle’s men drove him back to his home. Diego kept his forehead against the glass window, willing the plan to formulate in his mind. He agreed, he would disappear.
But after. After he found that DEA burro and ended his life with his own pistol.
Once he made it back home, he’d track him down, follow the trail of desperation, and finish him off. He could get on a plane state-side easily enough.
He opened the paper in his fist. A name and license plate number scribbled at the bottom would lead him to the ultimate redemption: Guy Hancock.
Skye stared at the dilapidated motel through the windshield. Her stomach twisted at the exterior’s fading paint, rusted-screened windows, and overgrown bushes. A forgotten, institutional look.
Charming.
Once they’d spotted the Seattle skyline driving in from the Cascade Mountains, they seemed to have driven for hours before they found this place tucked in the hills south of downtown. She’d hoped to keep Elliot Bay in view during their hideaway while Reed finished his research, so she could feel a little more at ease. The sound of the water always made her feel at home, knowing the creek was near-by. Yet these dense, dismal trees and down-trodden surroundings, now she felt truly on-the-run.
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