“And Joaquin felt the same,” Trees added. “So did the colonel.”
“Hmm.” It was nice to know the elder Edgington believed in the motley crew he’d assembled shortly before his retirement…but that didn’t change the fact they were in Mexico to hunt the snake slithering in their midst.
“Hey, when we’re done with the first setup, do you want to head to the strip? Catch some pretty girls jiggling to some terrible music?”
That wasn’t his speed. Besides, with every step he took, his dread kept sharpening. If he was feeling uneasy in broad daylight in the middle of a tourist area, visiting the city’s seedy underbelly well after dark would only make him paranoid.
But another scan of the parking lot proved it devoid of people.
“Nah. Let’s get the fuck out of here. I’m going to head north early in the morning, so I’d like to go to bed early.”
“Fair enough.” Trees nodded as they reached the car. “Hey, mind putting this in the trunk while I tie my shoe?”
One-Mile took the heavy duffel from the tall guy. “No sweat.”
Trees popped the trunk with the fob and bent to his laces when One-Mile caught sight of a quintet of heavily armed men emerging from vehicles and behind trees at the perimeter of the parking lot and spreading out to surround them. They had the hardened look of cartel soldiers.
His blood ran cold. Fuck.
“Get in the car!” he shouted at Trees as he tossed the equipment into the gaping trunk and slammed it closed.
Trees whirled and caught sight of the foot soldiers charging at them, then dived into the front seat. One-Mile sprinted for the passenger door, weapon drawn, as Trees hit the button on the fob to unlock it, then shoved the key in the ignition. He turned the car over as One-Mile popped off a shot, hitting one thug square between the eyes just before he grabbed at the door handle—
Then someone tackled him from behind and forced him down to the gravel, trapping him under a heavy weight that smelled like sweat, testosterone, and gunpowder.
Blood roaring, One-Mile struggled for leverage so he could get off his belly and fight back. He’d learned to defend himself on the streets, goddamn it. He could get himself out of a scrape. But the bruiser on top of him had obviously learned to fight dirty, too, and countered every one of his moves.
He wasn’t getting free from this.
“Go!” he managed to scream at Trees as the asshole sitting on top of him pounded his fingers into the crumbling asphalt and wrenched the weapon from his stinging hand.
His fellow operative hesitated for a split second, and he could feel Trees’ indecision. Then the car peeled out and began to speed away. The other foot soldiers shot at the little white rental, but One-Mile watched it shudder out of the lot and jostle down the road, both glad Trees had gotten away…and terrified of what happened next.
“Not so tough without your backup now,” the foot soldier spat, snorting and panting in his ear. “Are you, Walker?”
Oh, fuck. They knew who he was.
He was as good as dead.
At least Trees had gotten away. There was a chance—albeit a slim one—that his bosses could mount a rescue. The more likely scenario was that they’d recover his body. Someday…maybe. At least they’d know for sure that someone in their ranks was a backstabbing bastard who deserved to be purged.
“Fuck you.” What the hell else could he say?
The pungent weight crushing his ribs laughed. “You will, no doubt, change your tune when you see what we have in store for you… But for now, it is best if you sleep.”
The fat foot soldier on his back twisted to straddle him, then grabbed him by the hair before slamming his head against the pavement a few times. His skull exploded in pain. Blackness swam at the edges of his vision.
His last thought was of Brea. He wished like hell he had a few more stolen seconds alone with her. At least then he could tell her that he’d fallen hard for her.
Chapter 8
Monday, September 8
Lafayette, Louisiana
Wringing her hands, Brea paced the too-familiar halls of University Hospital again. The first time she’d come here, it had been a sweltering summer afternoon. The birds had been singing and the flowers in full bloom. Pierce had been with her, patiently holding her hand and bolstering her while doctors tried to repair her father’s heart.
Now, the weather had begun to cool. Football season was in full swing. The sky was pitch-black, except for a hazy moon hanging in the sky. The clock on the wall read two thirty-eight a.m., and the city outside the windows was almost eerily still. No one stood beside her, devoting himself to her moral support.
But her father’s failing heart was the awful correlation.
She wished Pierce were here now. Since she’d started pacing the emergency room, she had talked herself out of calling him more than once. During her father’s first episode this summer, his steadying force had been her bedrock. Without him now, she felt like she was in free fall. But it would be selfish to reach out to him after weeks of silence. After all, she was the one who had told him she needed space. He’d more than respected her wishes. Why should he come after she’d ignored him for so long?
“Brea!”
She whirled around to find Cutter jogging toward her. She dashed into his arms, grateful she was no longer alone.
But he wasn’t Pierce.
At the thought, guilt filled her. Her best friend had come running after a mere phone call, despite the ridiculous hour, and she was grateful. She pushed thoughts of Pierce aside.
“Thank you for being here,” she said against his chest. “I-I know it’s late. I know you have to work—”
“Shh.” He brushed her hair off her face and cradled her cheeks in his palms, forcing her gaze to his.
