The giant falls to the floor. He doesn’t die right away—I can hear him gasping for air—but he will in the next minute or so.
I drop the empty magazine, load a fresh one, and then turn toward where the glasses fell.
The green glow catches my eye. I pick them up and put them on and see the world as clear as day again. I turn to check on the giant—and see that despite all the bullets in his chest he’s in the process of sitting up. He has a gun in his hand, shaking with the effort, aimed in my general direction. I hurriedly step to the side as he shoots at the wall, stride up to him, and place a bullet in his head.
He falls back to the ground, dead.
Atticus says, “Are you okay?”
I wince at the pain from my already broken rib and the brand-new bruises.
“Peachy.”
“You’re almost done, Holly. Do what you do best.”
I head deeper into the house.
Four
Now that the gunfire has stopped and the power’s out, the house is completely silent.
I’m taking a chance searching the second floor first. For some reason I feel that’s where I’ll find Ernesto Diaz. I probably should check the first floor first, then make my way up to the second, but I don’t want to waste time. Because there’s a very good chance one of the guards called for help once the gunfire started. More men could be here any minute. I’ve done well so far—I mean, hey, I am still breathing—but I’m not sure how much more I can manage, especially with my depleting ammo.
The hallway stretches out in front of me, doors lining both sides. All of the doors are closed.
I approach the first door and stay to the side as I turn the knob and push it open. When nobody fires at me, I peek inside.
Empty.
I do the same with the next room, then the next. All empty.
As I go to check the fourth bedroom, I hear a noise inside, what sounds like whimpering.
I push open the door but don’t step inside, waiting for somebody to take a shot. When nobody does, I slowly step inside the room, sweeping my gun from one corner to the other corner.
The room appears empty—just a bed and chairs and a TV—but I can still hear the whimpering. It’s coming from the closet.
Could that be Ernesto? No, because now that I’m crossing over toward the closet, the whimpering is clearly that of a child.
My heart seizes. My mission is to kill everybody—every living soul—in this house. During my surveillance, I hadn’t seen any children out in the fenced-in area.
I step on a loose floorboard. The sudden sound in the silence is enough to cause the child to cry out in fear.
Only wait—that sounds like another child.
Jesus Christ, there are two of them.
I tear open the closet door and step back, aiming the gun inside. Thanks to the night vision glasses, I can see the two children hiding in the closet, just as I can see the woman crouched down between them, holding them fiercely. Both children start crying. One is a boy no older than five years old, the other a girl maybe a year or two older. Tears cover their faces. The woman stares out at me, fear in her eyes.
I whisper, “Where is he?”
The woman says nothing, just holds the children even tighter.
Part of me—a cold, calculating part—knows I should kill them right here and now. Just place a bullet between each of their eyes. When I came to Mexico, I came with the intent of killing Ernesto Diaz and his family and whoever else stood in my way. It was something I accepted, something I understood needed to happen to keep my mother and my sister and my sister’s family safe. Because Javier Diaz had threatened them. And because Javier Diaz had threatened them, I killed him. And I knew once word got back to Javier’s father, the man would see to it that his son was avenged. I needed to stop the cycle, and so that’s why I’m here now, in Ernesto Diaz’s compound, ready to kill every living soul inside.
But children?
No, this mission may have started out as one with coldhearted intentions, but I can’t bring myself to kill children. Looking at these two now, I’m reminded of David and Casey, whom I last saw only days ago and whom I will never see again. When they were taken, I’d killed to get them back, and now I’m killing to protect my own family, but fuck, I can’t bring myself to kill children, I just can’t.
“I’m not going to hurt you. But I need to know where Ernesto is.”
When the little girl hears the name, her cries renew and she murmurs something in Spanish that immediately seizes my heart again.
Grandpapa.
Of course. These are Ernesto’s grandchildren. And the woman, she may very well be the children’s mother. If that’s the case, that means this is Javier’s wife, or at the least his lover. That alone would add her to my kill list, but I’m not about to end her life while she holds on to her two children.
“Are you their mother?”
The woman shakes her head and whispers.
“Nanny.”
“You need to leave right now. Take the children. Get out of here.”
The woman doesn’t move. The children, held in her tight embrace, don’t move either.
“Now!”
All three of them jump.
Atticus says, “There are children inside?”
“Yes.”
He sighs.
“That is not ideal.”
“No, it’s not.”
Atticus sounds like he’s going to say something else but pauses.
I ask, “What’s wrong?”
“Checking something.”
Then, his voice urgent.
“Bedroom window at the end of the house just slid open. It looks like Ernesto is trying to escape.”
I pull a penlight from my pocket, toss it at the woman. It hits her on the leg and she screams like she’s been shot.
“Relax. It’s just a flashlight. Use it to find your way
