He picked up another phone and dialed.
“Very good, Mr. Blackwell. Now . . . when I give you the signal, I want you to take the money, climb over that back fence of yours, travel though your neighbor’s yard to the other street, and continue north. I will call you when you need to drop the money.”
Gabi hung on the next words.
“Oh, you’ll know the signal. It will make the evening news.”
She started to shake, told herself it was because of the fear in her veins. Her arm under her cast started to itch.
Diaz disconnected the call and turned his attention to the other line.
In Spanish, Diaz told the person on the phone to press the button and to return to the house where he could collect his money . . . and his heroin.
Gabi scratched the back of her neck.
With a wicked grin, Diaz winked at her. “Hold your ears.”
“What?”
The house shook.
Gabi found herself ducking, expecting the house to topple.
Diaz disconnected the call and mumbled, “Stupid bastard. Never put your trust in the wrong person, Gabriella.” He actually laughed. “Oh, that’s right, you’ve already done that a few times.”
Another man, this one thin and jumpy, moved into the room. “I’m ready to go.”
Diaz waved him off.
The thinner man ran into the living room, and Gabi heard Sherman protesting.
She started to stand only to have Diaz point his gun in her direction. “We have to give your husband something for his money.”
Gabi bit her lip and scratched the itch under her skin.
From the corner of her eye she saw that Sherman’s feet were cut free, his hands still bound, as he was shoved at gunpoint out of her sight.
Hunter stood in the wine cellar and waited.
When the explosion rocked the house, he and Dennis both ducked. When he looked up, Dennis was checking the monitors. The cameras around the house were secure, a glow from the south told them the explosion wasn’t far away, but it wasn’t on the property.
“Guess that’s my signal.”
Dennis reached over and zipped up the jacket over the bulletproof vest and spoke into his phone. “Eagle is leaving the nest.”
“Copy.”
“Stay close to the edges of the road so you can duck and cover into a yard. If the guy is smart, he’ll know you’re armed. When he asks, remove the one from your back and toss it.”
Hunter looked at the GPS screen, noted four dots. Two were on the house where Gabi sat. The other two were closer to them.
The police radio at Dennis’s side sent a command.
“Go!”
Hunter took the stairs three at a time. He picked up the heavy duffel bag and started out the back door. He tossed the bag over the brick wall dividing the properties and followed it. The neighbors weren’t home, and they didn’t own dogs.
He’d take his blessings one at a time.
He hopped another fence and headed north. A quarter of a mile up the road, Hunter started to wonder if this was a decoy, or a setup of some sort.
When his phone rang, he answered without stopping.
“There’s a Dumpster on your left.”
“I see it.”
“Drop my package inside.”
Hunter turned in a circle. “Where’s Gabi?”
“Safe. I assure you.”
“Your assurance means shit.”
“Look ahead. See that van?”
A white van with what looked like a pizza delivery logo on the side sat at the end of the street. The side door opened and Hunter peered closer. “Dad?” he whispered.
“A good con always has two options, eh, Blackwell? You’re a businessman, you understand. Drop the money in the Dumpster and I leave your father behind.”
“What about Gabi?”
“All in due time. Gabi will help me leave in one piece. You show me good faith, and I’ll live by my word.”
Hunter refrained from laughing.
A man held his father and shoved him until he yelled, “Fuck these men, Hunter.”
Hunter ran to the other side of the street and tossed the duffel into the bin and stepped away.
“Good man.”
His father was shoved from the van before it sped away. Hunter started to run toward his father.
Around the corner, a garbage truck turned onto the street.
As Hunter fell onto his father, the van that fled exploded. Hunter ducked his head and covered his father’s.
When he looked up, the van was engulfed, his father was out cold . . . and the garbage truck disappeared ten million dollars richer.
Gabi focused on the syringe that sat just beyond her reach on the table. She’d seen him draw up the heroin and knew it was enough to kill whoever came in contact with the needle.
Her death blow . . . the way she’d leave this world? The gun in Diaz’s hand didn’t scare her as much as that syringe. He shouted orders, waited to hear they’d been followed, then shouted more. He switched from Spanish to English, none the wiser that Gabi caught every word.