“No.”
“Come on. Just a little? You don’t enjoy scoring points against dear ol’ dad?”
“That’s not why I sought the appointment, not why I want to be a judge.”
He tilted his head as though he doubted that.
“What happened that day in Halcon?”
Returning to that subject, his goading smile dissolved. “I’d handpicked six men from three different agencies. These six were seasoned officers. Badasses. In their way, just as ruthless as Fuentes. They were as committed to ending his career as I was.”
“You wanted him dead or alive.”
“That was understood. Either way, he’d be a jackpot.” He lapsed into thought, and it was several moments before he continued. “One guy was planted inside, working for the party caterer. The rest of us put a net around the town. We waited all friggin’ day, and it was hotter than hell. I was beginning to think we’d go home empty-handed, that Fuentes wouldn’t show.
“But then late in the afternoon, a rattletrap panel truck pulled up to the back door of the party hall. It looked like a heap, but under the hood was the souped-up engine of a race car. Fuentes climbed out wearing a suit worth five thousand dollars, ten times that much in gold and diamonds, and ostrich boots with silver-tipped toes.”
“A peacock.”
He nodded. “Four bodyguards accompanied him inside. Two stayed with the truck. We moved into position, planning to take out Fuentes when he returned to the truck. Of course we didn’t expect him or his men to lay down their weapons and surrender when ordered to. We knew there would be a gunfight. We just hoped to neutralize them before they could do too much damage.”
“But things didn’t go according to plan.”
“No. The son of a bitch must’ve figured that if any heat was around, we’d be waiting on him as he left. So he didn’t go out the way he’d gone in. He went out the front entrance, the last thing we thought he’d do.”
“Why?”
“The party hall was at the end of a cul-de-sac. I didn’t think he would let himself get boxed in.”
“A logical conclusion.”
He gave a harsh laugh. “Yeah, well, Fuentes defied logic. We were in positions behind the building, jazzed, locked and loaded, when our guy on the inside started frantically whispering in my earbud that Fuentes was heading out the front door.
“I had a millisecond to decide. Scrub it, or go after him? But if we missed him then…” He shifted his eyes slightly and met hers directly. “I didn’t even complete the thought. That’s all the consideration I gave it before engaging.”
He’d reacted just as spontaneously in the courtroom, but she kept the observation to herself.
“I left my cover and ran full out toward the front of the building,” he said. “When I rounded the corner, I saw Fuentes and his four guards walking quickly toward a limo, one of the cortege that had brought the honoree and her family from the church service to the party.
“I called out to Fuentes by name and identified myself. He spun away, like he would duck back into the building. I already had my weapon up. I went for a head shot.” He raised his shoulder, letting the gesture speak for him. “He was dust. But all hell broke loose. My inside guy came barreling out through the entrance. One of Fuentes’s bodyguards shot and killed him instantly.
“By now, all of us were in an exchange. Fuentes’s men inside the panel truck were killed, but not before mortally wounding a DEA agent. He died in surgery.” He closed his eyes and rubbed them with his thumb and index finger. “Tough as boot leather, but a really likeable guy. He had a new joke every day, although he couldn’t tell one worth a damn. Always gave away the punch line.”
He dropped his hand from his eyes but kept his head lowered, staring at the floor. “Final body count: six of them, two of us. That’s not counting the three partygoers who were killed in the crossfire.”
Holly said quietly, “They were killed by Fuentes’s men, not yours.”
“True. Ballistics proved it. But my more outspoken critics dismissed that as a minor detail. The point was that if I hadn’t initiated the shootout, there wouldn’t have been any collateral damage at all. And they’re right.” Looking over at her, he added, “I was as much of a peacock as fucking Fuentes. I wanted a showdown with him, and I got one. A damned bloody one.”
“You were injured.”
“Wasn’t referring to that.”
“I know, but you were shot.”