Anna Garcia, Vicente’s daughter, had been Hunt’s mark from the get-go. She’d been his way into the organization. The analysts had chosen her not only because she was smart but also because she didn’t seem to possess the criminal mind that was rampant within her family. And they’d been right. Her role within the Garcia crime family was trivial, and Hunt hadn’t bothered digging too deep because the focus of the investigation had always been her father. At least that was how he justified his decision not to prod too aggressively. The fact that he’d fallen for Anna within minutes of seeing her certainly had nothing to do with it, right?
He’d been such a fool. He had played a dangerous game, and now he was about to pay the price.
Hunt could feel Anna’s eyes on him. He didn’t dare to look in her direction, afraid of what he might see. His heart had never beaten so fast, and he couldn’t quite breathe. The courtroom was packed, raising its temperature a few degrees. Film crews were barred from the courtroom and had to make do with waiting in the hallway. He couldn’t even imagine the confusion Anna must have felt when he walked into the courtroom through the main door and not the one reserved for the accused. The last time she’d seen him was when the DEA had broken into their home and arrested him and Vicente, who’d stayed over after drinking too much wine during dinner. Unbeknownst to Anna, it was Hunt who had called in the cavalry. Vicente was well protected inside his own home. Not so much at the house Hunt had shared with Anna.
“Are you okay, sir? You’re quite pale.”
He looked at the prosecutor, an intelligent and stylish woman in her midthirties. Her form-fitting black dress showed off her slim figure as she made her way to the witness stand where he was seated.
“I’m fine. Thank you.”
“Please say your name for the court record,” the prosecutor requested.
Hunt couldn’t resist. He looked in Anna’s direction. She met his gaze from the gallery. There was no emotion on her face, but a multitude of questions hovered in her eyes. He closed his eyes and exhaled, wishing he was anywhere but in this courtroom.
“Sir, your name, please,” the prosecutor insisted.
“My name is Pierce Hunt.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hunt.”
Mr. Hunt. There it was. His real name, out in the open. No longer a secret to the woman with whom he had shared everything for the last two years. Almost everything, Hunt reminded himself.
Hunt caught Vicente Garcia staring at him. The man’s scowl made his intent crystal clear. Murder.
“And what is your profession, sir?” the prosecutor continued.
Hang on, Anna, this one is going to hurt.
“I’m a DEA agent.”
There was a collective gasp in the courtroom.
“And is it true that for the last two years you infiltrated the Garcia family—”
Hunt barely registered the prosecutor’s question. His attention was on Anna. The last hopeful gleam had finally vanished from her eyes. He had lost her, like he knew he would. Still, it tortured him to see her broken, utterly hopeless because of his actions. But the fact of the matter was that he had a job to do. People like Vicente Garcia thought the laws didn’t apply to them. They were wrong. Drug dealers had taken Hunt’s younger brother’s life. The least he could do to avenge Jake’s death was to send the Vicentes of this world behind bars. It was his sacred duty to do so. He owed it to Jake and to the thousands of families who had lost a loved one to illegal drugs. They were the true victims, not Anna Garcia.
“Would you like me to repeat the question, Agent Hunt?”
“Yes—”
A cry of rage interrupted him. In shock, he watched as Anna sprang out of her seat and jumped over the next one. She took three quick steps and lunged at him. The security officer to Hunt’s left, taken by surprise, was slow to react, but the one standing next to the judge was quicker, and he intercepted Anna midflight. He slammed her to the ground.
The courtroom fell silent. Even the judge didn’t seem to know what to do.
Anna turned her head toward Hunt and yelled at the top of her lungs, “You fucking bastard! I trusted you! I trusted you!”
Then, quieter, as if all strength had left her, she said, “How could you do this to me? I loved you.”
The agony and tears in her voice ripped at him. Her eyes, though, no longer held anger but pain. A pain that was so intense it sliced him open.
I loved you too.
CHAPTER NINE
Present day
San Miguel de Allende, Mexico
Valentina Mieles banged her fist on the table.
“The ungrateful son of a bitch!” Mieles raged. “After everything I’ve done for him and his entire goddamned family. This? This is how he repays me? By talking to the DEA?”
There were five other people seated around the opulent dining table. Anywhere else in Mexico, these men would be feared. But here, in the sanctuary of the Black Tosca’s private residence, they were the ones bowing to a higher power. They worshipped her the way abused animals served their vicious owners, doing anything for even an illusion of approval. Her displeasure, she could tell, made them all nervous.
“Why am I just hearing about this now?”
Only one man was courageous enough to look at her and speak his mind. Hector Mieles. Her cousin.