“And, Pierce, I’m sorry about what I said.”
“Don’t worry about it, Jasmine, but thank you.”
She led him into the house. There were lots of windows, lots of light coming in. Expensive paintings hung on the walls. Hunt didn’t know much about art, but he felt that some of the pieces would be right at home in a museum or art gallery. They stopped by the kitchen, which was large, bright, and modern, and she asked him if he wanted a drink.
“I need one,” she added.
“Sure. Okay.”
With shaking hands, she pulled two crystal tumblers from a cabinet and poured a generous amount of whiskey into them. She threw her whiskey back in two gulps, and he did the same. The alcohol burned as it slid down his throat. He’d always enjoyed a good whiskey and the burn that came from it. But not today.
Jasmine left her empty glass on the quartz countertop and headed outside to the patio without another word. The moment he stepped foot outside, the scent of salt air teased his nose. The whole backyard, with its manicured grass, looked like a tropical oasis. It featured a massive in-ground pool with its own waterfall, perfectly hedged bushes, and a collection of flowerbeds filled with exotic flowers.
Chris Moon and a man whom Hunt presumed to be the detective Jasmine had talked about were standing next to the pool. Moon saw him first and nodded. He looked miserable. As much as Hunt resented him, Hunt knew he adored Leila, and for that he was grateful.
They shook hands, and Moon introduced him to Detective Milburne.
Their eyes met, and Hunt thought he saw a brief smile of recognition on the detective’s face. “Nice to make your acquaintance, Special Agent Hunt. I’m sorry we meet under such unfortunate circumstances.”
“What can you tell me, Detective Milburne?”
The detective cleared his throat. “We know that Tony Garcia’s daughter was taken too. They were headed to a movie theater—”
“How do you know this?” Hunt asked.
“My partner spoke with Mr. Garcia. She relayed what she learned to me. May I continue?”
“Of course.”
“Their SUV was attacked—ambushed, really—by four vehicles. Men came out of the vehicles and killed Sophia’s driver and bodyguard with automatic weapons before taking Sophia and Leila away.”
My God. Hunt could see the whole incident play out in his head.
“One more thing I should add, Agent Hunt,” Milburne said. “Your daughter didn’t go down quietly.”
“What do you mean?”
“Somehow she managed to gain access to a gun—”
“A gun?” he asked incredulously. “How’s that even possible?”
“We think she took it from the dead bodyguard.”
“And you know that how?”
“A motorist captured the event on his dashcam.”
“I want to see that video,” Hunt said. “When can I watch it?”
“I don’t think that will be possible, but please let me finish. Your daughter fired the gun numerous times and injured one of her kidnappers.”
Hunt didn’t know if he should be proud or terrified at the news.
“She shot one of them?” he asked, exchanging a look with Moon. The big footballer seemed lost for words.
“I’m told our forensic team found traces of blood,” Milburne said, but he added quickly, “We’re not sure who it belongs to.”
Hunt’s gut tightened. He wasn’t afraid of much. As an Army Ranger, and now as a DEA special agent, he’d seen plenty of terrifying shit. He’d been shot, stabbed, hunted, and tortured, but he’d never been as scared as he was now.
My baby girl. My Leila. Injured. Gone.
A feeling of anger started to bubble up from within, a kind of anger he usually reserved for people trying to kill him. Whoever had done this was going to pay. He didn’t care who they were. He didn’t care whom they worked for. He didn’t care if it cost him everything he had, even his life. He’d find the people responsible. Not just the ones who had snatched his little girl but also the ones who had ordered the hit.
And he would crush them.
Detective Milburne was still speaking, but Hunt had tuned him out, his mind already planning his next move. He needed access to the dashcam footage.
“I need to see the video,” Hunt said, interrupting Milburne midsentence.
“What?”
“The dashcam video. I want it.”
Milburne shook his head, and Hunt knew that whatever the detective was about to say wasn’t what he wanted to hear. In a flash, Hunt grabbed him by the collar and pulled him close.
“Listen to me, Detective,” he growled. “That video you talked about, I want to see it now. My daughter has been taken, and I’ll get her back. And this starts with me watching this video. Got it?”
Milburne’s face had turned red, and, for a moment, Hunt wondered if he had gone too far. He released his grip and pushed off the detective. Moon, who had been too stunned to intervene, was still standing next to Hunt, his mouth agape.