He had given them everything in exchange for what? Recurring nightmares and a derisory medical pension? At first glance, it looked that way, but that was shortsighted. In fact, the army had given him much more than that. It had given him the ability to dehumanize his enemies. And to kill them. And he was pretty damn good at it.
A French private military company, impressed with his résumé, had hired him and sent him to Venezuela to train future members of the Venezuelan president’s protective detail. Not only did he love the job, but they’d paid him exponentially more than the United States military had. His new position gave him access to powerful men within the Venezuelan government. These powerful men, Egan quickly learned, were more than happy to part with large sums of money in exchange for the assassination of the antigovernment movement leaders who threatened to topple the president. It was a lucrative market, albeit a dangerous one. But Egan was a professional, and word spread around Caracas that a new, infallible assassin was in town. Soon after, he quit the PMC and started working solo, locally at first and then all over South America.
One day, after a successful assignment in Mexico, he woke up tied to a bed, naked. It was evident the bartender had slipped a narcotic into his drink. He recognized the woman standing next to him the moment he opened his eyes. The Black Tosca wasn’t only the most stunning woman he had ever had the pleasure to share a room with, but she was also known as the most lethal bitch in the drug world. And here she was, staring at him, a black whip in her hand.
“What are you gonna do with that?” he asked in Spanish.
“I don’t know yet. It depends,” she replied in Spanish-inflected English he found irresistible.
“On what?”
“Do you know who I am?”
“Miss Universe?”
The whip came down hard on his right nipple. It hurt. Kind of.
“Do you know who I am?” she repeated.
“The Black Tosca.”
She nodded and removed her pants. Her legs were gorgeous in shimmering thigh-high stockings.
“Would you like to work for me?”
“What if I say—”
That time the whip came down much harder on his nipple. It drew blood.
“Would you like to work for me?”
“I’d love to.”
The Black Tosca smiled. “I’m glad you said that, because the next reprimand was a bullet in your pretty face, and that would have been a real shame. I kind of like you,” she said, sitting on top of him.
The next morning, an understanding had been reached. She was going to pay him handsomely to operate in the United States. Once in a while, there would be an odd job for him in Mexico or in Europe. He would work for and report to only her.
His life changed six months later when she summoned him to a beautiful bachelor pad in Mexico City. After they had sex, she gave him a photo of Katherine McMaster.
“I want you to seduce this lovely girl.”
“What for?”
“Because I fucking asked you to, and I pay you so much money that you’ll do whatever I want.”
He couldn’t argue with her logic. Plus, the girl was pretty.
“What’s her name?”
“Katherine McMaster. Her father is Daniel McMaster, the special agent in charge of the DEA’s Weston field office.”
“I see.”
“This will be a long-term operation.”
“Can you describe ‘long term’?”
“Until I tell you to stop.”
The phone chirped in Egan’s hand. He had fallen asleep for a minute.
“Yes.”
“Were you told I’d be calling?”
Hector.
“I was.”
“We need you to take care of someone for us.”
Of course you do, Hector, Egan thought. “Please send all pertinent information—”
“It’s already in your draft folder.”
That was quick.
To communicate electronically without leaving a trace, Egan and the Black Tosca would write messages and leave them in the draft folder. So instead of sending the messages, they would read each other’s drafts and delete them the moment they were done with them.
Egan logged in to the account and clicked to open the draft email. Seeing a name from the past shocked him to the core.
Pierce Hunt.
How in hell did Hunt get involved with the Black Tosca? Then he remembered Hunt had joined the DEA right after he left the army. After Gaza, they hadn’t kept in touch much. A few phone calls while he was working with the French PMC to let Hunt know he was back on his feet, but nothing once he started working solo. He doubted Hunt would approve of his career choice.
“So?” Hector asked after a minute had passed. “Any issues?”
“I know the man,” Egan said.
“What? How?” Hector seemed to be genuinely intrigued.
“We served together.”
“I see,” Hector replied, disappointment evident in his voice. “Will it be a problem?”