Hunt let loose a slew of curse words. He was too late. They’d whisked Leila and Sophia away. Were they already in Mexico? Pomar had told him that was a possibility. There was one more room to check. As his eyes swept across the bedroom one last time, Hunt caught something on the floor, glistening in the murky darkness. He moved closer, shining the beam of his flashlight around.
There. What the hell was that?
Upon closer examination, Hunt realized it was an ear, or at least a chunk of one. It was still wet with blood. His heart sank, and his knees wobbled. In his mind’s eye, he saw Leila’s life from when she was a baby to a young woman. He loved her so much. His eyes began to tear up.
Christ, a fucking ear! How much more can I take?
He picked up the piece of flesh, almost dropping it twice it was so slick with blood, and rinsed it at the sink. As the blood washed down the drain, swirling in the white porcelain sink, a tremendous sense of relief surged through him. His legs no longer able to hold him, he sank to his knees and wept.
The ear wasn’t hers. The skin was too dark. His daughter—he was sure it was her—had put up a good fight. She hadn’t surrendered to her captors. He was proud of her. A smile creased his eyes and replaced the tears.
She hadn’t given up on him. Hang on, Leila. I’ll find you.
A soft creaking behind him made Hunt lunge to his right. He rolled once and came up on his knees, his pistol pointed at the door. Too late. A shadow on his left turned on a flashlight, temporarily blinding Hunt with its powerful beam. Hunt reacted immediately. Instead of staying put, dropping his gun, and hoping not to get shot, Hunt ducked below the beam of light and rolled forward before lunging low and hard at the shadow. With immense force, Hunt’s right shoulder rammed into the shadow’s midsection. Hunt dropped his gun in the process, but the shadow—Hunt could now see it was a man—was taken completely by surprise and expelled air in a loud groan. But the fight wasn’t over yet. The man wrapped his right arm around Hunt’s neck and began to squeeze with an almost superhuman strength. Hunt tried to pull down on the man’s arm with both his hands, but the man was just too strong. His arm didn’t budge an inch. Both Hunt’s carotids were being constricted.
Someone yelled. Hunt didn’t know if it came from him or the man he was fighting with. What he knew for sure, though, was that he was about to pass out. He was quickly running out of options and oxygen. He wanted to open his mouth and swallow great gulps of air, but it was physically impossible to do so. The man was just too strong. His head felt as if it was being squashed and was about to implode. The man was tightening his viselike grip, trying to choke the life out of Hunt. Hunt brought up his clenched right fist between the man’s legs with all the force he could muster. The man’s knees buckled, but he somehow managed to hold on to his choke. But Hunt had destabilized him and bought himself a precious second. Hunt pushed against the man’s thigh and turned his head to the side. He encircled the man’s right knee with his arms, and, using the last of his strength, he lifted the man in the air and threw him to the ground. Hunt went with him. They hit the ground hard, with Hunt on top. With a whiplash effect, the man’s head slammed on the floor with a resounding thud. The flashlight rolled out of his hand, its beam revealing Hunt’s pistol. Before his opponent could gather his wits, Hunt jumped to his feet but struggled to keep himself upright. He staggered backward a few steps before recovering his pistol. The flashlight, which had finally come to a stop, illuminated the man’s face.
Hunt gasped, and his eyes shot wide open.
Cole Egan.
Cole Egan’s ears were ringing. When his head had hit the floor, there had been a series of blinding flashing lights and a loud thud unlike anything he had heard before. The back of his head, slick with blood, was throbbing. When he opened his eyes, Pierce Hunt was standing in front of him, a gun pointed at his chest.
“Hey, Pierce,” Egan said, massaging his temples in tiny circles with his fingertips.
He tried to sit up, but Hunt planted his foot on his chest. With anyone else but Hunt, he’d try something to get out of this annoying situation. With Hunt, though, he’d end up with a double tap in the chest. Plus, he wasn’t here to kill his former colleague and friend; he was here to warn him and offer his help.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Cole?” Hunt said, his voice wavering. “Don’t tell me you’re involved with this shit. I’ll drill one in your forehead.”
Egan could see Hunt was struggling to understand what had just happened. Egan knew he was just one piece of a large puzzle. With luck, Hunt would give him a minute or two to explain before shooting him in the head.
“Look around you, Pierce. Do you see a weapon? I came in with a flashlight, for God’s sake.”
“Keep talking.”
“Your daughter was here,” Egan said. “Can I get up?”
Instead of removing his foot, Hunt dug it even deeper into Egan’s chest. Egan winced in pain.
“C’mon, Pierce, if I wanted you dead, I would have brought more than a goddamned flashlight.”
“Leila was here?”
“And so was Garcia’s daughter.”
“Whose side are you on, Cole?”