“Move, Pierce! Move!” he yelled at his friend. “Get up! Get up!”
For Carter, it seemed to take an eternity for Hunt to actually stand up and realize what was going on. Carter sprinted to them, knowing he wasn’t going to make it in time, but he tried anyway. By the time Carter reached his friend, Hunt had already shoved his daughter out of the way. Carter crashed into Hunt, sending him flying off to the side, his momentum carrying him forward. The grinding metallic crunch of the collision between the Range Rover and the Land Cruiser came a millisecond before he felt a tremendous punch to his legs. The jolt of the impact launched him into the air like a crash test dummy. He landed on his back with a jarring thud that sent a tidal wave of pain up his spine. Then everything went black.
Egan couldn’t believe what had just happened. Dante ran toward Hunt and Leila to render assistance, but Hunt waved him off. He was fine. Carter, though, wasn’t moving. His eyes were closed, and his legs were twisted at odd angles. Egan tried to move in his direction, but the second Range Rover came to a stop. Two men jumped out. They opened fire, and Egan scurried for cover behind the crashed vehicles. The bullets followed him, sending shards of asphalt through the air. The fact that the two SUVs could explode at any time wasn’t lost on him. He needed to get out of there. But where to? The two shooters had taken position behind their Range Rover. He tried to get a fix on them, but bullets whizzed past his head. Egan was growing more frustrated by the second. They were in a standoff.
Simon Carter had saved his life. It was that simple. Now Hunt’s friend lay motionless, and Dante and Egan were pinned down. Leila looked startled but unhurt. Hunt crawled toward her.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Stay down, Leila. Okay?”
She nodded. The tears he had seen earlier were gone, replaced by a glint of determination. “Can I help?” she asked.
Brave girl. “Just stay where you are.”
“Dad?” she said, just loud enough for him to hear. He looked at her. “Thanks for coming. I knew you would.”
Right now, there was nothing he wanted more than to hold his daughter in his arms. He kissed her on the forehead and then went to work.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
San Miguel de Allende, Mexico
The smell of fuel woke Hector up. He flung his eyes open, and light flooded in. He remembered being violently thrown forward. And then nothing. He was bleeding and broken, and he cursed his driver for his stupidity. He looked around him. The Range Rover was upside down. All its windows had shattered on impact. He checked the driver, or what was left of him. There was nothing Hector could do for him.
Sporadic gunfire drew his attention.
MP5s. Not ours.
And AR-15s. My guys.
He looked around the interior of the smashed SUV for his own AR-15 but couldn’t find it. He pulled his pistol out and crept toward the shattered window. He felt pieces of glass beneath his hands and muffled a curse as they dug deep into his skin. He fought the weakness that swam through his limbs. His strength was sapped, but he managed to pull himself out of the Range Rover. He lay on the ground a moment, catching his breath. He got to one knee to orient himself and felt a presence behind him.
He turned sharply, raising his pistol as he did so. But he was too late. Hunt had already fired twice. The two bullets slammed into Hector’s abdomen. His pistol slipped through his fingers. He moved his hands to his abdomen, clutching his wounds. The first round had hit no vital organs, so if Hunt had only fired once, he would have had a chance. But the second bullet had been awfully effective. It had mangled his intestines and kidneys. Never before in his life had he been in such agony. Hector yelped in pain as he forced himself into a sitting position. He supported himself with his left arm but kept his right hand pressed against the entry wounds. Bright red blood poured through his fingers. He chuckled but didn’t know why. He looked at Hunt. The expression on Hunt’s face was one of utter contempt. His eyes, cold and dark, showed no sympathy, no mercy whatsoever.
“I hope it hurts,” Hunt told him.
Hector looked down. The front of his shirt was a deep crimson and so was the top of his pants.
“Sí, it does. Very much so.”
“Where’s Sophia Garcia?”
Hector wanted to answer. He wanted Hunt to stop Valentina, but he felt himself drifting away. He was losing too much blood too fast.
Pain brought him back. He opened his eyes. Hunt’s face was inches away from his, and he was holding Hector’s injured ear with his left hand. A searing ache filled Hector’s senses as Hunt twisted. He screamed. Hunt let go of his ear.
“Where’s Sophia Garcia?” he repeated.
“She’s in San Miguel,” he said weakly. Another wave of pain racked his entire body. He waited for it to subside and then said, “At the Black Tosca’s house. And Hunt?”