The police radio at Dennis’s side sent a command.
“Go!”
Hunter took the stairs three at a time. He picked up the heavy duffel bag and started out the back door. He tossed the bag over the brick wall dividing the properties and followed it. The neighbors weren’t home, and they didn’t own dogs.
He’d take his blessings one at a time.
He hopped another fence and headed north. A quarter of a mile up the road, Hunter started to wonder if this was a decoy, or a setup of some sort.
When his phone rang, he answered without stopping.
“There’s a Dumpster on your left.”
“I see it.”
“Drop my package inside.”
Hunter turned in a circle. “Where’s Gabi?”
“Safe. I assure you.”
“Your assurance means shit.”
“Look ahead. See that van?”
A white van with what looked like a pizza delivery logo on the side sat at the end of the street. The side door opened and Hunter peered closer. “Dad?” he whispered.
“A good con always has two options, eh, Blackwell? You’re a businessman, you understand. Drop the money in the Dumpster and I leave your father behind.”
“What about Gabi?”
“All in due time. Gabi will help me leave in one piece. You show me good faith, and I’ll live by my word.”
Hunter refrained from laughing.
A man held his father and shoved him until he yelled, “Fuck these men, Hunter.”
Hunter ran to the other side of the street and tossed the duffel into the bin and stepped away.
“Good man.”
His father was shoved from the van before it sped away. Hunter started to run toward his father.
Around the corner, a garbage truck turned onto the street.
As Hunter fell onto his father, the van that fled exploded. Hunter ducked his head and covered his father’s.
When he looked up, the van was engulfed, his father was out cold . . . and the garbage truck disappeared ten million dollars richer.
Gabi focused on the syringe that sat just beyond her reach on the table. She’d seen him draw up the heroin and knew it was enough to kill whoever came in contact with the needle.
Her death blow . . . the way she’d leave this world? The gun in Diaz’s hand didn’t scare her as much as that syringe. He shouted orders, waited to hear they’d been followed, then shouted more. He switched from Spanish to English, none the wiser that Gabi caught every word.
Gabi flinched when the house shook a second time.
The second explosion took place while Diaz was on the phone with his accomplice. In a cold response, Diaz shook his head and placed his phone into his pocket. “These kids just keep blowing up.”
“You killed them?”
“Such a nasty word. I liberated them to their next destination. Death is simply a route to the next life.” He shook the gun in her direction. “It’s the fear of death that keeps men in line. When you don’t fear it . . . that’s when you make the most of this world . . . this life.”
Gabi felt herself breathing heavily.
He was crazy, calculated . . . and smart.
Right at that moment, she felt just as crazy . . . just as calculated, and much smarter.
“Time to go, Mrs. Picano.”
“Don’t call me that,” she told him.
Diaz paused. “Giving demands.”
“It’s Mrs. Blackwell.”
He lifted one brow and grinned.
A shadow outside the drawn blinds of the kitchen caught her attention.
Diaz turned and Gabi reached across the table and palmed the syringe. Before Diaz turned back, a third explosion went off.
The smile on Diaz’s face fell as he swung toward the noise, obviously not expecting it. He let out a stream of obscenities as he grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet.
As her captor lifted the hand holding the gun toward her, Gabi stopped fearing death. With the arm in a cast, she swung against his weapon, watched it scatter across the room as it filled with smoke.
He twisted his body so hers shielded his.
She felt her air cutting off.
As Diaz backed them toward the door to what she assumed was a garage, Gabi removed the cap of the syringe without Diaz noticing.
Struggling to stay on her feet, Gabi lifted her hand as she was dragged back and each breath became an effort.
She went for his neck, prayed she didn’t miss and hit hers.
Her thumb pressed the plunger the moment she heard him curse.
Diaz took two steps back, cursed her name as his hand fell, and they both stumbled to the floor.
Two darkly clothed men wearing some kind of breathing masks over their faces burst into the house with guns bigger than any she’d ever seen outside of a movie.
They hesitated when they saw her. She turned toward Diaz.
The syringe was still in his neck, she saw blood inside. His eyes were wide open, a sick smile forever on his face.