Hunte (12 page)

“Promises, promises.” I listened to her laughter. Then I shot up in bed. “Did you just say you’re naked?”

“
Uh huh
.”

“So phone sex isn’t off the table?”

“
Uh uhn.
”

“You’re going to be the death of me, Jessica.” I groaned.

“I doubt that very much. A big,
virile
man like you . . .”

Despite our teasing words, it turned out we didn’t do the dial 1-900 number thing to each other that night. I lay in the dark, quietly talking to my woman about motorcycles and teaching, about Jack and what little I could tell her of my past.

After awhile I heard a soft snuffle and knew she’d fallen asleep probably amid the tumble of her soft, sweet-scented hair.

A surprisingly peaceful feeling settled over me, and I sank into slumber soon after.

Chapter Nine

THE NEXT COUPLE OF days were an exercise in patience. Virtually housebound with Walker, we tried to dig up shit about Vicente. We worked well in the field together, but we tolerated each other as friends out of necessity. Guys like us didn’t do the best buddy thing any more than we did relationships, marriage, or settling down in suburbia. But at least the dude was house-trained. After having lived rough or on the run, forced to sleep when and wherever we could grab a couple hours shut-eye, we knew the luxury of having a roof over our heads and a safe house in which to hole up.

We called in favors up and down CI alley from South Carolina to Florida—along with the one we waited to collect from Frankie—then basically sat around twiddling our thumbs. Inactivity was not a recommended
activity
for any operative with the sort of extensive backlog of missions we’d completed.

We scanned the airwaves, snuck through firewalls to monitor email accounts of Vicente’s known associates, and exchanged money for intel that wasn’t forthcoming on the slippery Cuban motherfucker.

I did not contact Chief Tilden, Ashe Kingston, or anyone else tied to the MPPD. I aimed to keep that connection clean of my past in hopes of a more permanent, on-the-books position later. The Chief had a file on me for sure, but it was a seriously cleaned up version of my career highlights, thoughtfully supplied by my employers when they’d allowed me to retire from service, so to speak.

Exactly ten years ago, I’d entered the Boston Police Academy, hell-bent on doing something worthwhile with my life. Such naïve notions almost made me laugh now. Two years after becoming one of Boston’s men in blue, I’d distinguished myself further, completing the grueling physical and mental training and joining the Special Weapons and Tactics Team. A sharpshooter and a rescue specialist, I volunteered to be first in and the last out. But there was never enough danger to satisfy me. A little bit reckless in a way that made me even more valuable, I earned a name for myself. I always got the job done as quickly and quietly as possible.

I’d been noticed. Operation T-Zone kept tabs on me, just like they did for anyone in the military or civil services who stood out above the rest. Fuck, they had no morals or compunction when it came to recruitment. They even trawled the criminal element if a service could be rendered.

Op T-Z courted me. Made me an offer. I didn’t have a fucking clue who they were or what they did at first. I was merely told I’d receive more survival training, situations would be life-threatening in the extreme, I’d have little if any back-up, and I better start learning some foreign languages ASAP—specifically those spoken in the Middle East. I knew then what I know now: the government paid me, but it wasn’t a branch housed in a building in Washington DC with a plaque beside the front door. There
was
no building, no address, no real names, and orders came in codes.

At twenty-six, I thought they’d handed me the world on a silver platter.

It was a miracle I lasted five years, and in the end it wasn’t a silver platter at all. More like a coffin. A prison. A jail cell. A life sentence.

The Tampa Outlaws case almost destroyed me. Bitter, jaded, in danger of losing my humanity, I’d needed to get out. I hadn’t even been sure there was an out for men like me. I almost certainly knew too much, but the way the Op was run, I didn’t know enough to pose a threat to an organization that simply didn’t exist. I’d hoped.

They didn’t grant my release easily. In fact it became more torture conducted in empty buildings during which I’d been blindfolded. Exit interviews turned into polygraph tests, followed by sodium thiopental injections and intense narcoanalysis to ensure I wasn’t a danger—that I wouldn’t blab. To make sure if they let me go, they wouldn’t have to do so with me in a body bag.

I couldn’t say anything to anyone if I wanted to. Assassin, gun runner, drug dealer—all the roles I’d assumed to play my part and get the job done were so far outside the law I’d be hanged. The thing was, I’d done it for good. I’d done it all because I’d been ordered to.

Now I wondered how much I really
had
done it for good, or if maybe I was just a sick fuck.

All I wanted was a quiet life except when the danger-junkie withdrawals hit me, an itch I couldn’t, wouldn’t, scratch. Seemed Vicente was going to provide the scratch I was going to itch with my Ka-Bar against his bleeding skin, as soon as we located him.

Walker slammed his MacBook shut. “Maybe we should head down to Miami and start cutting out tongues.”

“Not leaving my people unprotected.”

He gave a derisive snort.

I stretched to my feet, shedding my shirt. “I’m hitting the workout room. You can sit here and stew if you want.”

Wearing gym shorts and sneakers, I did a round of weights and then Marine-style drills that had my muscles screaming and sweat dripping down to my jockstrap.

Walker strolled into the airtight, A/C-cooled room and watched me with narrowed eyes for half a second. He’d changed into his usual workout gear, what passed for a fucking loincloth and little else.

He pulled his fists to his face. “Bring it. If I gotta sit around here and watch you moon over the teacher, I finally get to fuck up your pretty face.”

I couldn’t agree more, with the face-fucking-up part that was. I drew up my fists. “
Aw yeah
. Let’s do this.”

Foregoing any sissy feint-footed sparring or easy buildup, we immediately clashed like titans intent on the kill, both of us sheer animals. I had height. Walker had speed. When his bare foot connected with my abdomen in a jarring roundhouse kick, the force of the blow knocked the wind out of me. I fought the urge to crunch over and catch my breath. That wasn’t going to happen, not with him gloating over me like a grinning maniac.

Show no weakness. Show no mercy
. The rules I lived by.

With a roar, I barreled into his midsection, my heavy shoulder shifting him off balance. I dodged his fists, rolling beneath him to undercut his legs.

Grappling on the floor, we traded pound-the-shit-out-of-you punches to the ribs, never so much as grunting. We drew apart at the same time, each taking a corner, both breathing hard.

Walker skipped in front of me. I jogged in place.

“You hate me.” His words burst forth.

“Don’t hate you.”

“Sure looks like it.” Limbered up, he took a swing at my head.

I ducked just in time. “You remind me too much of me.”

“Yeah.” He swung again, missing me. “I can see how that’s bad.”

Hopping to-and-fro, I deflected all of his blows. With my knuckles tight, I aimed at his kidneys, a
pop-pop-pop
spinning him against the wall. “Having no allegiance is gonna kill me. I can’t be a gun for hire anymore, doesn’t matter if the
good guys
are footing the bill or not.”

Walker kicked me away, the force of his blow bowling me backward. “Pussy.”

I came back at him with a fury of fists, the meaty thud of flesh hitting flesh pulsing in my ears as blood roared faster than oxygen through my system.

When he drew back and hit my face with the force of a concrete block, I spun on my heels then splatted to the floor, but not without bringing him down with me.

We disconnected to lay side by side, breathing in and out as loud as saw blades cutting through timber. Drenched in sweat, I eased up beside him and hunched over my knees, just in case I decided to puke my kidneys out.

“I’d rather be alive than feel my soul die, my man.”

“Then you got more smarts than me, Kemosabe.”

Our bust-up ended as it always did: with grudging admiration. Equally beat to shit. And feeling a hell of a lot less hot under the collar.

I rose to my feet with a wince, holding my hand out to Walker. He grasped it and jumped up.

“So, Jessica, huh?”

“Shut the fuck up and hit the shower. You smell worse than that dumpster we hid inside of the last time you got a bright idea.”

He shoved me out the door in front of him.

Ten minutes later, I’d just exited the shower in a steamy mist when my walkie-talkie sounded off from the bedroom.

“Cooper Hall Elementary is on lockdown. Unknown threat. All units in the area please respond.”

Still damp from my shower, I battled into my clothes and was out the front door with my boots half hanging off, my shirt unbuttoned.

Walker rushed after me. “What the fuck?”

“Jack’s school. High alert.”

“Vicente isn’t that stupid, Hunter.”

I hightailed it to the Tahoe. “Doesn’t matter if he is or not. This is my fucking kid we’re talking about!”

And Jessica.

Cursing myself for living so far outside of town, I laid on the gas, the horn, and drove like a bat outta hell to the school. Walker kept a lid on it, calmly checking our weapons and keeping one ear on the walkie-talkie.

With a pavement-peeling squeal of tires, I pulled up amid the flashing red, white, and blue of squad cars outside Cooper Hall.

I almost ripped the door off my truck in my haste to make tracks.

I was stopped as soon as I set foot on the grounds by a flustered security guard. “Sir. Sir! Return to your car. The school is locked down.”

“I’m police. Let me through.” My teeth gnashed together, and I tried to barge past the guard but he called another rent-a-cop over.

Walker and I were being manhandled against my truck when Detective Ashe Kingston strode down the walkway.

She stalked to us, glaring at the Mickey Mouse patrol. “Let him in. He’s one of us.”

I gratefully followed her to the school entrance while Walker shouted, “What about me?”

“You’re an unknown. You stay put,” Ashe fired back.

Inside, I slid my ID under the plexi, aware of all the watchful eyes. The room was packed with office staff and uniforms.

“I’m sorry, sir, but you can’t get through.” The woman at the registration computer slipped my license back to me.

With a frustrated curse, I pushed my MPPD badge through. The Hunter Sexton, Lieutenant one.

“But we already have you on record as Hunter Angelo,” the frayed receptionist said, squinting at her computer.

“Angelo?” Ashe asked.

“Yeah, that’s right. And my kid is a student here.”

“You have children?” Ashe’s silver eyes widened.

“A boy. Jack. He’s in JB’s kindergarten class.”

“You’ve lived a lot of lives.”

“No shit. Can we just get me cleared here?”

“Where’s Tilden?” Ashe spoke into her walkie-talkie.

Chapter Ten

TWENTY SECONDS LATER THE man showed up. I sweated bullets while he said a few quiet words to the school principal. After a couple minutes, Tilden led Ashe and me through the alarm-tight doors into the free zone of the inner offices where yet more cops, security guards, and SWAT officers congested foot traffic.

“The first team is clearing pods one through four. A second team is sweeping the grounds. We’ve got another couple units checking the library, computer lab and ancillary rooms. I’ll let you two handle your son’s pod, Hunter. It’s five, right?”

“Affirmative. What’s the SITREP?”

“The school’s on lockdown because a suspicious young man was sighted inside. He’s been described about mid-twenties, five-eleven, average weight and wiry build. Green hoodie. Possibly Hispanic.”

Every word Tilden spoke put me into more and more of a panic. Walker didn’t think Vicente was dumb enough to pull a stunt like this. I wasn’t so sure. The description could’ve fit.

“You know protocol. I let you get away with disobeying orders once, Hunter. Don’t even fuck with me this time.” Tilden’s face hardened like slabs of cement as he stared me down.

He’d let me get away with jack shit. I was still on probation, and I wanted to carry my badge for real. I nodded in agreement and kept my mouth shut.

Ashe and I silently exited the office compound, both of us crouching slightly, sweeping left and right, Glocks ready.

The goddamn layout was a maze of corridors with rooms set in a honeycomb formation I hadn’t fully mapped the first time I’d been in here. Sweat prickled on my back, but total clarity pinpointed my vision.

The school was completely quiet except for the hushed echoes of cops calling out the all clear and a little static fuzz on our walkie-talkies. We checked the halls, strafing back and forth before finally reaching Jessica’s kindergarten classroom door.

“Doors are locked for the safety of students and teachers.” Ashe tucked her Glock into her holster.

“I don’t care if I have to put my boot through the door to get inside. Open it the fuck up!”

“Hunter”—Ashe placed a restraining hand on my arm—“we should—”

Highjack a car, B&E a classroom: same thing because who didn’t carry a set of comb picks as part of their daily accessories? I hunched down, pulling out my old school picking tools, priming the pins, and inserting the—

The door swung open, unlocked from the inside. “Hunter! What are you doing down there?”

I looked up at Jessica.

“Trying—and failing—to prove his alpha maleness it appears.” Ashe leaned her shoulder against the wall with a hitch of her eyebrow.