Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 59119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
I yawned and glanced in the rearview.
Delgado was knocked out in the back seat, the side of his face smashed against the window.
Away from cameras and surveillance, I didn’t have to bother with the balaclava anymore, but I had half a mind to put one over his head instead. The sight of him pissed me off.
“How long do you think it’s gonna take to find Shay?” I asked quietly.
Ryan scrubbed a hand over his face and yawned too. “If you don’t find the victim within the first forty-eight hours, you can prepare yourself for a longer hunt. It took Darius three months to find Gray when he was kidnapped.”
Those were the stats I knew and had hoped not to get confirmed.
“This one might be different since—” He nodded back vaguely, careful not to mention names and sensitive information in Delgado’s presence.
I knew what he meant, though. Our operation might be different since Carillo wanted us to do something. He wanted us to kill Vincente Blanco. If we did that, we’d supposedly get Marisa, Blake, and Shay back.
We weren’t gonna kill Vincente, though. Right now, we had him, the regional officer, the boss of the Southern California drug route, on our side. He wanted Carillo dead too, so he was funding our mission.
Elliott had been blunt. Don’t trust Vincente for shit, but we could use the aid he provided once Squeezy had double-checked everything was in order.
So far, so good.
“Why don’t you take on low-risk gigs like your brother?” I wondered. That’d been part of the planning; Gray and Darius didn’t take on major risks anymore, considering they had three kids at home. Totally understandable, of course, but Ryan had young children too.
“I don’t consider this type of extraction very high-risk,” he said. “It was worse when we had to take down the organization behind Gray’s kidnapping—and I guess Belize. But those are the exceptions. The sniper is usually out of harm’s way.”
I guessed he had a point.
“Besides, I’m on my own,” he added. “If I had to go into the field with a person I’m sharing my life with, not even a desk job would be safe enough.”
I chuckled quietly.
He checked his phone, which appeared to have much better reception in Italy. “It’s the exit after this one.”
Fucking finally. I was so tired.
Ryan had evidently visited the place we were going to, and I’d been advised to keep my expectations low. This “Coach” person had bought a piece of land a few years ago, with hopes of retiring here one day. He spent two weeks here every year; that was all. And when he’d bought the property, it’d been nothing but overgrown orchards, forest, and a rundown villa. Given how little time the man spent here, and the inaccessibility of the place, Ryan didn’t think much had changed.
Ryan was correct.
I puffed out a breath and put my hands on my hips.
It was a perfect blue hour, maybe forty-five or so minutes before sunrise, and we were approximately five miles from the nearest neighbor. I hadn’t thought about just how mountainous this region was. I mean, the Alps were farther to the north, right? Fuck if I knew. But the long, winding dirt road to Coach’s property had taken us deep into the mountains, until we’d reached a small lake.
I could see stakes in the water, where a terrace had once extended from the villa out into the little lake. Now it was gone. The entire house was stripped down to its painted concrete foundation. The villa had once been pale pink. It’d presumably once had windows too.
“Okay, a plan,” Ryan said. “We’ll secure Delgado in the living room area, then you get some rest. When you wake up, I’ll go shopping for whatever we might need for a few days.”
I glanced at him over my shoulder as he opened the back of the car. “And when are you gonna sleep?”
“When I return with a comfy mattress,” he replied firmly.
I smirked. Of course Gramps needed a bed.
Delgado was still dead to the world, so Ryan and I carried the fucker into the house. Jesus Christ, I was guessing two hundred pounds, maybe 210.
Up the steps, into the open entryway. Stairs, living room… I spied the kitchen past the stairs.
The floorboards were covered in a layer of dust.
As we entered the living room, I was struck by the beauty of the lake. I mean, it was right there. No patio doors or anything, just a big rectangular opening in the wall. And it had to be one of those mineral lakes, because the water was pale blue-green and a little milky.
Our options for where to keep Delgado were limited; the fireplace was built into the structure of the house, without any bars, loops, beams, whatever, so we had to put him on the floor in between two windows. The three-foot-wide wall in between the openings would serve as the post we tied him to. I ran out and grabbed the rope from the car, and we used every inch of it, making sure he couldn’t go any-fucking-where.