Hunter's Heart (24 page)

He went into SEAL mode, scrutinizing the woman as he pushed through the crowds to them. He stopped short. Everything about that woman was permanently seared into his brain. Her hair was darker and shorter but it was her.
Celia
.

She pushed Gia and ran.
Fuck.
He paralleled her movements having to maneuver through the crowds, just as she was. She glanced back but not his direction. Even if she looked his way there was a good chance she wouldn’t recognize him with his close-cropped beard and hair. The direction she headed took her out of the market. His cell buzzed and he saw it was Gia.

“Yeah.”

“Santino, Celia is here.”

“I saw her. I may need to use your car.” Gia’s silver Mercedes was parked close by in the vendor’s spaces. It wasn’t exactly the most non-descript car to follow Celia with. He had a key and it was closer than his truck. He disconnected the call and watched Celia leave the market, and walk fast to 8th St, then south. He disregarded Gia’s car and followed on foot. There was a Metro stop at 8th and Pennsylvania.

Damn. If she got in a car, he had a chance to follow. The Metro? It would be next to impossible to follow unseen. She ignored the Metro entrance and while waiting to cross Pennsylvania turned, scanning the direction she’d come. He ducked behind a parked mini-van and watched through the windows. There was little or no place to follow without being seen so he hung back. She continued down 8th past the eateries and turned on E.

From the front of an auto repair place, he watched her cross the street and turn once more, checking for a tail. He jaywalked, checking her progress and how many people were out and about. This was a quiet residential street. She either lived here or had parked her car here. Nothing he saw resembled her Nissan.

If she lived here, he doubted he could walk up, knock on the door and be let in. His best option, if there weren’t too many people, was to approach her on the street. Just say what he had to, and be done. Walk away. Risk her going ballistic and having residents call the cops on the big scary guy bothering a little lady.

The only pedestrians were Celia and two men coming his way. He loitered at the corner, waiting for the men to pass her. Before they could, she stopped at a black BMW X3 and worked the touch pad.
Shit.
His heart pounded and he moved faster than he ever had in his life.

As he ran, the younger of the two pedestrians, a big, powerfully built bald guy, held a suppressed weapon to Celia’s head forcing her behind the wheel. The older man climbed into the passenger side of the SUV. When the man holding the gun was in the back, the car moved away from the curb, driving his way.

It happened in seconds and he hadn’t been able to close half the distance to reach her. He got his bearings. His truck was half a block away on 8th. It would take too long for him to reach it. He was not going to let her be taken to another location. His best chance to stop them was to strike with overwhelming aggression.

The house behind him was being remodeled and the yard had large blue plastic trash bins on the sidewalk. He hoisted one, climbed the bumper of a parked pickup to the hood, and slammed the bin onto the front of Celia’s SUV. She saw it the second before impact and hit the brakes. The man with the gun saw him.

The front passenger window shattered and he felt the pressure of a round entering his left bicep as he jumped to the pavement. Celia opened her door and tried to get out but the mother fucker sitting in the front had her by the hair. Hunter yanked open the passenger door and pounded the back of the fucker’s head.

“Ctreljat,” the man yelled. “Ctreljat.”

Hunter knew enough Russian to know “shoot” when he heard it. The dark metal cylinder tracked his direction. He jerked the man he grappled with against the gun, succeeding in redirecting the round to go through the windshield and not his brain. The gun came up again, close on his left and he blocked it with his forearm, continuing to pound the man in the front until he released Celia. She darted away and he dragged the asswipe out, slamming him down and bashing his head against the pavement.

Psspht. Psspht.
Bald guy had his arm out the window, firing. Hunter lunged, grabbing the limb, twisting and bending it in a way it wasn’t meant to twist and bend. The man screamed and in his pain, involuntarily put pressure on the trigger, dinging the parked truck. Hunter reached through the broken window, grabbed his shoulders and pulled him out to the waist, then snapped his neck. He took the hand gripping the gun and pressed the finger still wrapped over the trigger. Twice. Putting an end to the wheezing breaths of the man on the ground.

“Where are you?” He didn’t want to call her name and give info to witnesses.

“Here.” She slowly came from behind the SUV, pale and wobbly.

He dug his truck keys from his pocket and held them to her. “My truck is over a block. Can you make it on your own?”

She nodded.

“Go to the corner.” He hitched his chin the direction he wanted her to go. “Turn right, cross the street, go right and it’s parked midway.” She took the keys.

“You’re shot.”

“I know. I don’t feel it yet—the adrenalin rush. Will your people come and get you?”

“People?”

“Who you work for. Who protect you.”

“Yes.”

“Are you hurt?”

“No.” She looked around him to the men. “Are they dead?”

“Yes. Don’t look.” She did anyway.

“You know them?” She nodded.

“Him.” She indicated the man on the ground.

“Your father?”

She looked up at him and nodded once. Then she turned to look at the man hanging out the window and shook her head.

“Get your phone out. Put you head down and call your people. If anyone asks, say you’re talking to 911. Keep going and walk to the truck. Don’t let anyone in or talk to anyone but your people. If they don’t come, wait for me. You have to hurry, people are beginning to come out.” Views from windows of the homes were blocked by trees lining the street. In order to get a good look-see the residents had to come out. “When you leave, put the keys under the driver’s side mat and lock it. I have other keys.”

“But….” She glanced to his arm.

“I’ll take care of everything.
Go
.”

She turned and did as he said. He keyed in 911 on his cell and watched Celia walk away, knowing he’d never see her again. He also knew the bastard on the concrete with his brains oozing out would never bother her again.

“911. What’s your emergency?” A woman’s voice said.

“I’m on 7th Street. There’s been an accident and two men are dead.”

“We already received a call and officers are on the way. Do you need medical?”

Hunter looked at his bloody arm. “Yeah,” was all he said. He didn’t want to go on record saying he’d been shot. He leaned against the pickup. “Call the feds. They’re involved. I’m Spec Ops.” He found his hat, pulled it down low and kept his chin tucked to his chest.

“Are you armed?”

“No.”

A moment of silence was broken by a male voice. “Sir, this is a supervisor. Please identify yourself.”

“No. Not on an unsecured phone with civilians wandering around.” Two dudes in their late teens came around the back of the BMW, cell phones out, taking videos.

“I’ll give my ID to officers when they get here.” He disconnected and pushed off the truck.

“You need to put those phones away and back up. You’re contaminating a federal crime scene.”

“Yeah sure,” one said and kept videoing.

He was not in the mood. He reached out wrapped his big mitt around it and took the fucking thing. The other kid put his behind his back. “You want this back…?” He shook the phone then jammed it in a back pocket. “See the officers when they get here. You can explain to them why you continued when you were told to stop.”

They backed up and went to stand in a yard down the street. Hunter turned his attention to Celia’s father. He didn’t risk going through his pockets. Too many witnesses now and judging from the sounds of the sirens, the cops would be there in a minute. The man had a crude tat on the right side on his neck and on the knuckles of his left hand. Probably also on the right hand trapped under his body.

To draw attention away from the bodies, he moved away from the scene and leaned on a car parked a few houses down. It didn’t take long for the first Metro cop car to round the corner. Soon, both ends of the street were filled with emergency vehicles of every type.

The first cops there weren’t stupid. One look around and he had weapons pointed at him and was on his knees and handcuffed
for their protection
. He didn’t mind. They were doing what was necessary to go home that night. Confirmation of his ID got the handcuffs removed and him into the back of a rescue bus for treatment of a through-and-through on his left arm.

A Metro detective joined him in the back of the bus. “I’m Detective Stanley.”

Hunter nodded an acknowledgement.

“Were you driving the BMW?”

“No.”

“Who was?”

“I’ll give that info to federal agents when they arrive. If they want to share with you, they can.”

“You might want to give this guy a break,” the paramedic working on his arm said. “He’s lost a good amount of blood. He should be at the ER.”

“Why isn’t he?” Stanley said, eying Hunter suspiciously.

The medic looked at the detective. “He refused.”

“Do you know the driver?” The dude was not going to give it up.

“No.” The truth. He didn’t know who the fuck Celia was.

“The plates on the BMW were stolen. Taken last month off a Honda Civic.”

Hunter laughed and shook his head. He wasn’t all that surprised and it only proved he really didn’t know the woman.

A sharp rap sounded on the bus door and it swung open. The feds had arrived.

“Thanks Stanley,” the suit said. “You know the drill.” He stood to the side.

“Yeah.” The detective sighed and reluctantly exited.

The suit put a foot on the step. “You about done?” he asked the medic.

“As done as he’s going to let me be.”

“Sir, would you follow us?”

“See a doctor,” the medic said as he stood.

“I just did,” Hunter said. “Thanks man, you did a good job,” and he stepped into the bright midday light.

“This way, sir,” the suit said.

“The cops took two cells off me. The white one isn’t mine. See those guys standing over there.” The fed followed where he indicated. “They were taking video of the bodies with their phones. I took one from the asshole in the black shorts. The other one still has his phone. Probably already uploaded it to YouTube.”

“I’ll take care of it,” the other fed said and headed toward the guys.

Hunter was ushered into the back of a black panel van holding an array of electronic equipment. Not enough to monitor the world—enough for him to know what he said would be recorded. “Is the woman okay?” he asked the second the door closed.

“Have a seat. I can’t tell you anything.”

“Then we’re done. You don’t tell me about her and you get nothing from me.”

The suit considered him for a moment. “We received a call from an unnamed agency telling us a government employee had been taken on the street and you had neutralized the men who’d taken her. We were sent here to get you out. I have no direct information about the woman. I can only assume she’s being taken care of.”

Hunter sat on the narrow bench and rubbed his eyes. “What do you want to know?”

“What transpired from the time you met her today until now. No backstory. No BS. No whys.”

Hunter nodded and told the stone-faced agent every detail except the fact the man was Celia’s father.

The van door opened and the second agent joined them. “They’re taking the bodies away. Metro interviewed eight people. Only three think they might have seen a woman walking away. They have eight different descriptions of our man here.” The agent turned to him. “You were right about the idiot uploading to YouTube.” He turned to the other agent. “Already made the call to get it wiped. Should be gone by now. With the suppressed gun, no one heard shots. Our inserted witness is swearing it was a hit and run. She gave a description of what happened and the car. She’s good. Almost had me believing there was another car. Metro is treating it as an accident.”

“The guys with the phones saw the guns,” Hunter said.

“We’re okay there. They’re both high.”

A long silence followed and was broken finally by the agent who’d listened to his account of the events.

“This is how it goes,” the first agent said. “This never happened.” He half expected the
Mission Impossible Theme
to start playing. “We know who you are. You’ll never know who we are. By now, someone high up in your chain of command has received a call and been informed you were involved in an incident. They will be instructed not to question you in any way about what happened. You were not at fault. I am telling you now, you are never to speak of this.
You
were never here.”

Hunter looked down at his arm. How the hell was he supposed to explain that? “What about the detective and cops?”