Beyond the Breaking Point - Lori Sjoberg Page 0,56

CPR, the chances of keeping him alive—”

“Don’t apologize. There was nothing you could do.” His eyes burned as he stared at the man who was once his closest friend.

There were so many emotions bouncing around inside him he didn’t know what to do with them all. Anger. Sadness. The sting of betrayal. But most of all he felt tired. So fucking tired. Tired of the violence that shattered his life again and again. Of the thirst for vengeance that consumed him.

But he didn’t have time to wallow in pity. There were two great kids whose lives depended on him, so he shoved every one of those emotions aside and got back down to business.

“Give me your phone,” Wade said to his brother. He couldn’t see Austin, but he knew he was close, and within seconds, the sat phone was placed in his open palm.

He pressed the power button, and as soon as the screen flickered to life, he entered a number that he’d never expected to call again.

“Put me through to Whitey. Tell him it’s Wade Flint,” he said when a woman, most likely Whitey Eckstein’s administrative assistant, answered the phone. She didn’t sound like the one who’d worked for him while Wade was at the DEA, but that wasn’t surprising. The man went through admins faster than a frat boy plowed through Budweiser.

Elevator music played over the phone, a hideous rendition of “(Don’t Fear) The Reaper” that should have never, ever been recorded. At last, the music mercifully ended and Whitey’s gravelly voice came over the line.

“Wade, holy shit, it’s been what, four years? How are you—”

“I don’t have time to play catch-up. There’s a credible threat against Hector Bosquez’s family; specifically, his daughters.”

The line went quiet for a few long moments. Whitey Eckstein had been director of the Houston Division for more than a decade, and had worked for the DEA for almost thirty years. Tough yet fair, he ran that office tighter than an Army barracks. Over the years, he’d grown unaccustomed to anyone barking orders at him, especially a former special agent who hadn’t worked under his direction in years, and it showed in the tone of his voice. “Who’s making the threat?”

“Roberto Aranza.”

Eckstein muttered a curse. “Has Hector been apprised of the situation?”

Wade glanced at Hector, and it felt as if his heart were in a vise. “Special Agent Bosquez is dead, sir.”

More silence. At this rate, the battery would be dead soon.

“What—how? Where?”

“I’ll submit a report once I’m back in the States. Right now, I need your assurance that his family will be protected.”

“Yes, of course, I’ll put a team on them immediately,” Eckstein said, and the line went quiet again. “You’re going after him, aren’t you? That’s why he took a leave of absence.”

“Thank you, sir.” Wade ignored the question. He didn’t have the time or the battery power to give a detailed briefing, and, quite frankly, he wasn’t in the mood. “I’ll contact you when I have an update.”

He ended the call, his gaze still fixed on Hector, and it felt as though somebody had taken a razor blade to his insides. He wanted to scream, wanted to punch a wall. Wanted to shove the barrel of his gun down Aranza’s throat and pull the trigger until the chamber clicked empty.

Hanging on by a thread, Wade handed the phone back to Austin. “You got a shovel in your pack?”

“No, but I think Jackson has something that’ll work.”

“Good. I don’t want scavengers…you know.” Just thinking about it made his stomach churn.

Austin clapped a hand on Wade’s shoulder. “We’ll take care of it, bro.”

“Thanks.” Myriad emotions boiled under the surface, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to keep them all under control. Needing time alone to get his head on straight, he picked a direction and walked.

Losing a patient was one of the worst things a doctor could experience. It forced you to question every one of your actions and every decision you’d made, and whether you could have done anything differently to achieve a better outcome.

Regardless of the circumstances, this time was no different. Hope peered down at Hector’s lifeless body as scenarios played through her mind.

“There was no way you could have saved him,” Austin said, as if reading her thoughts.

“My brain knows that, but my conscience doesn’t agree.” She dragged a hand through her hair, only to remember it was stained with Hector’s blood but too tired to give a damn about it. Her gaze drifted to