fires an erratic shot while going down.
I twist the man in my hold, keeping him upright as the bullet strikes his chest.
“Fuck!” he shouts.
I grin. Even though the kevlar saves him from a hole in the chest, it still smarts like hell, absorbing the full shock of an angry bullet.
The other man fires again.
But his bullet strikes the man in front of me in the thigh this time, and I aim for the shooter’s hand. He screeches as my shot bites skin.
The guy in my arms is shouting. “You fuck, it hurts!”
I let go, and he hits the floor, still moaning.
The other guy is on the ground, twisting like a fish out of water. He gives me a look of disbelief.
I collect Goon Two’s gun, then click on the light switch. They’re both bleeding. I’d seen a first aid kit on the wall in the hallway, and I collect it along with some rope.
If being a SEAL taught me anything, it’s that pain has a special way of making people talk.
These two sing like fucking canaries while I’m tying them up and putting gauze over their wounds.
I must be getting old, going soft.
Before, I never would’ve cared a shit if they were bleeding out or not.
I like what I’m hearing, though.
I barely have to ask a leading question.
Turns out, Cornaro was trying to take over King Heron Fishing outright, but Ray was harder to convince than the asshole suspected. He wouldn’t ride off into 'early retirement' like the mob boss wanted.
The two keep going, offering me more scraps if I let them go. I pretend to be interested, even while making sure the knots on the ropes holding them in the chairs are tight.
Then I shoot a couple of pictures of the hidden room, a few choice printed photos Ray had tacked up showing black boxes full of military grade rifles, and text them to another old contact.
Without hard proof, it would’ve been a conflict of interest for me to tip off Wes Anderson. Now, as an FBI agent, he can step in and help nail Joel Cornaro’s dick to the wall.
He wants that as much as I do.
Everybody who went through Bali and lived to tell the tale wants nothing more.
My phone vibrates seconds after sending the pics. I grin, seeing his name.
“Where are you?” Wes Anderson asks as I answer.
“King Heron Fishing. Main office.”
“No shit? We’re going to hogtie this son of a bitch! On my way now.”
“I’ll be here. Got a couple of his hatchet-boys singing real pretty.”
“Damn, you’re good, Calum. There’s a place for you at the Bureau any time, you know, if you ever decide you’re bored with retirement.”
I laugh. “I’ve had that offer before. The answer’s still no.” I click off, and a part of me feels proud. But I know damn well I’ve had enough sleuthing and chasing after this.
A nice, dull retirement farming coffee doesn’t sound half bad. Hell, maybe I’ll even think about doing turtle tours myself.
Just as I’m dropping my phone back in my pocket, it vibrates again.
Cash.
He’d already called once, updating me on Ray’s condition.
I tap the answer icon.
“Flint? They’ve got Valerie and Ray Gerard!”
My insides freeze over. “They’ve...what?!”
“They came in through the back, cut the power, including the backup generator. Must’ve had a boat.”
Goddamn. My blood runs ice-cold.
“I told you to get a fucking boat!” Cash screams at me. “I could be chasing them right now if you had one.”
It’s too late for the boat, but not for Val.
I’ll die before that happens.
I won’t lose another victim to Joel fucking Cornaro. Pulling the gun out of my waistband, I swing it at the two goons. “Whoever doesn’t tell me what I want to hear gets a bullet square between their eyes. You get one chance to answer. Understood?”
Their heads almost pop off nodding.
“Where are they taking the Gerards? Where would Cornaro bring prisoners?” It steams out between my teeth, pinched together so hard I think I’ll snap my jaw.
Both men talk so fast, my head spins.
As soon as I’ve heard enough, I head for the door.
“They have her on his yacht,” I tell Cash, flying down the hall at a ground-eating run.
“Where?”
“Kahe Point.”
“The power plant? Jesus,” he growls. “How? The Coast Guard patrols out there constantly.”
“Bastards are hiding in plain sight. All the more reason to move.” I click off and shove the phone in my pocket while running for my truck.
It makes a twisted kind of sense. The docks near the power plant are the only ones