OTAY MESA
MONDAY, 12:25 P.M.
GRACE HAD JUST FINISHED checking that Franklin was still hidden behind the pallets when she heard scuffing sounds from the bathroom. Quickly she walked to where she’d stood before and raised the pistol into shooting position. She was sixty feet from the bathroom, much too far for a shot, but it was the only place where she could watch both Franklin and Hector.
Her heart soared when she saw Lane’s head.
And sank when she realized that he was cuffed to Hector.
I’ll have to get close to shoot. Very close.
Six inches.
She doubted Hector was that foolish.
Hector crowded out of the hole behind Lane so quickly that the boy tripped. Using the handcuffs and a casual strength that shocked Grace, Hector levered Lane right into the line of fire from her pistol.
“Mom!”
Using the cuffed hand, Hector backhanded Lane. “Shut up.”
Forcing herself to keep the pistol steady, she spoke urgently to Lane. “Do as he says. It’s almost over. Soon you’ll be free.”
It cost every bit of Grace’s strength, but she kept the pistol steady.
Trip again, Lane. Go down hard and fast. Stay down.
Please, God.
Joe, where are you?
Are you even alive?
Hector laughed at Grace as he strode away from the bathroom, closing the distance between them. “Now you take my orders, yes?”
She drew a hidden breath and sighted past her own son’s head, letting Hector see the deadly black eye of her gun.
He slowed, then stopped ten feet from her.
“Unlock Lane,” she said.
“Give me Franklin.”
“Not until Lane is free.”
“How I know Franklin is here?” Hector said.
“Speak up, Ted.”
Silence.
She glanced in the direction of Franklin’s hiding place. He had a look of terror on his face.
“Say something,” she snarled, “or I’ll shoot you myself.”
“Dad?” Lane asked, not able to stop himself. “Did you really come for me?”
The sound Franklin made wasn’t a word.
Hector pointed his pistol in the direction of Franklin’s voice. The bloodred laser beam probed the shadows.
Franklin saw the light, made another throttled sound, and shrank from the beam.
Grace sensed as much as saw a movement in the bathroom. Silently, slowly, like a bloody ghost, Faroe rose up out of the hole in the floor. His right arm was covered with blood. There was a gun in his left hand.
The wrong hand.
Dear God.
Grace’s eyes locked with Faroe’s. He jerked his head to one side, warning her not to give him away. Instantly she shifted her glance.
Dragging Lane, Hector was walking toward Franklin’s hiding place, getting farther away from her and Faroe with every step.
“Stop!” Grace shouted.
She took several steps toward Hector, hoping to distract him from Faroe.
Hector swung his pistol. The red dot of death settled between Grace’s eyes.
“Let Lane go,” she said, ignoring the red beam. “Now.”
“No,” Hector said angrily. “Franklin!”
Twenty feet away, Grace kept her pistol aimed at Hector’s face and wished to hell Harley had given her a pistol with a laser sight. Hector was using Lane as a shield.
Six inches.
Maybe even twelve.
How close do you have to be, Joe?
But that was one question she couldn’t ask.
“The instant you get Franklin,” Grace said, “you’ll kill everyone to protect your tunnel. Turn Lane loose. Now!”
One second.
Two.
Three.
Four.
With a sound of terror, Ted Franklin snapped. He broke cover, racing for the door, for freedom.
Hector whipped his pistol toward the sound. He fired once while the laser spot was still moving.
The sound was deafening.
The laser spot settled on Franklin’s fleeing back. Hector fired twice more. Franklin landed facedown and didn’t move.
While the shots echoed Faroe was running, had been running since the instant the red dot left Grace’s forehead.
Now the dot was swinging back toward her.
Knowing he was too far away to be certain of missing Lane, Faroe yelled to distract Hector.
Hector spun toward the unexpected attack. For an instant he was shocked by the sight of a blood-soaked man running toward him, sighting along the pistol he held in his left hand. When Hector recognized Faroe, the Mexican snapped his cuffed arm over his hostage’s head and yanked Lane close. Even as Hector started to point the pistol at Lane’s head, he saw that Faroe was alone.
Eyes wide with horror, Lane saw that the bloody man running toward them was Joe Faroe.
With a flick of his wrist, Hector pointed the laser spot at Faroe’s left side and fired.
Faroe took the shot, spun around, and kept on coming.
The red dot settled on Faroe’s head.
Lane sank his teeth deep into Hector’s arm, lashed out at his gun hand, and threw himself to the floor.
Hector’s shot ricocheted wildly around the hangar.
Grace’s shot didn’t. Hector was dead before he hit the cement.
Faroe smiled even as his world went black.
So long, Hector. See you in hell.