A Mended Man (The Men of Halfway House Book 4) (22 page)

"Travis, can you see Reyes from your vantage point?"

"Negative," Travis said, inching forward.

Fucking Manny Reyes tried to be ballsier than the other team members. His ego had taken an obvious hit. He refused to remain stationed in his spot. Rather, he wanted to fly solo and nail the guy himself to make up for not having stellar interrogation skills to pull an address from the suspect. The team agreed, more than anything, to get him to shut the hell up and stop complaining. But now, as they waited for their team member to come out of the building, they all probably shared the same regrets as Aidan for caving in to Manny's ego.

"Shit!" Manny's voice boomed through the earpiece followed by a door slam and rapid footsteps. "We've got a runner!"

"He's headed east," Travis added, sprinting after them.

Aidan motioned Sunny over as he spoke into his mic. "Wall, come around to the south side. You and I are going to pair up," Aidan directed, quickly formulating a mental plan. "Sunny, pick up the car and get on the laptop to track us and call in for backup." With Sunny's speed, she could easily reach the parked car several blocks away in less than a minute. She nodded and sprinted west toward Douglas Road.

They each wore GPS trackers during a takedown to avoid any surprises and only Sunny and Travis could decipher which blinking green dot was who on the screen. Without questioning who took the reins, they each broke free with their orders. Wall ran alongside Aidan, effortlessly matching each stride as they headed east at a full-paced run to catch up to Manny and Travis.

With each stomp of his booted feet on the pavement, a new scenario and quick solution arose in Aidan's mind. Within seconds, he had a plan and mentally sorted through potential backup plans as well. If the perp entered a populated area, if he held someone hostage in their home, if—

Sunny's voice over the radio pierced his thoughts. "I've got each of you pinged. Reyes and Trav cut through the park and are heading east down Oak Ave. Calloway and Wall, keep cutting through the way you're going. I'm going to drive down Grand."

They ran at a full speed, hyperaware of their surroundings as they raced along the rear periphery of Coco Walk. The beautiful street-side and social gathering hot spot was elegant and often ideal for photo shoots and artistic street vendors. But just outside the shops and restaurants vibrating with nightlife bordered a less than glamorous part of town. Empty, rundown buildings on the outskirts created a visual marker, clearly defining a boundary—a warning to tourists that they could have that spot to live in their dreamy, ritzy street-side cafe or restaurant, but everything else was off limits.

They raced down the street, ignoring the drug transaction on the corner. They had bigger problems on their hands if this asshole escaped. They vaulted over a chain link fence like synchronized, seasoned gymnasts, the bulk of the tactical gear no match for the adrenaline injecting power through every muscle. Aidan ducked to avoid losing an eye to the branches of the overgrown black olive tree he hurtled past then scurried through a backyard to cut through and make up some ground, never breaking rhythm as a Rottweiler jumped toward them, held back
only
by the chain leash wrapped around its neck. They picked up their pace, both in stride like a single runner with his reflection against a mirrored wall.

"They're heading toward Tigertail," Sunny said through the earpiece.

"Shit," Aidan cursed under his breath.

Too many residences along that road and too many trees to provide cover in the faint evening light or the randomly working streetlights, most intentionally shot out by the dealers who preferred the cover of night for their transactions. And if they managed to still have sights on the perp through the residential area, they ran the risk of the suspect complicating things if he hit the business district a few blocks down.

"Trav stopped. Reyes is still going. Wait, he's backtracking. Shit, I think he might have lost the guy."

With all the overgrown trees, it was too easy to lose the runner. Especially if the suspect was familiar with the area. "Let's split up," Aidan said to Wall. They went their separate ways with swift, practiced ease, never missing a step—Wall to the right and Aidan heading left.

After a few moments, Sunny's voice radioed through. "Wall, cut back around and circle from behind. Aidan, you're coming up on Trav. He's going to be on your left in about fifty yards around the corner."

The message sent a bolt of energy racing through Aidan's body. He turned the corner and spotted Travis on the ground with his hand pressed against his head. Aidan hit the ground and slid on his knees the few inches to reach his team member. "You okay?"

Travis nodded, removing his hand to inspect his blood smeared palm before returning it to his temple. "Fucking Good Samaritans thought they were helping him. I'm fine. Go!"

Aidan curtly nodded, his body instinctively darting forward at a dead run. "Sunny, pick up Trav."

"On it." The faint sound of screeching tires making an obvious sharp turn a few streets down immediately followed her response.

Aidan charged forward, his heart pounding and the sweat on his brow chilling his skin with each speedy stride down the residential streets as he headed toward the edge of The Grove's business district. A prickling behind his neck alerted him, flashing warning lights in his head. He slowed his pace to a trot and stealthily worked his way around the darkness, taking advantage of the cover offered by the trees.

"Wall's here. We've got Trav. You're coming up to Reyes. He's not moving."

A grunt and clanking of metal echoed in the silence of the night, guiding him to the next corner. He withdrew his sidearm and inched forward, turning the corner to find Reyes about fifty yards away on the ground up against the building in the dark alley. His body slumped at an odd angle against the large, metal garbage bins and his chest heaved with each labored breath.

The large, thick man loomed over him with a gun aimed squarely at Manny's head.

Aidan straightened his arms and an instant stillness overtook his entire body, steeling his pounding heart and cementing his muscles to his position, demanding precision. Without hesitation, he aimed at the monster's heart and pulled the trigger. The sound of the bullet pierced through the silence of the night and jerked the huge figure back onto the ground.

Manny abruptly turned his head, looking over to him. Aidan marched down the alley toward him as tires screeched behind moments later and car doors swung open.

Aidan kicked away the gun on the ground then extended his hand to Manny to help him stand. His focus snapped to the large figure on the ground, alarmed by the sound of a sudden grunt.

Sunny and Wall lunged forward, holding the large man down to the pavement.

Manny clasped Aidan's hand to stand. Finally upright, he swayed slightly, stopping only when Aidan braced his arm with his other hand to steady him. Manny repeatedly blinked as blood oozed from a gash at the side of his head. Without further prompting, Manny silently acknowledged he was fine with a slow nod.

Sunny yanked open the Traveling Matador's shirt. "What the fuck?" She looked over her shoulder at Aidan. "Did you know he was wearing a vest?"

Aidan holstered his weapon and his jaw muscles twitched with new tension. "No."

He turned toward the car to check on Travis who sat in the back with a bloody towel against his head. Aidan took a few deep breaths to calm the rage clawing away at him as a series of photos flickered through his mind in rapid succession.

Images of the victims who had suffered at this monster's hand.

Snapshots of Jessie sitting in the middle of a blood-smeared bed.

His
bloodied and injured teammates…from now and from a time he wanted to forget.

Everything. All at once. Sorted and dog-eared in his memory bank for future reference.

One last thought crossed his mind as sirens wailed in the stillness of the night: he should have aimed for the bastard's head.

He hated the fucking darkness and the musty smell of damp mud. He tried opening his eyes, but the blindfold made the attempt pointless.

He waited. Listening. He couldn't see, but didn't need to. He had memorized every corner of the mud-brick structure. The walls were the same tone as the boring, brown, desert dirt. Open squares in the uneven walls served as windows, and a stained piece of fabric draped from the rooftop covered the large rectangular opening that served as the doorway.

Regardless of how they bound him, they always kept him in the main room while at least one man remained in the smaller side room—the main headquarters where the cell team coordinated their invasions. Times like these he wished he had a tracking chip implanted so the higher-ups could come in and raid the handmade mud structure.

He waited for the silence to confirm his solitude in the space as he lay on his back—held down with braided material that seemed stronger than traditional rope. Fuckers had figured out braiding made it tougher to tear.

He took a slow, shallow breath, hoping to mask the rise and fall of his chest. He lay as still as possible, filtering out the sound of each scrape of nature rubbing against the fabric door, waiting to hear a voice.

He'd counted up to six distinct male voices. Occasionally absent for some stretch of time, but always the same six. Their leader was the worst and took great pleasure in overseeing every ounce of pain dispensed by his clan, urging his disciples to show no mercy. They yelled and spurred each other on in a foreign language they thought he couldn't understand.

He understood everything. Every. Fucking. Word.

He and his team had been trained to know the language of the lands they invaded.

"Break the man, so he speaks." The sick bastards chanted their mantra over every member of his unit as they all lay naked on a bed, or bound, waiting for their turn in the beating queue. Tied and naked made it damn near impossible to hide anything that could double as a weapon. Days, weeks, months…he'd lost count without the rare gift of the rise and set of the sun. After several escape attempts, his team had been punished and forced into the helpless darkness. Blindfolds their captors only removed so each man in his unit could serve as witness to the torture of the others. They thought that would encourage someone in his crew to betray their country.

Morons. He and his unit were patriots to the core.

The captors had become creative with their household items, learning quickly how a simple battery cable against wet or sweat-slicked skin could cause a body to arch in agony or how a simple twist of an arm or a bound limb in just the right position for the perfect length of time could result in a lingering taste of pain.

He and his men were trained to withstand torture and how to ignore the bite of pain.

But he hadn't been trained for the full spectrum of possible torture while captive or the soul-piercing ache each time he watched the bastards slowly and calculatingly murder every member of his unit, until only he remained. With nothing further to witness, the blindfold had become a permanent reminder of his lack of control…or so they'd hoped.

Finally, the sound he sought. One muffled voice.

He steeled himself, ready to act. He couldn't stand this anymore. This helplessness. Not sure why this time would be different, but he had to try to free himself again. Death was the inevitable endgame. The question was…when? And he sure as hell wasn't known for his patience.

One man far enough away meant he had a small window of time. He quickly tried to loosen himself from the leg and hand restraints. The restraints seemed different than usual. Odd. The voice came closer. He gnashed his teeth as he fought the braided fabric that bound him, pulling and pushing, hoping for an inch of give in the binding.

That voice again. It sounded different, but he wasn't going to chance quieting to distinguish the tone of which captor neared him. It didn't matter which one.

They all deserved to die.

His jaw muscles hurt from the pressure of each muffled grunt as he twisted and straightened his wrists and feet, hoping the fabric would loosen just enough to allow him to slip through the restraint. His heart jackhammered in his chest as the voice sounded closer. He didn't have much time. He struggled, arching his body and channeling his strength into his limbs, fighting with every ounce of power for a chance to escape.

In an instant, the restraints dissolved from his hands just as a touch grazed his now magically freed ankles. He didn't question how it happened. Fuck it, freedom was all that mattered.

An ingrained instinct charged him toward his captor.

"Aidan."

That voice, the tone familiar but nothing he associated with the darkness or the evil that suffocated him.

"Aidan."

* * * *

The power outage from the blown transformer had been loud enough to wake Jessie with a start. He rose from bed and stretched as he walked over to the window, yawning and taking a peek out into the still of the night. An endless sea of darkness except for the hint of moonlight that brightened the top layer of leaves of the large black olive trees.