The Lawless Kind (37 page)

‘Rink’s here too?’ Harvey visibly relaxed with relief. ‘We heard from those assholes–’ he aimed a bare foot at the three dead guards – ‘that he’d been killed in the mountains when you were captured.’

‘From what I’ve learned in the meantime, Rink’s a long way from dead. He cleared the way here for us, and I’m guessing it’s still safe to go back to the warehouse. Will you and Mac be strong enough to carry Velasquez between you? Marshall will need his hands free just in case I’m wrong.’

Harvey and McTeer shared a nod.

‘We’ll manage,’ McTeer said. ‘He ain’t heavy . . .’

The strains of that old Hollies song played in my head, but only briefly. I moved to help them pick up Velasquez, the guys taking an arm each over their shoulders. Velasquez’s head lolled briefly, but then it lifted and he spat more bloody muck from his throat. He grinned through broken teeth. ‘Still beats patrolling a fucking mall for a living,’ he wheezed.

Marshall shook his head, disbelief. He checked me out. ‘Shit, you look like something out of
Die Hard
. But even Bruce Willis had a vest.’

‘Is that your way of telling me to look after myself?’

He raised an eyebrow, but his lips twitched momentarily, almost a smile.

‘Once I get these lads out of here, I’ll see about making it back for you and the others,’ he said.

‘No. Don’t do that. Make sure Velasquez gets to a doctor. The others too,’ I said against Harvey and McTeer’s objections. ‘If Kirstie and Benjamin are still alive, I’ll find a way. If they’re not . . . well, the fight won’t end here.’

‘Like I said, it’s your funeral. My job’s done here as far as Molina and Six is concerned.’ His singular gaze fell on the tattoo on my bare shoulder. ‘I’ll defer to Arrowsake if it’s all right by you.’

‘I’m not here on Arrowsake’s behalf.’

‘Think again, Hunter. Maybe you aren’t, but they were there for you. Who do you think hit Thomas Caspar and derailed Regis’s mission here?’

When I’d learned of Thomas Caspar’s assassination, I’d immediately spotted the connection to Stephen Vincent, in the persona of Vince Everett, whose favourite method of killing happened to be a guitar-wire garrotte. I couldn’t figure out how he’d become involved, or why, but the answer was staring me in the face. Whereas Rink and I had all but severed our ties to the assassination bureau that was Arrowsake, and Walter had sworn to distance himself, it was apparent that the old man had called in a favour. What did that mean for the future? Nothing good, I bet.Yet Marshall had warned me about looking too keenly at gift horses and he was right. I should be thankful that they’d helped turn the tide in my favour, and not worry about future implications. Hell, maybe I wouldn’t have a future. I still had to survive a nest of armed killers and get Kirstie, Benjamin and Rink out alive. Bruce Willis had his lucky vest. Me? All I had was a pair of dead man’s trousers, two guns and enough rage to burn Agua Prieta to cinders. I hoped that would prove enough.

I watched the others leave. The gunfire, more random now, was in the opposite direction, beyond a second door that the three guards had been watching. It was the only reason we’d been able to sneak up on them; they’d thought all the fighting was at the front of the building and had missed our stealthy approach. I wondered who was shooting. Marshall’s two friends – Mitchell and Paulson – were outside as far as I knew, but the gunfire was inside the building. It had to be Rink continuing his running battle, unless Regis was also forced to fight his way out after losing favour with Molina. Caspar, his boss, had died. I hoped that Regis would earn a similar fate, but not on the receiving end of a guitar-string noose. Given the opportunity, I’d gladly slay him as coldly as he had the coyote back when all this began. Then again, that was too good for the bastard: if I could find a container to lock him inside, then park him in some hidden corner of the desert then I’d do that too.

Focusing my rage on him might sound wrong, because it was likely I’d have come into Mexico on Kirstie’s behalf without Regis having any part in the outcome, but it was because of him that we’d been tracked in – obviously he’d been the one to have our van fitted with a homing device – making it necessary to ditch the van and find alternative passage from Hermosillo. If that hadn’t happened, Rink and I wouldn’t have been separated from the others, and none of them would have been in this fix now. Regis had earned my enmity, almost as much as Molina had.

No.

Molina deserved to die more brutally than Regis, and it had nothing to do with the fact he’d beaten the hide off me with a wet rope. It was that he intended murdering his ex-wife, and perhaps already had.

Following the sounds of gunfire, I raced on, desperately hoping that I’d be in time to save Kirstie.

Chapter 47

Benjamin was sobbing, and the boy’s distress was more heartbreaking to Kirstie than her own imminent death.

‘Just hold the knife the way I showed you,’ Molina yelled at the child. Out of her line of sight, Molina was losing patience with their son. Kirstie saw shadows writhe across the floor below her, knew that a struggle was happening between the two. A meaty slap followed, and Benjamin howled in pain.

‘Do not touch him!’ Kirstie’s scream was strident, yet held power itself. ‘You have no right to strike him like that. Leave him alone, you bastard.’

More jostling ensued, with Molina’s body thumping against Kirstie’s lower back and thighs. ‘Take the knife. Like
that
! Yes, that’s it. Now press down.’

‘I don’t want to . . .’

Kirstie screamed again.

Molina kicked her over and she went down on her side, her back to him. Shouting and crying competed in volume. Kirstie struggled to roll over, to see what was happening. The woman who had been controlling her, holding her down while Molina attempted to coax Benjamin into stabbing her in the spine, stood back with a look of relief. She had no desire to be there, or to help in Kirstie’s murder, and she’d just been offered some respite. For the first time, Kirstie recognised from the woman’s uniform that she was a Border Control official. When the woman had first accepted bribes to turn a blind eye against cartel activities, she couldn’t have envisioned anything like this.

‘You have to do something,’ Kirstie yelled at her.

The woman continued to edge away, shaking her head, her gaze switching from Kirstie to Molina, then back again.

‘Yeah. You can get the hell outta my way.’

The new voice struck silence into the room.

Kirstie turned to see a large figure silhouetted in the doorway. Bewildered, she watched as a hand plucked the border official off the floor by the collar of her shirt, and flung her bodily out of the room. ‘You know what’s good for you, get the hell outta here,’ said the new arrival. The woman staggered as she was propelled into the corridor, then she jerked upright, took one last wide-eyed glance into the room, and fled. Her footsteps echoed down the corridor, staccato sounds against the sudden hush.

Jared Rington moved inside.

He barely glanced at Kirstie, his full attention on Molina and Benjamin.

‘It would do you good to set the boy aside and face me like a man,’ Rink said.

‘You’re supposed to be dead.’ Molina stared at Rink with a look to curdle cream, as if Rink’s survival was a personal slight.

‘I was hoping the same about you. Now set the boy aside.’

‘So you can shoot me?’

‘Yup. That’s the idea.’

‘No, no, no,’ Kirstie cried. ‘You’ll hit Benjamin.’

Rink gave her a warning glance, immediately returning his attention to Molina. ‘Let the boy go, it serves no purpose for you to endanger him.’

Kirstie finally got her backside beneath her, and struggled up to stand and face her ex-husband. She saw now why Rink had chosen the words he had. Molina was shielding himself behind the boy, and the knife he’d recently threatened her with was now angled towards Benjamin’s throat.

‘The boy is useless to me. My whore of a wife must have conceived him with another man, because I doubt this coward came from my loins.’ Molina’s wrist twitched, and he appeared to be on the cusp of sinking the knife through Benjamin’s tender throat. ‘So . . . go on. Shoot me if you want, but I’ll kill him first.’

‘Jorge! How could you?’ Kirstie wailed. She made to move forward, a last-ditch effort at wresting her son free.

‘Get back!’ Molina adjusted the blade tip so that it was nestled in the soft spot beneath Benjamin’s right ear. ‘I’m warning you both, another move and I will stab him.’

‘No you won’t. You’re a punk coward, Molina, and you won’t give up your hostage like that. If you stab him, I swear I won’t shoot you; I’ll tear you to pieces with my bare hands. I’ll make you suffer in ways you can’t imagine.’

‘I don’t fear you, big man. I’m afraid of no man.’

‘You should be,’ Rink said, and he slid out a large knife.

He didn’t lower his gun; it was aimed directly at Molina’s face and the cartel boss juggled Benjamin around to offer further cover. The boy kicked and squirmed. He reared backwards so that he could see his mom, wailing for her to help.

‘Here’s what’s going to happen,’ Molina said. ‘I’m leaving, and I’m taking the boy with me. Now stand aside or I will cut the little brat’s throat.’

Rink’s face hardened, the blood draining from his features. His mouth was so tight, it was as if someone had pressed a thumb to his top lip and left its indelible mark there. A scar on his chin was bone white. He didn’t give any ground.

‘You’re going nowhere,’ he said.

‘Then you’re going to have to shoot me,’ Molina challenged.

‘Pick a knee,’ Rink said and lowered his aim.

‘Shoot me and I swear . . .’

‘Yeah, yeah, so you said.’

Rink didn’t squeeze the trigger. Shooting Molina in the leg would most assuredly cause him to stab the boy in anger. Molina understood the reason for his reluctance and hoped to capitalise on it.

‘Get out of my way.’ He wrapped an arm round Benjamin, holding the boy tightly to his chest.

‘Don’t let him take my boy!’

‘Quiet, Kirstie,’ Rink hissed.

‘You. Bitch. Come over here.’

Kirstie would have gone to her ex-husband, offering herself as a human shield in place of her son, but Rink shook his head savagely. ‘No, Kirstie. Don’t give him a way out of here.’

‘But if I go to him then maybe . . .’

‘Maybe nothing. He’ll kill you both. Get here, behind me, out of the way. Now, Kirstie, goddamnit.’

She moaned at her inability to help, but she obeyed Rink’s instruction. Rink made her turn away and used the blade of his knife to snick through the cords binding her. She crouched behind him, rubbing the circulation back into her fingers, all the while never taking her gaze off her son. Molina began edging his way round them. Rink followed, the gun barrel never wavering from its target.

Molina gained the door, and now their positions were reversed in the room. He grinned at his small victory. He mimed cutting Benjamin’s throat. ‘Don’t try to follow me. You know what will happen.’

What happened next stunned Kirstie by its speed and violence.

Rink barked a command, and lurched forward.

A bare arm snaked out from beside Molina and grabbed his knife-wielding hand, yanking it away from Benjamin’s neck, while another encircled his throat and pulled him backwards and off balance. Startled, Molina shouted out, his grip on the boy loosening as he fought to gain balance, grabbing at the doorframe for support. Rink swooped in low and snatched the boy out of the air, cradling him in his big arms, his gun and knife held clear of Benjamin’s body. Without pause, he turned and offered her son to Kirstie. With a croak of relief Kirstie clutched at the boy, hefting him up against her chest. By the time she blinked over the crown of his head, Molina was gone from sight, but she could hear the scuffle of a short and brutal fight in the hallway. She pulled Benjamin to her shoulder, covering his ears so that he couldn’t hear what became of his father.

Chapter 48

‘Brother, you look like crap.’

Those were Rink’s words of welcome when I’d finally caught up to him as he stalked the corridors of the office wing attached to the large warehouse. But they were said with affection, and he enfolded me in a hug that threatened to finish the job that Jorge Molina had started on my ribs.