Page 85 of Betrayed

“Guess what he’s after wasn’t there,” Sean commented wryly. “Hoffman obviously never told his arms-dealing mistress about the safe deposit box.”

Jonas again. “He’s got her by the throat and slammed her against the wall. He’s shouting in her face, ‘Bloody well find it!’”

Arturo stiffened. “He’s British?”

“First slip of an accent I’ve noticed,” was Jonas’ reply after a brief pause.

“Me, too,” Rick agreed. “If he’s a Brit, he’s got a Texas drawl down pat.”

“They’re on their way out,” Jonas announced. “All but the woman.”

A few seconds later, all three men piled into the car and sped down the drive.

“Do we have them?” Cap asked.

“Got ’em, and Reed is on their tail. He’s hanging back, going soft for now. If he loses them, the GPS will guide us,” Rick added. “Although if their pros, they’ll likely ditch the car, or at least know to sweep it the first stop.”

Cap grunted. “They sure as hell aren’t amateurs like Hoffman and Dunbar.”

“Nor are they Middle Eastern,” Arturo said drily. Putting the size of the leader, his build, and his use of “bloody hell,” a common British epithet all together. “I need to hear the audio now.”

“What are you thinking?” Cap asked.

“I’ve got a hunch, which I pray to God I’m wrong about, but I’ll need to see and hear that video to be certain.”

They were on the move, invisible in the dark as they made their way to the street and the van.

“T and Sean. Hang back and keep an eye on the woman.”

* * *

IN A CROUCH, THEY RANalong the side of the warehouse, Arturo and Cap taking position on either side of the window. It was muggy and visibility was poor in the early morning fog, which helped provide them cover. Cap rose a few inches and peered around the window’s edge. He scanned the scene inside before ducking back down.

“Six armed men at nine o’clock.”

“Any sign of Dunbar?”

“Not from my position, but there are crates blocking my view.”

Mirroring Cap’s motion, Arturo peered over the sill. He spotted her immediately, the fool woman out in the open holding a gun on six men. Even armed, it was incredibly bad odds and not in her favor.

“She’s there, and I can positively ID her husband. There’s an open crate on the table, but from this angle, I can’t see the contents.”

“I’m in position up top,” Dex cut in. “It’s some electronic device, but nothing I recognize. The box is stamped with the BSE logo. There’s also an open case of cash, lots of it.”

“That’s good enough for me,” Agent Delvecchio announced.

Agent Taylor, his partner, echoed, “Same here.”

Both agents were out of the Houston field office and were familiar with the Rossi crew. They had been Arturo’s FBI contacts for the past few months.

“I’m ready to be done with this. Let’s move in,” he ordered.

The next few minutes could only be described as controlled chaos. Men shouted, shots were fired, and Adriana Dunbar cursed a blue streak when tackled to the ground from behind by Dex as she tried to escape with the cash. When the dust settled, they had the Dunbars and all six men in cuffs, seated on the floor, surrounded by Houston PD and federal agents who were ready to take them into custody.

Arturo walked down the row of suspects, eyeing each one carefully. These weren’t the men at Mari’s house, and most didn’t speak English. They were all Middle Eastern, except their leader and he did not have a British accent.

He moved to where Delvecchio and Taylor were holding a sobbing Don Dunbar who was spilling his guts as his bitch of a wife glared daggers at him.

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