Page 9 of Fast Justice

“I can give you whatever you want on him. In exchange I want a transfer and a reduced sentence.”

“A transfer to where?”

He gave her a cold smile. “Somewhere more befitting my status and importance to this investigation.”

She tilted her head, watching him. Analyzing him. Because she thought she held all the power now.

Oh, how he longed to prove her wrong. Spring a trap that would wipe that infuriating superior look right off her face and replace it with one of stark terror. In here, he had one thing in abundance. Time. Plenty of time to fantasize about the revenge he could wreak against all those who had betrayed him.

“That all depends on what you’ve got.” She paused a beat. “Start talking.”

Carlos did. He told them everything he knew about that traitorous son of a bitch Nieto. A nobody interloper who had moved in the moment Carlos had been arrested, to take over his hard-won territory. Reaping the fruits of Carlos’s years of work without a qualm.

Beneath the anger and resentment, a warm glow of satisfaction spread through his chest as he talked. Because now Nieto’s daughter and mistress were missing. He would be frantic to find them—and stop them from talking.

But Carlos knew things about him that Nieto’s only child and mistress did not. He’d already begun meting out punishment on his rival from right here, right under the American’s noses. “I know all his operations,” he began. “Because they used to be mine.”

Him being locked up didn’t mean he was out of the game. On the contrary. He was still a lethal threat to his enemies. As they would all learn soon enough, in order of insult to him. First Nieto. ThenEl Escorpion. Victoria Gomez. These two fucking smug federal lawyers. And the fucking DEA.

Time was on his side. He intended to use it well.

Sooner or later, he’d make every last one of them pay.

****

“Stop,” Taggart commanded from high overhead on the catwalk situated alongside the shoot house hallway. He sounded pissed. The overhead lights came on, signaling an immediate end to the exercise. “Do it again. Freeman, you still wanna be our point man, or what?”

God dammit.

Suppressing a sigh, Mal took the criticism and turned the frustrated snarl inside his head back on himself as he shoved his NVGs back up on their helmet mount. Because this was on him. Again. “Yes, sir,” he called out, then turned at Hamilton’s signal to start over from the top.

One by one all nine of them filed back down the narrow, five-level staircase to begin the drill again. Their fourth run in the past forty minutes, because all of them had been shit so far, this last one culminating with Malcolm missing an armed suspect hidden behind the door in one of the rooms. If it had happened in real life, he or one of his teammates might be dead right now.

Taggart didn’t ask questions or demand a debrief of what had gone wrong, instead stalking back down the catwalk to the starting point without a word. Fourth in line with his teammates, Mal mentally berated himself on the way back down the final flight of stairs. They’d started out the day at the gym together at 06:00, followed by breakfast and intel briefings on the latest goings on with theVenenocartel before moving here to practice various CQB scenarios.

As a former SEAL and the second most experienced operator on FAST Bravo, Mal had held the position of being the team’s point man for the past four years. Although you’d never know it from today’s sloppy performance. His fucking head wasn’t where it needed to be.

Because of Rowan.

He’d lain awake all last night thinking of her. Of what might have been.

It wasn’t like him to let something personal affect his mental state to this extent, and never while at work. And yet it was. No matter how much he wanted to get her out of his head, he couldn’t. Seeing her again yesterday had somehow brought back all those unresolved feelings. All those unanswered questions. He wanted closure, and wasn’t going to get it. His brain was having a hard time accepting and compartmentalizing that.

Back at the starting point in front of the building’s façade, he maneuvered a new door onto the hinges and locked it with a bolting mechanism while other agents inside the building moved everything else around. This scenario called for them to do a tactical breach and clear the building of armed hostiles on each floor. They were using live ammo and dummies this time rather than paper targets.

Training that way upped the stakes for everyone involved, allowing for zero margin of error. They trained as they meant to operate, because out there in the field, his and his teammates’ lives depended on them getting it done right the first time. Which was why he was so damn pissed at himself right now. There was no excuse for his shitty performance today.

Hamilton, the team leader, eyed him with faint amusement as Mal took up position behind Rodriguez, who was responsible for blowing the door open with a battering ram. The moment it opened, Mal was always the first guy through it. Everyone else followed him, reacted to his actions and decisions. That was his role. They all depended on him being sharp.

“You need a nap, or what?” Hamilton asked him.

“I’m good.” Lack of sleep wasn’t any kind of excuse, for any of them. Hell, he’d gone days without sleep during his days in the Teams and managed fine. He was only thirty-four, so it wasn’t like he was getting too old for this line of work.

“Okay. Think we can get it right this time? I’m getting bored.”

Embarrassed, annoyed with himself even though his team leader was only giving him a hard time, Mal set his jaw and nodded once.

Hamilton gave his shoulder a good-natured nudge with an elbow. “Just jerking your chain, man.” He turned to the others. “We ready to do this for real now, boys?”

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