Page 66 of Merciless Protector

A man in his early thirties, with the look of someone who had seen too much, faced me. I arched a brow when he didn’t lower his gun.

“Put it on the ground and kick it toward me,” I commanded.

He held his hands up, gun still in one before he slowly lowered himself to his knees. He put the gun down and used his hand to push it in my direction. Lucky for me, I saw what he was about to do before he did it. He lunged for my legs. I jumped back, but it still put me off balance.

I kicked, not to hit him and expose my leg for him to grab, but to push his gun out of reaching distance. He reared up and made like a bull for my midsection. There was nothing for me to do but hope I didn’t lose the grip on my gun on impact. We crashed back in a duel of wills. I punched at his side and that was a mistake. He guessed right that I wasn’t planning on shooting him if I didn’t have to. He spun and knocked at my gun hand.

There were many options, none of them good. In swinging my arm out of the way, my aim was toward the ground. I had neighbors below me and couldn’t risk harming an innocent person. Instead, I rammed the gun at his face, leaving him dizzy. I sideswiped his leg and he fell forward to the ground. With a knee in his back, I wrenched his arms behind him and pulled cuffs I’d hidden in the sofa to restrain his wrists. Once that was done, I got off him.

As he panted, I barked orders. “Where is your phone?”

He didn’t balk at my request and answered instead. It was the first time he’d spoken. “In my pocket.”

I bent down and paid close attention so that he didn’t try to kick me as I searched his pocket and came up with what I assumed was a burner phone. I opened it. There wasn’t security and only one number was on the call list. I stood up, moved back, and dialed it.

A familiar voice answered. “Is it done?”

“Probably not as you expected.”

“Shawn,” Nicolas Cortez said.

“Surprised?”

“Disappointed.”

I tucked my gun in my waistband and went for the murder-for-hire’s gun as I said into the phone, “Disappointed I’m alive?” I kept one eye on my intruder with the phone between my cheek and shoulder as I emptied his gun of bullets and decocked it.

“Disappointed you didn’t kill my wife as ordered.”

“You really shouldn’t say these things over the phone,” I suggested. “Besides, it was a long shot I could find her. Give me a minute,” I said and put the phone down. I could hear him talking, but he would wait.

I hauled my intruder up by the waistband and got him to his feet. “You have one shot at walking out of here alive,” I said in a low tone, not wanting my neighbors to overhear as I frog-marched him to my door. “Leave and don’t come back. If you try anything, I’ll be forced to go for center mass.” He nodded.

This was the riskiest moment as I uncuffed him. My hold on the gun was tenuous during this time. Thankfully, he didn’t try anything as I stepped back and aimed at him. “Go,” I said. And he left. I guessed he decided killing me wasn’t worth his life. I closed and locked the door, not that it would stop the guy. He was clearly gifted with picking locks. I picked up my phone and turned on the camera view before setting my gun down. Then I picked up the burner phone and walked to the window.

“Still with me?” I said.

“What is going on?” Cortez said.

“I let your guy go.” I was banking on the feds listening in and preparing to take the guy into custody.

“Just like that?”

“Just like that,” I repeated.

“You have a thing for letting pretty things go.”

I didn’t think he was talking about his hit man.

“I’ve got too many eyes on me. You should know that. The cops and the feds are waiting for me to screw up. Doing anything for you is too risky. Letting her go and have her believe I was her savior gave me brownie points.”

I was curious how he would react. How well did Cortez know Ruin? Were they working together?

“Should I be worried about this me attitude?”

“No. Last thing I need to add to a list of charges is cop killer. Besides, I went to California looking for your wife.” It was a lie. I was testing to see if he’d known if I went to New York or not.

“What did you find?”

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