Page 100 of Bring Them Home

“I’ve always got you.” He holstered his weapon at the shouts of “all clear” from SWAT. They must have gone through the house and apprehended everyone. Trent helped Amanda to her feet. “You all right?”

“Yes, thanks to you.” She couldn’t imagine what would have happened to Zoe if Nina had killed her. “Did we get Hernandez?”

“Secured,” one of the SWAT officers said as he walked past with Hernandez in cuffs.

The drug kingpin stared Amanda down, and she went cold.

She followed them outside and caught just a brief glimpse of a man in the distance. At first she wasn’t even sure if she might have imagined him. Then the man came into focus.

McGee.

Time stood still.

He raised his arm, a gun in his hand.

Amanda ran forward and slammed all of her body weight into the SWAT officer and Hernandez, knocking them both to the ground, just as the loud crack of a weapon firing pierced the air.

FIFTY-ONE

This was over. At least from one perspective. From another it was just beginning. Hernandez would live another day, but he’d broken his nose when Amanda had pushed him to the ground. She was satisfied he was feeling some pain. By the time she was done, he’d be feeling a lot more.

Hernandez was taken to the hospital, but they had received the call his nose was set. They were walking through the hallways to speak to him at eight thirty. If she had any say in the matter, Hernandez wasn’t slipping free from the charges coming at him this time. Nina might not face judicial charges, but she received justice in another sense.

The PWCPD emerged from the firefight with no casualties but one injury. A SWAT officer was shot, a through-and-through, but he was expected to make a full recovery. Hernandez’s men hadn’t fared as well. Those who survived required treatment for smoke inhalation and would be facing charges.

A search of Hernandez’s house had turned up a lot of unregistered guns, including an HK45. The ballistics were still being done, but CSI Blair confirmed the 45-cal ammo Hernandez had on hand was the same brand of bullet that was retrieved from Abigail McGee’s body. Ballistics would reveal if it had come from the collected HK45.

Nina’s blade fit the parameters of what had stabbed Paul Archer and cut out Abigail McGee’s tongue. It would be tested back at the lab to see if there was any trace evidence that could tie it to those crimes.

CSI Blair also recovered a blue shirt with a tear in the sleeve that was a visual match to the remnant found with Paul Archer’s body. She tied it back to one of Hernandez’s men.

There was no sign of the black Ford Transit, and where it came from was unknown. It might have been torched, destroyed, taken out of town. Imagination on its fate held no bounds. Same too for the computer and electronics taken from the Archers’ home office. They weren’t found either and were likely long ago destroyed and discarded. Not that any of this ultimately mattered. The evidence they did have against Hernandez stood on its own. Good thing, too, because none of his men were speaking out against him.

And even though it was hours later, Amanda was still working to flush images of McGee yelling at her from her mind. His words were a haunting refrain. You should have just shot me! I have nothing to live for.

It was hard to tamp that down; his pain was so visceral she felt it as her own. And death by bullet would be friendlier than what he would face in prison. Cops were targeted. She’d testify for McGee but wasn’t sure how much it would do. He’d shown premeditation. She’d come to learn that McGee had heard a rumor around East Station that the PWCPD was moving in on Hernandez after 5 PM. McGee had hung back and waited for an opportunity. He told his arresting officer, “There was no way I was going to watch Hernandez walk for killing my Abby. I did what I had to do.”

Amanda led the way into Hernandez’s room. His lawyer, Wilson Duran, was sitting at his bedside.

Hernandez’s eyes burned through hers as she walked into the room. He shifted his gaze to Trent, who was at her side. He was wearing a nasal splint, and his cheek and forehead were bruised.

“We have you on video.” She wanted to get right to the point and get this over with. If they were back at Central, she would set out photographs extracted from his own video.

“That’s not possible,” he groaned, grimacing at his pain or at being caught? A blend of both?

“A Digital Crimes detective was able to recover deleted footage.” As she laid that out, she took immense pride in being PWCPD. “It shows you and Antonina Martini leading Abigail McGee to the back of your barn, where you shot her.”

“Even if this is true about him being with Abigail, Detective,” the lawyer began, “I haven’t heard anything to substantiate your claim that my client shot her.”

“Well, police have recovered your client’s HK45. It will be compared to the fragments pulled from Abigail McGee, but Mr. Hernandez’s ammo is a match. Even without that, as I said, we have him on video with an injured woman, practically dragging her off. That alone is more than enough. We also found Valerie and Brooke. They’re not talking though. Not saying a word.”

Hernandez smirked. His ego was taking a bath in the fact people feared him. Or he thought their silence meant they were dead. She wanted to correct him of that illusion.

“They’re going to be all right.” She basked in sharing that news, even more when his eyes narrowed. “You look surprised, but don’t worry, they’re not talking.” She wanted to stress that point. “Why did you leave them in that well?”

The lawyer sighed dramatically. “What well, Detective? Nothing was said about a well before now.”

“How did you or your people even know about the abandoned well behind the Manning barn?” Amanda leveled at Hernandez, ignoring the lawyer.