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“Head home. What’s your ETA?”
“Seven minutes if I don’t get pulled over for speeding.”
“I’m clearing the way for you. We’ll get there about the same time.”
“Does she know?”
“I’ve alerted hotel security. They’ve locked down the elevators and swept the stairwells. All is clear. I’ve got two on your floor. It’s only your two apartments up there. Elevator and stairwell are covered.”
“By pansy-assed rent-a-cops.” Everything in my life was about to explode, wasn’t it?
“Only for another six minutes. Even if your dad breaks every speed limit, he won’t beat us there. Focus, Hunter. I need you coherent. Your Mom and Angelina need that, too.”
Shit.“You think he knows about Lina?”
“We have to assume he does. Son of a bitch seems to know everything.”
“What’d the army guys say?” I jerked the steering wheel so hard the tires squealed turning the corner off the highway.
“Same bullshit.”
“Nobody has any idea how to contain this fucker, do they? What’s the plan?”
“Relocation.”
“Not an option, Marshal, I’ve already told you that.” No way would I leave Lina. Ever.
“Then it’s lockdown or move to a safe house.”
“If anything happens to Mom or Lina—”
“It won’t.”
“I’m going to make sure it doesn’t, Marshal. You hear me?” I would kill my dad if he even came close to either of them.
“Won’t come to that. You’re in a tactically advantageous situation on that top floor. I have twelve agents on their way. We’ll figure this out.”
“See you in three minutes.” I ended the call no more hopeful Dad wouldn’t get through those guys than Marshal sounded.
That son of a bitch had evaded them, and the military team assigned to apprehending him for three years. He’d found us in every new location we’d moved to and still hadn’t gotten caught.
The definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over expecting different results, and so far, we’d proven that theory true. But I was done moving. We were staying and, one way or another, my dad was going down.
Whether it was by Marshal’s hand or mine. I would keep my family safe.
* * *
Angelina
I stood behind the front desk working on a computer meltdown when a swarm of men dressed in black suits came through the doors. Three stopped after entering and remained near the doors.
One turned as he scanned the area, and I saw an earpiece. He was huge, and I recognized a familiar bulge at his side—he was packing. I glanced at Doug and asked, “What’s up?”
“Nothing’s on the docket. No high-profile peeps coming until tomorrow morning.” He walked around the counter and toward the remaining seven storming toward the front desk. “May I help you?”
The tall guy with ginger hair in a buzz cut started talking, but I couldn’t make out what he said, only saw that his red eyebrows were furrowed as he spoke.
“Marshal!” A familiar voice echoed through the lobby. It was Hunter’s. I knew it immediately, only it was pressured, forceful.
