Jon strode back to Jenna, cupped her face, and pressed a kiss to her hair. “That’s perfect, baby. Just relax.” Then he let go and reached for the handgun at his back. “Alex, walk away.”
Alex grunted and stepped to the side, immediately lifting one hand to rub at his eyes as he moved toward the nearest wall. It wouldn’t be the most comfortable resting point, but it was solid and literally grounding. And the cool rock would probably feel good.
Jon owed him big for playing his hand the way he had.
But that would come later. First, Jon strolled up, into Parker’s line of sight. He held his own gun low—out and ready but non-threatening, the way he’d been trained. Parker already had his pistol in-hand. He’d drawn it when Jon was taunting him, keeping the dumb fuck from noticing that someone was moving up directly behind Jon. So, Parker’s gun was half-raised, finger not yet on the trigger.
Jon watched as Parker blinked, slow, and his chest heaved with a hard breath. His arms shook for a moment before steadying. Parker stumbled backward about half a step and blinked again, faster. That time he gave his head a shake, and when his eyes re-opened, they looked clear. Focused.
Furious.
Just the way Jon wanted them.
Rage contorted Parker’s face and he raised his gun properly as if he didn’t realize he’d been held immobile for several minutes. “I should’ve done this the moment I saw you outside that stupid bakery,” he snarled. “The community already thinks you’re dead. Let’s make you real-dead.” His finger moved to the trigger.
Jon rolled his wrist to the side and squeezed the trigger, then immediately twisted his torso out of range just in case Parker got off a shot with a muscle spasm.
He did not. Parker dropped his gun completely and let out a yell as he collapsed to the ground, the pain consuming him. He never had been good with pain, or even simply receiving treatment equal to what he dished out.
Jon dropped into a crouch by Parker’s shoulders and tapped the fucker in the forehead with his handgun. “Listen to me, asshole,” he said. He spoke quietly, but his words only stayed close because Parker was still screaming like a baby. So, Jon reached out with his free hand and smacked the bastard across the face. “It’s just a knee, fuckwad. I could do so much worse to you.” He leaned closer as Parker’s eyes widened. “Iwantto do so much worse to you. Do you understand me? Your badge isn’t what’s saving you. And it’s sure as shit not your daddy. No, I’m leaving you bleeding here with a blown-out knee because killing you would make my life more complicated.” His lips kicked up. “Also, because prison is a pretty shitty place for anyone who used to wear a badge to go, and I promise you, you’ll see every fucking day of the sentence you deserve. I may not be active duty anymore, but I have connections you can’t dream of. I will fucking bury you and whatever state-provided DA who gets stuck with you.”
Parker choked, as if he were in so much pain he was gasping for breath. “Y-you can’t—”
Jon arched a brow. “Why not? Why are you immune to facing the consequences of every bullshit crime you committed justtoday?”
Parker stared at him, horror competing with pain on his face, and started to cry. Big, fat tears rolled down his cheeks and snot bubbled out of his nose as he became a sobbing, whimpering mess on the cave floor.
Jon shook his head and stood, tucking his gun away. He could be satisfied with the notion of locking Drew Parker away for the majority of his life once everything came to light—and it would—but only getting to shoot out his knee was still disappointing. Watching the piece of shit who’d tormented Jenna for years, kidnapped her, endangered her, and apparently been working secretly with the fucking cartel that was destroying families throughout the state, transform into a blubbering child was … a strange combination of comical and tolerable. Perhaps satisfying.
Herb walked up as Jon stepped away from Parker, shaking his head. “It’s no good,” he said. “This asshole won’t squeal. He admits to knowing PJ, but that’s the best I’ve gotten out of him.”
Jon looked past Herb, to the one surviving guy from the group of six that had been holding Steph captive. They’d left one alive on purpose, with the hope of gathering information. But apparently their fear of retribution was greater than their fear of imminent death. There was the odd chance the men felt actual loyalty, but in Jon’s experience, most groups like these operated on a control-by-fear basis.
“We’ll leave him alive for the authorities,” Jon said after a moment. “He might not roll on the Veracruz, but he’ll rat out Parker in a heartbeat. Make sure his hands are tied and he’s not in danger of bleeding out, we’ll let someone else worry about transportation.”
Herb nodded and Billy moved forward to help.
Jon started back toward Jenna, but paused mid-step when he noticed Steph raise her head. Her voice was entirely different from the light, comfortable tone of a young girl that he remembered from the previous Monday, but her words carried like a razor across his skin.
“They talked about someone they called ‘pretty bird’, if that helps.”
Jon stilled.Pretty bird?That seemed like an odd nickname for a group like them.
“Most of the time,” Steph continued, “they talked in Spanish, but every now and then, they whispered in English. That’s how I heard it.”
Jon replayed the words, then translated them in his mind. And it struck him, stupidly, that one of the words resembled the English word for ‘pajama’. “Bonito pájaro,” he said, speaking the translation aloud.
“That mean something to you?” Foxe asked.
Jon looked around the group and settled his stare on the still-conscious cartel guy. “That’s PJ, isn’t it?”
The cartel guy managed to glare at him, turned his head, and spat on the floor in a show of defiance. And confirmation.
They had a proper street name for PJ.
Chapter twenty-four
Always
