I gotta find the motherfucker first.
He’d been staring out at the harbor and the rows of yachts lining the pier. He flicked his gaze up to the dark, night sky.
Help me find him.
Back inside, he returned to his expansive dining room table. After opening another document, he read the after-action report on the last case his dad had been working.
Clark Dillinger had infiltrated a drug ring, gotten the kingpin’s right-hand man to trust him with a few jobs, then arranged for one where ten-million-dollars of fentanyl would be moved, and Rebel’s dad would drive the shipment.
Rebel re-read that last line.
Jesus, that’s what I was gonna do before that damn sniper fucked my case.
Everyone was supposed to be there, but the kingpin hadn’t shown. When the team of agents moved in to make the arrests, everyone got picked up except the leader. According to the report, the head of the ring, known only as Candyman, had vanished. Even if they suspected him of killing his dad, they couldn’t find him.
I’m chasing a damn ghost. This was my dad’s case.
Anger had him pounding his fist on the table. His dad was long dead, but this thug was still out there peddling his death drug.
A few years after his dad’s death, the case had been reopened, but the investigator still couldn’t locate the kingpin to question him. Gone without a trace.
Rebel continued reading until three-thirty in the morning. He had more questions than answers, but he had the file, which meant he had a starting point.
And that’s all he needed to find the killer and exact his revenge.
8
IT’S YOU
Joaquin
Rebel checked in at Henninger Security, then headed toward the back of the building. Before entering the target practice area, he pulled on body armor and goggles.
While he lived life on full-throttle, he also wanted to live with no regrets. Going in without Kevlar or eye protection was showing the universe he was too fucking stupid to live.
He found Hawk in a shooting lane, firing off round after round, hitting the target again and again.
When Hawk finished, Rebel entered the room.
“Hey, you made it,” Hawk said. “You missed a fun night.”
“I’ll catch the next one,” Rebel grumbled.
“You’re pissed,” Hawk said. “Must be whatever crap went down with your dad. You can’t change that, so you might want to weapon up and get some practice. I know you, and you’re gonna go after the killer. When’s the last time you fired your weapon?”
“A few weeks ago.”
“Shoot with me, and watch how it’s done.”
Rebel chuffed out a laugh. “You know I’m gonna accept that challenge, brother.”
He slid protection over his ears, pulled out his Glock, took his position behind the line, and opened fire.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
He hit the target. Once in the shoulder, once in the stomach, and on the third time, dead center.
Hawk stepped up, fired off several shots.
