Forty-Six

Hector lasted twenty minutes before folding. After that, he’d been so eager to share information that it was almost embarrassing.

Reyes’s operation was now global. He had two-man teams all over the world, with the sole objective of abducting children. Some were specified targets—children of wealth, held for ransom; others were targeted for their vulnerability—homeless, runaways, neglected. Easy prey.

Those were the children Reyes sold. Auctions were held on-line, money delivered via wire transfer. The warehouse was a way station for West Coast shipments. Reyes had identical setups in Florida and Texas.

Michael jammed his shears into the mangled mess of Hector’s knee and twisted, staring into his bulged eyes, hand clamped over his gaping mouth to hold in his screams. “We talked about this, Hector. They aren’t product; they’re children. Understand?”

Hector’s head bobbed, fast and jerky, sweat and tears mingling with the smears of blood and snot that covered his face. Michael pulled the shears from the wound and wiped them on the guy’s gore-splattered shirt. He lifted his hand from the man’s mouth. “Now for the million-dollar question, Hector: where is Leo Maddox?” he said.

The man’s head changed direction, shaking from side to side. “Who?”

Michael sighed. “Leo Maddox. Grandson of Senator Leon Maddox. One of your teams snatched him in Barcelona a few weeks ago.”

“I don’t know—I swear,” he said, shrinking away from the look Michael gave him. “I don’t know! I just handle West Coast operations. I never see the prod—children that are held for ransom.”

“Who does? Who handles that arm of the operation?” he said. Looking around the warehouse he saw several computers, a few cages, and web cams—everything needed to pull off the kind of operation Hector had outlined for him. He felt an overwhelming urge to burn it all to the ground.

Hector hesitated and Michael smiled. The lift of his mouth shifted the cold visage around but did nothing to warm it. He shot a look at Hector’s bare feet, the gaping space between his big and little toe where three other toes should have been. “Really, Hector?” he said, turning back to face the man. “I thought we understood each other.”

Hector swallowed hard, his gaze skittering away from the look Michael gave him. “Estefan. Estefan is in charge of that stuff.”

He remembered what Estefan had said to him only a few days ago. That he was Alberto’s second-in-command these days. “Where is he?”

“Here. He was … showed up out of nowhere …” Hector said, his voice thin and thready.

The news clenched tight around his spine, squeezing it straight. “How long ago?”

“Hour.”

Shit. He’d just missed him. Sixty minutes sooner and he would’ve had the bargaining chip needed to get the Maddox boy back. “Where’d he go?”

Now Hector smiled, thin white lips peeled back against bloodstained teeth, words softly slurred. “ … across the street.”