Del sucked in a breath. Carlson laid out the details of her death like a man would talk about the weather. Little inflection, no importance. Just follow a career criminal to her death and have her legacy be that of a troubled woman unable to move past her divorce.
That just couldn’t happen. Where was Tyler? What if he’d been captured or injured or couldn’t get into the house? Fear tore through her belly. If that was the case, it was up to her to save herself and make sure he was all right.
Across the room, Double T impatiently gestured for her to join him at the entrance of the hallway. Del opened her mouth to argue, but it went dry. And arguing hadn’t freed her yet. She had to keep her eyes peeled and look for an opportunity. If she was alone with one man instead of four, she stood a better chance, despite his AK-47.
On wooden feet, Del took a step forward. Inside, she felt numb, almost dead already. But her heart pounded, her blood roared, her thoughts raced—all screaming that she was very much alive. She watched Double T, waiting . . .
The goon leaning against the kitchen wall smirked as she passed, then he called to Double T, “Don’t have all the fun with la chavalona without me, vato.”
Double T laughed and grabbed her arm. “Don’t take too long, or I’ll already have wasted her.”
PRESSING his back against a wall farther down the hall, Tyler had to count to ten to restrain the urge to kill the motherfuckers. He was going to tear the bastards limb from fucking limb, and that included Eric. His former friend had given him the means to save Del, but hadn’t done anything else to contribute to the effort. It hurt like hell to realize that if he’d paid more attention to Eric’s behavior before the shooting, this entire shit storm might have been avoided.
Of course, that would mean giving up Del and Seth, but he’d do it gladly if it kept them alive.
Footsteps resounded down the hall’s hardwood floor, one set sure and impatient, the other a frantic scramble without rhythm, accompanied by feminine moans of pain, and then the sounds of someone being dragged.
Definitely, Tyler would kill the sons of bitches. But for this to work, McConnell would have to be at the top of his game.
As the thug carrying Del stomped passed him, Tyler jumped out from around a corner and gouged the fucker in the back of the neck with the blade. He dug it into his spine, severing the cord and killing him instantly. Del backed away with a gasp as Double T began crumbling to the floor. Tyler shot her a warning glance as he caught the gang thug before the sound of his fall echoed through the house.
He pointed to the bathroom door, hoping that Del understood. She did and opened the door quickly to avoid the telltale creak. Moments later, Tyler deposited the homey in the big claw-foot bathtub. Slowly, soundlessly, he drew the shower curtain shut, concealing Double T’s body.
Shooing Del out, Tyler nudged her into the master bedroom. “Crawl out the window and around the side of the house. Don’t go out the back gate. It makes noise. You’ll have to climb the fence, but Xander is—”
“I’m not leaving you here alone.”
She looked gorgeous and stubborn, and Tyler wanted to argue, but they didn’t have time. He should have known she wouldn’t bow out. Instead, he handed her one of his Glocks and his phone with a sigh. “You know what to do. McConnell should be watching my back. Text Xander. Tell him to make sure Carlson doesn’t escape out the front.”
Then Tyler turned to creep down the hall and finish this.
She grabbed his arm. “There are two more of Carlson’s goons out there, one against the wall between the living room and the kitchen, the other near the front door.”
“Thanks, angel.” He cupped her cheek.
“I don’t know what Eric will do. Please come back to me in one piece.”
“Eric can either get on board or take a bullet between his eyes. His choice.”
“I love you.” She clutched his arm tighter.
“I’m going to come back and love you in return.” He pressed a hard kiss against her lips, then he prowled toward Eric, Carlson, and the gangbangers.
With his back hugging the wall between the hall and the living room, he angled his head to look into the kitchen. McConnell had wedged himself into a shadowed corner. Tyler nodded, and Xander’s bodyguard sprang into action, making his way to the back door and rattling the handle.
It could easily sound like someone trying to escape.
Carlson barked, “Check that out. Manny, back door. And Huero, master bedroom.”
Tyler heard two sets of footsteps pounding across the living room floor, drawing closer. He waited, breath held for Huero to hit the hallway. Once the homey rounded the corner, out of Carlson’s view, Tyler slit his throat clean. With little more than a gurgle, the punk went down. It was sad; this kid looked barely over eighteen. But he’d been willing to help kill Del, and that’s all Tyler needed to know.
He dragged the dead gangster to the tub, tossed him on top of Double T, and left the bathroom. Fuck, there was blood all over the floor and all over his shirt, but he’d worry about that later.
“Manny, what the hell is going on?” Carlson barked. When he didn’t receive an answer, he called out again. “Huero?”
Dead silence. Literally.
After a quick prowl to the end of the hall, Tyler peeked into the kitchen. Sure enough, McConnell had taken out the last gun-wielding asshole without losing his breath. In fact, Xander’s bodyguard looked relaxed enough to prop up his feet and have a beer while he waited for the next confrontation.
Tyler smiled. McConnell was as advertised. Holy shit, this might work.
“Damn it, answer me!” Carlson demanded.
Not gonna happen. Tyler smiled.
The ADA growled, a deep sound of frustration. “They’re probably too busy getting some pussy and not thinking about the fact that Hines having to cover up a rape will make burying all this more difficult. You have a gun, Catalano?”
“Always.” Eric walked across the room, and a moment later, Tyler heard the sounds of a cartridge being loaded into a pistol.
“Good,” Carlson said with approval. “Go kill the bitch. Didn’t she cheat on you? That should make this fun.”
Tensing, Tyler waited, breath held, to see what Eric would do. A moment later, he heard the cocking of the gun. “I’ve done enough to Del. I won’t do that.”
Tyler froze. Had Eric finally decided to grow a set and do the right thing?
Carlson just started laughing. “Don’t point that at me. I own you. If you cross me, I could kill you outright, but that would be too easy. I think I’d rather see you in prison. How long do you think you’d last before the members of 18 and other Sureños find out you double-crossed them? What do you think they’ll do then?”
Low fucking threat, but a real one.
“I’ve done a lot of your dirty work for the last two plus years,” Eric said. “The way I look at this, my life is toast no matter what I do. I fucked it up, and that’s no one’s fault but mine. Del was only trying to do the right thing, and I’m not going to kill her for it. I loved her once.”
“Boo-hoo.” Carlson mocked. “Listen to your stupid bullshit. The ‘right’ thing is whatever I tell you to do. Don’t grow a fucking conscience now.” He sighed impatiently. “I’ll go get Huero out of the bitch’s pussy and kill her myself.”
Heavy footsteps stomped across the hardwood floors, toward the hall. Tyler tensed.
“Stop!” Eric demanded. “You’re not touching her.”
A moment later, Tyler heard a tumble and a crash, then the clank of metal. He peeked around the corner and saw Eric wrestling with the suited-up Carlson, pinning him to the ground. The ADA grunted and struggled, but Eric held him down with his hands around the fucker’s neck. Glass from a broken lamp littered the floor. Eric’s gun had skittered a few feet away.
With a gesture to McConnell telling him to stay put, Tyler charged out of the hall, into the living room, his footsteps never making a sound. He’d kick Carlson’s ass, pray Eric didn’t double-cross him, and leave McConnell in place. If Carlson headed up the hall, McConnell would ensure the fucker didn’t get far. Either way, no one was going near Del.
As Tyler darted into the living room, Carlson managed to roll Eric to his back and punch him viciously in the jaw. Eric wasn’t frozen for more than a second, but it was long enough for Carlson to lunge for Eric’s gun.
“Put it down!” Tyler shouted, pointing his Glock at Carlson.
The bastard whipped his head around, eyes narrowed as he rose to his feet. “The bitch’s lover. I should have realized that she wouldn’t come alone.”
Unblinking, Eric stood, looking relieved.
“You should have,” Tyler drawled. “I’m ten steps ahead of you, asshole. Everything you said to Del earlier? Recorded and transmitted. Already being distributed to the FBI and every news outlet in the state as we speak. I expect the feds soon. I think they have a few questions for you. It’s over. Put it down.”
Anger contorted Carlson’s face.
The fucker was planning, and Tyler wasn’t having any of it. “I’m not even going to count to three before I put a bullet in your skull.”
With a sigh of defeat, Carlson began to lower the gun. A moment later, he leapt behind Eric, using him as a human shield, and pointed the gun against Eric’s spine. “I can make sure I damage his spine for good this time if you don’t let me walk out of here. Or you can try to kill me, but you’ll have to kill him first.”
Motherfucker. Tyler thought furiously, knowing he had seconds at most to save Eric and stop this from becoming a clusterfuck. But Eric came to the rescue, elbowing Carlson and ducking, giving Tyler an open shot.
Carlson fired and hit the middle of Eric’s back—just as Tyler fired, and his bullet connected with the bull’s-eye between Carlson’s eyes.
Eric collapsed to the ground, groaning and cursing as Carlson fell, already dead.
It was over.
Chapter Nineteen
A WEEK later, Tyler found himself on his back patio, kicking back with a beer, surrounded by his buddies’ wives—just like the night Del had stormed back into his life.
Today, she was glaringly absent. The only reminders he had of her now were his son and his memories.
After Carlson’s death, the LAPD Internal Affairs and the FBI had escorted Del away, presumably to answer a million questions about the ADA’s scheme, examine her evidence, and launch a full-scale investigation. No doubt they wanted to see how deep the scheme went and who else they could indict. Tyler had done everything in his power to stay by her side. She’d only kissed him softly and told him that she was okay and would call soon.
Tyler had let her go reluctantly, thinking they’d be separated for a day or two at most. He’d gone with the LAPD, as had McConnell, to give their statements. The camera Xander had placed in the Coach bag he’d given Del had captured virtually everything and made the case remarkably simple.
The following morning, Tyler had received a text from Del asking him to go back to Lafayette and take care of Seth. She swore she’d be out to talk soon. He’d tried to call her back minutes later, only to receive a recording that her phone was out of service. That quickly, dread had settled into his gut. Was she okay? Was the FBI being hard on her for some reason? Or, was Del backing away from him?
Tyler didn’t want to believe that all her avowals of love had been fleeting, but after seven days without a word from her, fear had turned to anguish. Being heartbroken the first time hadn’t been a cakewalk. This time . . . it was fucking tearing gaping holes in his chest that he didn’t think would ever heal.
“Del writes a hell of a story.” Tara slapped his copy of the L.A. Times on the wrought-iron table. “She’ll win awards for this article.”
The rest of the women agreed, and Alyssa picked the paper up to scan it again, cuddling Chloe.
Yeah. Tyler had already read it four times that morning. Del had used her words to paint a vivid picture of Carlson, his crimes and deceptions, along with the cost in taxpayer dollars and lives. No doubt her boss would ask her to stay and make her a featured reporter—everything she’d always dreamed of. He feared that she’d try to sweep back into his life long enough to take Seth back to Los Angeles and leave forever.
The thought that she’d want him to do without her and their son was absolutely agonizing.
Seth bounced on his lap, and Tyler sent the boy a smile. The one bright spot these dark days had been his son. He’d really bonded with Seth over the past week and wholeheartedly admitted that he loved the boy with every bit of his heart. Yesterday, he’d even worked up the nerve to track down his mom. She’d remarried a great guy and lived in Phoenix now. She’d been really thrilled to hear that she had a grandson and asked to meet him. She’d wished him all the happiness in the world, like all that bitter crap she used to spout at him under the influence of Boone’s Farm hadn’t existed. He’d told her that he’d call back and see what they could work out. But for Seth’s sake—and his own—he figured it would be good for his mother to meet his son.