“Sir, he’s been in an accident. It was actually a hit and run. A purposeful hit and run, at least that’s what they gathered from the scene. They’re still investigating and should know more in a few days.”
“How is he?” Dr. Knox asked.
“Not good. I mean real bad. I couldn’t remember exactly who helped him in his rehab. I thought it was you,” Jace said.
“I did. Where are you?” Dr. Knox asked. Jace wasn’t ready to answer that particular question yet.
“Doctor, he’s messed up. They say the brake lines might have been cut. They don’t know who did it.” That got nothing but silence, and again Jace was forced to continue without encouragement. “It was in my car. He took my car, and I don’t know who to call. His father beat him once before over me. I didn’t know if you knew about that or not. And honestly, I’m really not sure his dad should be told about this.” Jace finally got to the bottom line, dumping everything out there.
“I heard something about that in one of the sessions with his therapist. I’m going to be frank. Colt has battled too many demons where that man’s concerned. And I had honestly hoped he’d gone to find you. Jace, I need you to stay put. Do they have security on you?”
“The local police are involved, but there isn’t any security.” The relief was staggering. He hadn’t made any of this worse by calling. Jace closed his eyes and leaned down to kiss Colt’s hand.
“I need to make some phone calls, but stay right there with him. Tell me where you are.”
“We’re at Island Memorial, in Kapa’a. I’m worried. He’s not good. His throwing arm’s in bad shape, I’m really worried.”
“Stay right there. I’ll call my son, he’ll know exactly what to do. I promise we’ll get this sorted, son. Don’t leave him, Colt needs you,” Dr. Knox said.
“I won’t. I’m not going anywhere.” Dr. Knox barely waited to hear Jace’s response before the phone went dead.
Chapter 28
Mitch sat at the keyboard in his one-room dump of a motel in Mexico City, pecking out an email to his supervisor. It wasn’t coming easy. How the fuck did he explain to the United States Justice Department that their top field deputies had failed to apprehend their target? Which was bad enough in its own right, even before you factored in the United States military had beat them to the mark.
How the hell did that even happen?
None of his intelligence showed they had a clue about the guy’s existence, yet from out of nowhere, the military swooped in and stole him right out from under their noses. His entire field operation went to shit in a matter of an hour.
He pushed his well-worn ball cap back on his head as he scrubbed a calloused hand down over his face. He was frustrated. Actually past frustrated, he was straight up angry. Somehow he had to back that off and let the tone of the email convey a passive, completely in control senior Deputy US Marshal, and didn’t that just piss him off that much more? He hated the politics of this job.
Technically, his supervisors should just be happy the slime of the earth was in custody, but it didn’t work that way. In today’s economic times, every department was held accountable and expected to show their worth. Mitch and his team were under constant pressure to perform. And his latest fugitive was as big as it got for a department who specialized in finding and apprehending sick mother fuckers who sexually targeted children. The asshole had sold more children into sex-trafficking than any other person or group of people the department had ever come across. He was a real bad dude. Fuck! How had the military found him before Mitch’s team could get him out of that mission?
Worse than all of that, the current political climate demanded he be socially conscience to the extreme. To fire off an email saying, those goddamn motherfuckers came out of nowhere and took my fuckin’ guy, that I really wanted to get my hands on for a few fucking minutes before I turned him over. Yeah, no. Saying something like that would be seriously frowned upon. Not only frowned upon, but he was absolutely certain they would require him to take some kind of sensitivity training which was completely out of the question. Sensitivity training because he offended the senses of those dealing with a child predator. Fuck, this sucks!
Hunkering down, Mitch pulled his ball cap low, narrowed his brow and stared at the screen as he began to type. He wasn’t three sentences in before his phone began to ring. He jerked the cell up, ready to answer on a curse when he saw the number.
Okay, no way this call could be good.
“Mitch Knox,” he said, sitting back in the desk chair, the laptop and email completely forgotten.
“Hello, son.” Mitch could hear the strain in his father’s voice.
“What’s wrong?” Mitch asked. He swiveled out of his chair, ignoring all the squeaking as he stood immediately. He didn’t know why he chose to stand, maybe it had to do with the momentary silence that came from his usually no-nonsense father. His eyes scanned all the surfaces in the room looking for his car keys. He touched his weapon holstered to his body. He reached lower, his keys jingled in his athletic shorts.
“Is Mom okay?” Mitch asked into the silence when his dad didn’t immediately answer. Mitch was the youngest of four children and his birth had been a surprise at that. He tried hard to remember if any of his brothers and sisters had been sick when he saw them last. Mitch’s thoughts shifted as he realized the last time he’d made time for his family was over three years ago. Maybe this was a come see us call. The pent-up breath he held released as he plopped back in the chair with a thud.
“She’s fine. Missing her youngest. You should make time for her more often.” Mitch nodded and lifted a hand, giving himself an invisible tally mark. He’d got it right. Score one for the home team.