The passenger eased out of the Lincoln and reached to open the back door. As he did so, I got out of our car and began walking slowly toward them. If I’d come in the black jumpsuit and Kevlar vest associated with my line of work, they’d have mown me down instantly. But I was dressed like anyone else in this teeming city, my skin and hair darkened with dye and my give-away blue-green eyes turned chocolate under contact lenses. I walked hunched over, feigning a slight limp. Abadia’s protectors were aware of me, but they weren’t concerned. One of them nodded and there in front of me stood Abadia. His two rifle-wielding guards took up positions on either side of him as he strode down the steps from Jimena’s house toward the waiting car.

I was no more than ten yards from his position. One of the guards, the one holding open the car door, lifted the flat of his palm to me. Wait there, he commanded me in Spanish. I stopped, nodding like one used to taking orders. My finger was on the trigger of my SIG and I was a second from lifting the gun from out of my jacket pocket and placing a round in Abadia’s head.

But then it happened: the uncontrollable force that has destroyed many well-laid plans throughout the ages. Normal life butted in to place a wall between me and my ability to carry out my duty.

Jimena followed Abadia to the car, demanding a final kiss. But that wasn’t all. The tousle-haired boy hanging on to her waist stopped me faster than any amount of bullets that Abadia’s men could have fired at me. He was maybe twelve years old, but he was much smaller and slighter of build than English boys of the same age. Something that struck me immediately: he was definitely his mother’s child. But more than that, he had the same hawkish nose and deep-set eyes of his father. This boy was without a doubt the offspring of the man I’d come to kill.

My reaction to the boy must have been noticeable, much as I tried not to let it show. I saw Abadia’s gaze snap my way, and his dark eyes bored directly into mine.

“Take the shot, goddamnit!” I heard Bryce whisper in my earpiece.

I couldn’t. Not when the boy was there. I don’t make war on women. I certainly don’t against children. I could still have got Abadia clean, but that wasn’t the problem. His men would lift their guns to avenge him and then the bullets would be indiscriminate.

“Abort, abort,” I whispered back, averting my gaze and hoping that the man hadn’t recognized the murder in my eyes.

“Take the shot, Hunter,” Bryce snapped. “We won’t get this opportunity again.”

“Can’t do it. Not with the woman and child here!”