Montez ran at a full sprint, knowing he’d finally come face to face with the mysterious Mr. McBride. He cursed himself for the shot he’d just wasted. He had no spare magazines for an extended firefight. Not that he’d want to challenge McBride to gunplay. His adversary was skilled and smart. He’d obviously stopped swimming and turned back for shore. Montez wondered how McBride had known. It didn’t matter. Right now, only speed counted. He needed to gain some separation.

***

Nathan ignored the increasing pain on the soles of his feet and concentrated on the reward of catching Montez. Keeping him in sight might become a challenge. There were too many places to hide inside this hotel complex, too many places to set up ambushes. Blind corners. Bushes. Trees. Fences. Walls. You name it. Each one offered a bushwhacking opportunity. He’d have to guard against running head-on into the muzzle of Montez’s pistol.

Montez’s shots had been loud enough the wake the dead. No doubt the police were already on the way. And if Harv had called 911, fire and medical were also on the move. If he were Montez, he’d want to clear the immediate area—in a big hurry.

The spots mounted on the eaves of the hotel rooms provided plenty of light, even at 0300 hours. He estimated Montez had a fifty-yard head start. Manageable, but it would be better to halve the distance. At twenty-five yards he might be able to stop and take a wounding shot. The laser sight would make it easier, but taking careful aim after a prolonged sprint wouldn’t be ideal.

But damn it. The fire in his feet was worsening, verging on unbearable. Grit had already worked into the puncture holes, joining dozens of tiny glass shards that he hadn’t been able to dislodge.

Work through it. Mind over matter.

Up ahead on the right, he saw an area that would become a problem if Montez diverted in its direction. It looked to be a series of dimly-lit walkways through tropical landscaping, small in scale but rife with hiding places. If Montez went in there, all bets were off.

Then he heard it. A distant police siren. How long before it arrived? Two minutes? He didn’t know. But the approaching siren changed the dynamics. He no longer thought Montez would waste time setting up an ambush in this area. If he were Montez, he’d want to put as much separation between himself and the Bahia Hotel as possible. So be it. He’d match him stride for stride. Endurance would be the key.

But his feet were becoming more than a problem—much more—a crisis. How long before the pain overwhelmed him? Harv was right, he wasn’t superhuman and couldn’t simply disconnect the pain. Or could he?

Chapter 40

Chapter  40