He winks at Montez and grins.

Montez grabs a handful of his hair and yanks his head forward. “What are you smiling at?”

Fighting to stay conscious, he bites his tongue and feels blood flow into his mouth. With all his strength, he spews the red load into Montez’s face.

Montez wipes his face on his sleeve, hisses something, and hurries toward the shed, where he disappears. A few seconds later, he reappears with something in his hand. A radio?

No, not a radio.

Below a sickening smile, the stun gun disappears from view.

Crackling white agony.

His scream penetrates the jungle wall. All birds go silent.

Merciful blackness. The other returns faithfully, taking his place.

Time drifts again.

Where is he? What’s happening?

The answer arrives in force with another jolt.

He wrenches his head back and forth as he screams.

And screams.

And screams….

***

Feet forgotten, Nathan reached deeper for a final burst of speed. He flew over the parking lot’s west curb, up a narrow landscaped area, and relished the feel of damp grass. Cool air filled his lungs in full, deep breaths. As the other receded, Nathan’s senses became heightened—razor sharp. His muscles worked in perfect harmony. He felt free, like a cheetah on the savannah. Total exhilaration. He knew his body well. Its limits. Its reserves. He was far from spent.

Chapter 42

Chapter  42

Montez glanced back. Unbelievable. McBride had managed to close the distance separating them. How could that be? The man was barefoot. His feet had to be shredded from the broken glass back in the hotel room. He couldn’t have traversed that mess unscathed. How was this possible?

One thing become clear. He wouldn’t be able to outrun this man, not over the long haul.Arturo was dead, and his other men remained on the yacht, out of contact. Which left him completely alone. He’d have to set up an ambush. A fatal shot would be best, but he’d settle for any direct hit.

***

Nathan sensed Montez’s growing unease. By the time his prey reached Mission Boulevard, Nathan had nearly halved the distance separating them. But if Montez entered Belmont Park, the degree of difficulty grew exponentially. There were hundreds of variables in there, all of them to his disadvantage.

Decision time.

He’d have to risk it. No choice.

Like a baseball player sliding into second base, he skidded to a stop on the damp grass, gained a knee, and toggled the laser. He took a deep breath, painted the red dot onto Montez’s fleeing form just below the torso, and pulled the trigger.

***

Montez felt the bullet tear through his right thigh at the same instant he heard the suppressed shot.