Page 48 of Ruthless

“I want you both out of there,” Ash said.

“On our way,” Xavier answered.

“Wait,” Jazz said. “Looks like he’s getting a call on his cellphone. I can walk by and see if I can pick anything up.”

“No,” Gideon said. “Ash is right. You both need to get out. This stinks of a setup.”

The words were barely out of his mouth when the bomb exploded. On his feet in a flash, Gideon ran toward the restaurant. Ash was already running up the steps. Smoke and ashes whirled around them. Gideon ripped his coat off and covered his face as much as possible as he ran into what was left of the entrance.

His heart pounding with dread, he shouted, “Jazz! Xavier!”

“Over here!”

Recognizing Ash’s voice, he went toward the voice. Debris covered the floor, along with overturned tables, dinnerware, and shards of glass. If Jazz and Xavier were each still in one piece, it would be a miracle.

He almost stumbled over them. Jazz and Xavier were sitting beside a prone figure on the floor. Ash stood over them, talking on a cellphone.

“You guys okay?”

“More or less,” Xavier said.

“Yeah,” Jazz added. “We were far away enough from the blast to avoid the explosion.”

Gideon knelt next to the body. Behind the ash and soot, he recognized the face of Alfredo Lopez.

“He still alive?”

“For now,” Xavier said. “Everyone else got out the back. The bomb was situated close to his table.”

Gideon coughed and said, “Let me take a look at him. If we can move him, we need to get out of this building.”

Xavier backed away, and Gideon scooted closer to Lopez. The man was unconscious but had a surprisingly strong pulse. Leaning over him, he heard wheezing breaths but wasn’t sure if it was from his injury or his age. Quickly moving his hands up and down his body, Gideon found several puncture wounds from projectiles, but he could find no major injury.

Knowing if they didn’t get out of here fast, they were asking for trouble, Gideon said, “Let’s move him out to the street.”

With Gideon holding his upper body, Ash at the man’s feet, and Jazz and Xavier on each side of him, they carefully moved the old man through the rubble and got him outside and into fresh air.

Laying him on the sidewalk a few yards from the destroyed restaurant, Gideon did a more thorough examination, noting the man had a significant knot on the back of his head. As old and feeble as Lopez was, Gideon was surprised he’d actually survived the blast.

Sirens sounded, and they all looked at one another. “Go on and get out of here,” Gideon said. “I have connections here and can handle this.”

No one argued. OZ operated under a veil of anonymity. Being associated with the attempted murder of an arms dealer was not desirable for any of them. However, Gideon would use his contacts to explain why he was here. It would be harder to explain the presence of Ash, Xavier, and Jazz.

“We’ll see you at the safe house,” Ash said. “Call if you get in a bind.” With that, he and the other two operatives disappeared, leaving Gideon with the unconscious Lopez.

Blowing out a long breath, Gideon checked Lopez’s vitals again, glad to feel his pulse was still strong. Curious, he looked up at the damaged restaurant, wondering at the events. It was obvious that Lopez had been targeted, but it had been a half-assed attempt at best. Instead of blowing up the entire building, the bomb had been localized to one part of the restaurant. Most bombers didn’t care about collateral damage. The bomb could easily have been set to take out everyone in the restaurant and decimate the building. So why hadn’t it?

Who would care enough to target just the one man? Who had Lopez planned to meet? And why take out an elderly, sickly man in the first place? Lopez was barely even active anymore.

What were they missing?

* * *

The man strode rapidly down the street, making sure that nothing in his demeanor indicated knowledge of what had just happened two streets over. He figured he had maybe a half hour before he was spotted and taken out. He’d messed up the job and would pay for it. The price would be either the loss of a limb or his life. With these people, you never knew. One thing was for certain: If he didn’t get out of San Juan within the next hour, he was toast.

When he’d made the decision to blow only one of the charges, he had known the consequences. What else could he have done, though? People in his line of work didn’t have a long life expectancy. They either got blown up by their own devices, or someone became unhappy with their work. At thirty-two and with only a dozen jobs under his belt, he’d hoped to last a lot longer. His reputation hadn’t been established enough that he would be forgiven for this kind of screw-up.

Good thing he had some dough stowed away. He’d have to come out of hiding at some point, even start all over again. That couldn’t be helped.