“What the hell?” he heard Hunt say.
It was then that Moore, on his knees and with a gun to his head, understood. The hot, wet weight that filled his underpants didn’t lie. He had shit himself. Never in his life had he felt so humiliated and degraded. And for that, he’d make the DEA pay dearly.
CHAPTER SIX
Six months later
Miami, Florida
Pierce Hunt almost choked biting into the pizza slice. The watered-down tomato sauce did nothing to enhance the chemical taste of the seasoning or the soggy crust. Hunt was convinced the life expectancy of his fellow Americans would drop by a few years if this new recipe ever made it to the mainstream pizza chains.
“This is the best pizza ever,” his fifteen-year-old daughter, Leila, said, already halfway through her second slice.
“Absolutely,” Hunt lied between two emergency sips of Diet Coke. “Never tasted anything like this before.”
Leila stopped chewing and cocked her head to one side. “You’re such a bad liar,” she said. “You really don’t like it?”
“Why don’t we try that new taco place next time?”
“Sure,” Leila said without much enthusiasm. She took another bite and checked her phone.
“No phone while we eat, Leila,” Hunt said. “This is our time.”
“You checked yours, like, three times in the last five minutes.”
Hunt wanted to say it was for work. That he had to. After all, it was his first day back on the job after a six-month suspension. But she was right; he couldn’t ask her to do something if he wasn’t willing to do the same.
She was growing so fast. Hunt remembered when she would fall asleep on his chest with her head tucked under his chin and her toes not even touching his belly button. She had been so little then. He missed those years. He craved having them back. Not just the years, but Jasmine too. She was a great mother to Leila, and she had been a good wife to him. He was the one who had pushed her—and Leila—out of his life. He hadn’t done it intentionally, of course, but year after year, he had essentially let the DEA build a wall between him and his family.
Life was all about choices, and Hunt was wondering if he’d made the right ones. Looking at his daughter—now on her third pizza slice—he realized that his life was filled with bad choices. He’d left the army, joined the DEA, and immediately accepted the long undercover assignment that they’d offered him. If he had said no, maybe he, Leila, and Jasmine would still be a family.
His phone vibrated on the table, next to the pizza slice he had no intention of ever touching again.
“Dad?” Leila was looking at him, her disappointment evident. As he was about to take the call, her hand reached for his from across the table. “Please don’t.”
He had promised they’d go see a movie after lunch. His shift wasn’t supposed to start until six. Taking the call might mean they wouldn’t make it to the theater. She knew it. He knew it too. But he was who he was.
He took a deep breath and answered the call. “Special Agent Pierce Hunt.”
“You know this is exactly why Mom left you, right?” Leila looked out the window of his four-year-old Ford F-150.
No, this isn’t why your mom left me. But he was glad that was what she thought, because the truth would shatter the fragile relationship he was working so hard to rebuild with his only child.
“I’ll make it up to you, Leila, I promise,” Hunt said, slowing at a stop sign.
“You won’t, Pierce, and you know it,” she said, shifting her attention to her vibrating smartphone. “I’m not a child anymore.”
He loathed being called Pierce by his daughter. That meant she was royally pissed. Maybe he shouldn’t have taken the call. He glanced at her, and his eyes caught something he hadn’t expected to see.
“What was that, Leila?”
“What?” she replied, clearly offended by his inquiry. She shut off her phone.
“The picture of a half-naked man I just saw,” he said, his temper rising. “Who the hell was that?”
“It’s nothing. It’s just a picture,” Leila replied. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me,” Hunt said, doing his best to remain calm. He had recently started reading books on how to deal with teenage daughters. The authors were unanimous about one thing: it didn’t serve anyone’s interest to be either judgmental or hostile.
“You won’t understand,” Leila said, once again looking outside and away from him. “And Mom knows about it.”
“She knows about what?” Hunt squeezed the steering wheel so hard his knuckles became white. He hated being kept in the dark. He wished he could put the blame on his ex-wife, but he knew who the real culprit was. He had lost the privilege of knowing what was going on in his daughter’s life long ago.
“My boyfriend sent me a text. That’s all. There’s no need for you to fuss about it.”
Boyfriend. Hunt’s mind had shut off right there. He hadn’t understood any other word. His baby girl was way too young to have a boyfriend.