Page 122 of Hit Man
“I hate you,” the Little Lord hollers angrily as he races down the stairs and out the door in a flash.
“Help me put him in the car,” Señora hollers, following Little Lord’s path.
I pretend to trail behind them, making it halfway down to the staircase landing, dragging my feet, delaying the inevitable.
What am I going to do now? The second Juan Carlos recognizes me, I’m toast.
Something flashes in my eyes, catching my attention. A light. Blinking, I turn toward the source, and quietly gasp.
Diego is standing there, just inside the parlor door. Holding a lighter and frantically gesturing to me.
I’m so shocked I don’t know whether to throw myself into his arms or run the other way. At least he’s not glaring at me.
He holds up two fingers.
Two, I mouth, still not fully processing why he’s suddenly here.
He points to the back of the house.
I partially turn to go back upstairs and brightness blinds me. This time I catch him turning the lighter in the light and intentionally catching my attention.
His head shaking.No.He moves his pointer finger back and forth.
Downstairs, I move my lips.
Yes, he nods, holding up his fingers.Two minutes, his lips whisper.
Juan Carlos stands a hair’s breath away on the porch. My eyes follow the track of my thoughts. When I glance back at Diego, he’s gone.
Two minutes to reach the back of the house.
I step as far as I can out of his line of sight, my hip brushing the railing as I force my feet forward. Down one step. Down two. My heart racing in a way my body can’t quite keep up with. A car door slams. Gravel crunches beneath the car’s tires as it pulls away.
I frown as a sudden thought occurs to me. Sylvester is leaving without his nanny. That strange woman . . . Cassie.
If I’m going to evade Señora and her horrible son, it’s now or never.
I take two steps at a time, listening to their conversation as they ascend the front porch.
“Where’s father?” Juan Carlos asks.
“In the shed,mijo. Where the double-crossing bastard belongs. He disrespected you. And he underestimated me. No more. Our plan worked. I’m proud of the way you distracted him. The entire time he remained clueless about the uranium.”
I reach the lobby seconds before they reach the top step. “You sure you don’t want me to travel with the shipment?” Juan Carlos asks.
“No. I need someone to care for Hacienda Santo Miguel. Make sure my lovely home is well-maintained. Besides, my caretaker could use some help with the garden.”
I’m running now. Mindless of whether or not they hear theclitter clatterof my feet hitting the floor. These people are evil. These people don’t have respect for anyone but themselves. I don’t understand what they’re up to. Or what they’ve done. But if I count the money in the hidden closet, the dead animal in the shed . . . with his disrespectful father . . . oh my God.
The hacienda seems to grow still as I reach the end of the hallway. Like the exquisitely beautiful building is holding her breath.
For me?
Within seconds, the silence is broken by a loud boom, and the house begins to shake.
A second boom and the double doors fly off their wrought-iron hinges.
I stare at the crack slowly working its way down the wall. Like a teardrop. Like the beautiful hacienda is crying. And a second later, the whole structure begins to crumble.
