Hard Target: Elite Ops - Book One Read Free

Zach’s meds, and some cash before they could leave. They had to get out of Mexico this afternoon, before Max suspected she knew anything.

 
    Chapter Two
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    Dallas, Texas
    H E STARED IN disbelief at the damning words crawling across the bottom of the muted twenty-four hour news channel. DEA Agent Leland Hollis testifies for the cartel in drug bust debacle at home of Ellis Colton. Colton sues government for six million dollars.
    Jesus . His picture on the screen was larger than the one of the president stepping onto Air Force One for the weekend. He didn’t even turn up the volume, he’d heard enough earlier in the day. Trust the media to sensationalize the details and interpret them in the most shocking way possible
    Shaking his head, Leland turned off the TV and headed for the hotel balcony with a bottle of single malt scotch and a glass. Rain had been falling for so long he assumed the patio chair cushion would be waterlogged when he sat, but a wet butt was a small price to pay. He wouldn’t be wearing this suit again.
    He longed to leave the hotel, but the thought of running into someone he knew was more than he could stand since the story had hit the newsstands along with the cable networks. Ellis Colton’s attorney had insisted he stay at a hotel instead of at home, and given the nature of the case, Leland had been fine with that.
    Being a DEA agent, there were plenty of Vega cartel members ready to take a shot at him, and several who knew exactly where he lived. One more reason to be grateful he was single. Leland would be going crazy right now if he had a family to protect in the midst of this insanity.
    Still, tonight the walls of the Best Western were closing in, particularly after the life-changing decision he’d just made. Mentally, he’d left the agency when he’d made the phone call to the civil attorney weeks ago. But yesterday in the courtroom that determination had become etched in stone when he broke the ‘blue wall of silence.’ Finishing his testimony this afternoon had cinched it.
    He plopped in the seat with a minor squish and propped his orthopedic boot cast on the glass-topped table, grateful to be outside. The pain in his ankle was knifing its way up his leg into his back. Three more weeks and he’d be out of the boot.
    He contemplated taking a pain pill as the unopened bottle of Laphroaig 18 Year Old beckoned—a toss-up as to which was worse for his career. One was illegal, the other insidious. But in light of those headlines, it didn’t matter anymore. He’d just quit his job, whether he’d wanted to or not.
    The irony was that the only one who understood was Ford Johnson. After the fiasco that almost killed him, Johnson visited Leland in the hospital. Supposedly he had stopped by to check on his downed officer, but really the man had needed to talk. Ford had felt as much to blame as Leland for the disastrous bust.
    Vicodin was in his dopp kit in the bathroom. His last bottle, although he had means to get more, and he was oh-so-tempted. It was easy with his contacts.
    He’d like to tell himself he hadn’t had much of a choice. But he’d always had a choice with the pills. He’d just chosen poorly once and had been paying ever since.
    His feet vibrated from the bass thrumming in the room under his. He hadn’t realized the speakers on the hotel televisions were that powerful. Taking a deep breath, he broke the seal on the bottle and poured the inaugural shot for his private pity party as the sliding glass door opened on the first floor patio below him. Dark music filled with despair and angst rocketed skyward, melting the balcony railings.
    Wasn’t that perfect?
    Guitars shrieked with ear-splitting intensity and he wondered if he was going to have to call the management when he heard a woman’s voice over the heavy metal. “Turn it down, honey. That’s too loud.”
    “Mo-om!” Exasperation was clear in the one word as the patio door slammed shut, and a semi-peace ruled