Read Online Out of the Shadows (Falcon) by Geri Foster - Free Book Online
Authors: Geri Foster
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wasn’t his trade of choice.
Brody doubted the man had ever held a gun as sophisticated as his weapon. The Springfield Armory XD 9mm Glock, was loaded with a Streamlight TLR-2 tactical light and a laser sight. That weapon could do some serious damage since the hollow-point bullets were specially made for high-velocity impact.
Around him several villagers anxiously waited for the execution, which didn’t help Brody’s cause or relieve his anxiety. Some inhabitants whispered but most remained quiet.
“You don’t look like a killer .”
Sweat peppered Manuel’s face. The death grip he had on the gun proved he feared dropping the weapon as much as shooting someone. “I will do as Chavez says.” Manuel raised his elbow and wiped his sleeve across his face. “If I do not, everyone in the village might die.”
Brody p ressed tighter against the wall and propped his foot on the ground. After releasing a hard breath, he rested his forearm on his knee. “I don’t want any of these people to die,” he said. “Not even you.”
The crowd parted , and the chatter ceased. A padre strolled down the path. His dusty black robe covered a body worn thin by a life of devotion and restraint. The sandals on his feet were so tattered they could barely be described as shoes. His grey hair showed no trace of its original color. He stopped in front of Brody and looked down. “Why did you come here?” he asked in perfect English.
“I came to get my friend . The one Chavez holds prisoner.”
The priest looked around. “You came alone?”
“I brought a woman Chavez has been looking for.”
“And you planned to trade this woman for your friend?”
“No, Father, I didn’t. I only meant to use her to draw him out.”
The priest snatched the Glock away from Manuel. The poor man’s body went limp with relief. When the padre held out the gun, butt first, Brody grasped onto the lifeline and nodded his thanks to the man of the cloth.
“Take your weapon and leave this village.”
Brody struggled to his feet. The earth tilted, and it took several blinks before he could see straight. Head pounding, he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. He opened them when something nudged his arm, and he saw a woman holding a jug.
Brody put the container to his nose, sniffed once, and then gulped. The water wasn’t cool, and smelled of sulfur, but tasted wonderful. As it trickled down his neck and onto his chest, Brody enjoyed the pure pleasure of relieving his thirst.
Surrounde d by villagers, Brody wiped his mouth and asked, “Which way to Chavez?”
A man pointed south. Brody picked up his bag, stashed the gun in his waistband , and started walking. He didn’t get far before a young woman spoke up. “Do not go there. You will be killed.”
“Hush , child,” an older man said. “He will never make it. The desert will claim him first.”
Brody turned. His head throbbed in rhythm with his heartbeat.
“You must rest first.” A woman touched his arm. Her dry, heavily callused hand slipped into his palm, and she led him toward a hut. When he hesitated, the padre motioned he should go with the woman.
With his head rattled, no words were needed to tell him he’d never make his destination. For the moment he was too weak to take on Chavez. Hell, he knew his body better than anyone. That smack on the head could’ve killed a weaker man.
The woman held on to him until Brody ducked and entered the darkened hut. It had very little. A round table, a small camp stove, one cabinet with a washbowl, and a broken mirror hanging on the wall. In the back corner of the single room, three pallets cluttered the floor.
She asked h im to sit, and Brody collapsed onto the chair and propped his elbows on the table. Looking at the woman, he guessed at one time she might have been beautiful, but the desert and poverty had a way of robbing a woman of her looks. Probably no more than forty, she looked sixty.
She was short , with a round body. Her
Brody doubted the man had ever held a gun as sophisticated as his weapon. The Springfield Armory XD 9mm Glock, was loaded with a Streamlight TLR-2 tactical light and a laser sight. That weapon could do some serious damage since the hollow-point bullets were specially made for high-velocity impact.
Around him several villagers anxiously waited for the execution, which didn’t help Brody’s cause or relieve his anxiety. Some inhabitants whispered but most remained quiet.
“You don’t look like a killer .”
Sweat peppered Manuel’s face. The death grip he had on the gun proved he feared dropping the weapon as much as shooting someone. “I will do as Chavez says.” Manuel raised his elbow and wiped his sleeve across his face. “If I do not, everyone in the village might die.”
Brody p ressed tighter against the wall and propped his foot on the ground. After releasing a hard breath, he rested his forearm on his knee. “I don’t want any of these people to die,” he said. “Not even you.”
The crowd parted , and the chatter ceased. A padre strolled down the path. His dusty black robe covered a body worn thin by a life of devotion and restraint. The sandals on his feet were so tattered they could barely be described as shoes. His grey hair showed no trace of its original color. He stopped in front of Brody and looked down. “Why did you come here?” he asked in perfect English.
“I came to get my friend . The one Chavez holds prisoner.”
The priest looked around. “You came alone?”
“I brought a woman Chavez has been looking for.”
“And you planned to trade this woman for your friend?”
“No, Father, I didn’t. I only meant to use her to draw him out.”
The priest snatched the Glock away from Manuel. The poor man’s body went limp with relief. When the padre held out the gun, butt first, Brody grasped onto the lifeline and nodded his thanks to the man of the cloth.
“Take your weapon and leave this village.”
Brody struggled to his feet. The earth tilted, and it took several blinks before he could see straight. Head pounding, he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. He opened them when something nudged his arm, and he saw a woman holding a jug.
Brody put the container to his nose, sniffed once, and then gulped. The water wasn’t cool, and smelled of sulfur, but tasted wonderful. As it trickled down his neck and onto his chest, Brody enjoyed the pure pleasure of relieving his thirst.
Surrounde d by villagers, Brody wiped his mouth and asked, “Which way to Chavez?”
A man pointed south. Brody picked up his bag, stashed the gun in his waistband , and started walking. He didn’t get far before a young woman spoke up. “Do not go there. You will be killed.”
“Hush , child,” an older man said. “He will never make it. The desert will claim him first.”
Brody turned. His head throbbed in rhythm with his heartbeat.
“You must rest first.” A woman touched his arm. Her dry, heavily callused hand slipped into his palm, and she led him toward a hut. When he hesitated, the padre motioned he should go with the woman.
With his head rattled, no words were needed to tell him he’d never make his destination. For the moment he was too weak to take on Chavez. Hell, he knew his body better than anyone. That smack on the head could’ve killed a weaker man.
The woman held on to him until Brody ducked and entered the darkened hut. It had very little. A round table, a small camp stove, one cabinet with a washbowl, and a broken mirror hanging on the wall. In the back corner of the single room, three pallets cluttered the floor.
She asked h im to sit, and Brody collapsed onto the chair and propped his elbows on the table. Looking at the woman, he guessed at one time she might have been beautiful, but the desert and poverty had a way of robbing a woman of her looks. Probably no more than forty, she looked sixty.
She was short , with a round body. Her
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