Pitbull (SEAL Team Alpha Book 10) by Zoe Dawson

Author:Zoe Dawson [Dawson, Zoe]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Blue Moon Creative
Published: 2020-03-09T18:30:00+00:00

11

Hemingway made his way down the hallway, adjusting the pack on his back. Pitbull, Dragon, and Max were on the balcony lifting, and the rest of the team was running laps in the courtyard. He’d tried to sit tight, but every minute that passed with no results, Paige’s and Chris’s chances of survival diminished.

He rounded the corner and stopped dead with an audible sigh.

Fast Lane stood at the entrance to the street, his arms folded over his chest.

“Where you goin’, kid?”

“Dammit. How did you know?”

“The same way moms know when their little brats are drinking out of milk cartons.”

“You can’t stop me.”

Fast Lane pushed away from the wall, his eyes narrowed, his broad shoulders squaring. Hemingway was already calculating what it would take to down Fast Lane without injuring him too badly. He was dealing with a seasoned ass-kicking, highly intelligent operator, but Hemingway had perfected his fighting skills by studying many forms of martial arts. Also, this was a Lieutenant in the Navy, an officer.

He couldn’t be more screwed.

Fighting always began and ended in the mind and only involved the body as an extension of the mind. “You going to go through me, boy?”

“I’m not a boy, and I can’t sit around while my sister and Chris are out there fighting for their lives. I have a plan.”

Fast Lane laughed. “You’re trying my limited patience, Mr. Sinclair. Do you have any idea what you’re up against here?”

“Yes. Do you think I’m an idiot?”

“We’ve already answered that question.”

“I’ve been accepted for special operations training. I scored the highest in my class on all my tests, including the intelligence ones. I hacked into the system to see what they said about me, and I quote, ‘Mr. Sinclair’s intelligence is only surpassed by his ability to fit into any situation he’s tasked with. Hopefully, the CIA won’t get wind of his abilities.’”

Fast Lane shook his head. “No guarantee you’ll make the mark.”

“Then I guess I have the CIA to fall back on.”

Fast Lane huffed a soft laugh.

“I know there are no guarantees, but I’m not stupid, I know how to blend, and I speak flawless Portuguese, Arabic, French, Italian, and Spanish. “I even know the border language, half Spanish, half Portuguese, Portuñol.”

“You have a lot of time on your hands, man.”

“I learn stuff fast. I was bored in high school and college.” He shrugged. “If the Cortez brothers have my sister, and I’m leaning toward the evidence of Mak’s excellent research and the way they killed that poor bastard who was selling his info to me about my sister, I can get the answers we need.”

Fast Lane scowled, but he was listening.

“There’s a handler who no one’s ever seen or knows his identity. He keeps it under wraps in case the Cortez brothers ever want to clean house. He goes by the moniker Picador.” At Fast Lane’s blank look, Hemingway continued, “Picadors work with a matador in a bullfight, testing the bull’s strength and providing clues to the matador regarding the bull’s weaknesses.

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