Chapter 29
Menendez had been watching his handy work from his room. Good shot from that distance. But not quite good enough. Why did the bastard have to move at that precise moment? But the fact that the woman had almost drowned gave him some comfort. Now, Driscoll could feel just a little of what he and his family felt when they’d lowered his brother into the ground.
The perpetual lump in his throat rose to a new gag level.
From somewhere in the room, his cell phone rang. Close—where the hell had he . . . It was in his top pocket. Damn. He was losing it.
“Yeah,” he said, non-too civilly.
“Buenos tardes, Adriano. Carlos Aznar here.”
Buenos tardes“I know who you are.” Menendez held his phone to his ear with one hand, while he was trying to take the g*n apart with his other. He gave up
