Hard Target: Elite Ops - Book One Read Online Free PDF Page A

really hurt me, Zach would have never gotten over letting you inside this hotel room.
    “It won’t make any difference when you call the police. You know who I am?” sneered Max.
    “Yeah. A low life scum who hits women. Nothing special.”
    “I’m Maximilian Mercado.”
    “No shit? The Tequila King?” The stranger studied him, assessing something. “You look taller on TV.” Then he shrugged, clearly unimpressed. “I’m a scotch man myself.”
    She would have laughed if the situation weren’t so dire. Max hated being dismissed as much as he hated being “disrespected.” He was very proud of his company and his work.
    But the stranger wasn’t finished yet. “So I suppose that makes you an uptown scumbag who hits women and stars in his own silly commercials. You should know better. I would think a rich man like you had finer home training.”
    Max ignored the jab but she knew it burned. The Mercados traced their heritage back to aristocracy. Insulting Max’s social etiquette in addition to the family business was sure to make him vengeful.
    “Nothing’s going to happen to me. I have friends in this town. Who the hell are you?” Max studied the cheap suit and tie that the stranger was wearing. “You’re a rent-a-cop, aren’t you? You know I can have you fired from this job. Evicted from your home.” His voice was tinged with disgust.
    The stranger remained silent and Max snorted derisively. “Or possibly arrested yourself for discharging your weapon.”
    The stranger continued to stare from deep green eyes. Finally he spoke in a drawl that made tortoises seem speedy.
    “I don’t think so, Mr. Mercado.”
    “It’s my word against yours,” argued Max.
    A shuttered expression came over her rescuer’s face as he nodded. “That’s right.”
    And Max has no idea who this man is. I have no idea who he is. Dark eyebrows, high cheekbones, and a nose that had obviously been broken in the past gave him a dangerous look. The revolver he was pointing at Emilio and Max added to the impression.
    The stranger glanced at Anna again with unreadable green eyes locked on the blood oozing from her mouth to her blouse. Something changed in his face, and he reached into his back pocket. Flipping open his wallet, he revealed a shiny badge with a big eagle at the top along with words inscribed in blue and gold that she couldn’t quite make out from where she was standing.
    “I’m DEA, Mr. Mercado. Now chill. You’re about to be arrested for assault and threatening a federal officer.”
    T O HELL WITH keeping a low profile and the letter of resignation he’d just signed. Leland wouldn’t think about how his boss would hang him out to dry if this came back to bite him. Max Mercado was a psychopath and, famous or not, the man had just tried to bash Nice Mom’s head in with a nine iron. He’d brought Gorilla Guy from the hallway to back him up in case there was any resistance.
    “You’re a federal agent?” Max’s voice was barely audible.
    “Right again,” said Leland, walking Gorilla Guy toward the entryway while keeping his Ruger trained on Mercado. And you’re screwed.
    “She’ll have to press charges,” insisted Max. “She’ll never do it.” The “Tequila King” sneered at the woman he’d obviously knocked around before Leland got downstairs.
    He had been too busy not getting shot or hit with a golf club himself earlier to notice but “she” was stunning. Max’s wife had long blonde hair and striking blue eyes with a lush silhouette and legs that went on for days.
    She wore shorts, a snug white t-shirt with a cardigan sweater and a wedding ring with a solitaire diamond the size of Texas. But the thing that caught Leland’s attention over and above her jaw-dropping figure was the considerable amount of blood dripping from her bee-stung bottom lip and the gash in her right arm.
    Surrounded by broken mirrored glass, a teenage boy hovered behind her. Apparently Max had been gearing up to beat the