They went into the house through the garage side door and made their way to the kitchen.
Sartana took a step back; she had a clear goal when she came in—she'd hidden a pistol behind the TV.
—Stop! We're going to your bedroom. —Ethan shouted just as she reached the TV stand.
At Ethan's command, Sartana ground her teeth and headed toward the bedroom.
He used the service handcuffs the young woman had on her waist to secure her to the sturdy metal post of the bed. He didn't stop there: he found extra clothes, tied her feet, and muffled her mouth with a towel.
Sartana's eyes shifted from bravado to fear, especially when she saw Ethan take off his shirt.
—Calm down, I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to clean up a bit. —Ethan said, forcing a smile as he wiped the blood from his hands with the cloth— Where's the bathroom?
Seeing resistance was pointless, Sartana obeyed. She glanced left toward the bathroom; the room smelled faintly of lavender, which made her manage a small, nervous smile.
After washing his hands, they started to stop bleeding—his regeneration was doing its work.
After splashing water on his face and wiping the sweat off his body, he looked for his phone to call Letty now that he knew she wasn't involved in what had happened.
Letty answered quickly:
—What the hell happened at my cabin? There are a ton of bodies.
—Bad news: I got attacked. Good news: I know who's behind it. —Ethan replied.
He sat on the edge of the bed and added:
—What do you mean? —Letty asked, with a bad feeling—.
—Michael Booth. —Ethan said— Booth, Senator McLaughlin's campaign manager. He set the trap in the hotel plaza, and now he wants to tie up the loose ends.
—Shit, those bastards! —Letty cursed in Spanish—.
After calming briefly, she asked:
—Where are you? Are you safe?
Ethan gave an ironic smile:
—At Agent Sartana's place. For now, it's a safe spot.
—Sartana? —Letty said, shocked— You're not going to kill her, right?
—Please, I'm not that kind of guy. —Ethan said, glancing at Rivera—. Agent Sartana is… my host, for now.
Sartana rolled her eyes when she heard the conversation.
Letty's voice continued:
—I know where you are. I'll come get you right now.
—Good. Now, what should I do with you… if I kill you, my problems end —Ethan said— If I let you go, you'll report me…and they'll want to arrest me for what I did. I'm kind of torn. So you're leaving me no choices. I'll take the gag off now if you promise not to scream.
Sartana frowned, hesitated a few seconds, and then nodded.
He pulled the towel off Sartana's mouth, took out the small rag he had inside it, and handed her the phone.
—Now what?
—Don't you want to know how I got into this? Maybe you'll back off on the idea of arresting or turning me in. —he urged first.
—Believe it or not, what I'm about to tell you is the truth, —he continued— Two nights ago I was helping some friends restock supply points with water and food for migrants, and we were attacked by an armed group that slaughtered and hunted many migrants. They killed children, women, and old people—they laughed and mocked like each person was a trophy.
—When we escaped, I looked for Letty. Her name and address were on the hand of a little girl they'd killed—her name was Anna; she was just a child. I only wanted to know who and why they'd murdered her so cruelly. You know the rest—how I got dragged into this whole conspiracy.
Sartana's expression softened gradually and she asked, confused:
—So what does Michael Booth have to do with it?
—If I'm right, he planned the senator shooting to turn him into a martyr and secure the next election. —Ethan reasoned, laying out how the scheme worked—.
—So when I saw you yesterday at the food truck, you were looking for information about who attacked the migrants? —Sartana asked.
—Yes —he nodded.
—I'll help you investigate. I'll report everything I know to my boss; he'll probably back an investigation to catch the real shooter.
Ethan noticed the change in her expression and smiled with a hard edge:
—I'm afraid your boss will take your badge before you finish talking. He won't risk provoking a senator about to be reelected; it's political suicide, especially without proof backing you up —Ethan replied, analyzing what could happen.
Sartana's breathing grew heavier, and she swallowed hard. But a senator wasn't someone she could afford to offend.
High-ranking senators like John McLaughlin were nearly untouchable. With friends in key positions, his influence reached like invisible roots.
As Ethan said, it wouldn't take much to silence her: just file a routine inquiry and her career would collapse within hours.
Sartana grasped the man's dilemma clearly.
—Aren't you afraid? —she asked softly after a pause.
—Me? —Ethan pursed his lips— Why should I be?
—Because they won't stop until everyone involved is silenced. If I were you, I'd run.
—Yeah, that would be the obvious choice —Ethan replied—, but I'm too stubborn to back down.
Sartana watched him, narrowing her eyes.
—So you're telling me you're risking everything for a bunch of Mexicans and a girl you didn't even know? —her voice sounded incredulous—. It's hard to believe.
—You don't have to believe me —Ethan said, eyes fixed on her—. But now I need proof that Michael Booth planned the senator's attack, so they stop looking for me and I can focus on who's behind the attacks on the migrants.
Sartana flushed. She was still an agent, but the criminal in front of her seemed to have a stronger sense of justice than she did—or he was simply a crazy son of a bitch.
He leaned in a little closer to her.
—I promise I'll bring you proof, and when that happens you can arrest Booth, get a pat on the back and maybe a promotion. So stay put while I take care of this.
He tied the towel back over her mouth.
—Woof, woof! —Sartana could only whimper, struggling, her eyes full of anger.
Ethan left the bedroom and moved to the living room to rest. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed Blake's number.
She answered quickly, her voice calm:
—Ethan?
—Yeah… listen, something came up. I can't come back now. I'll be there tonight.
There was a brief silence on the other end before Blake sighed.
—Don't worry. I'm with Emily. We'll head back to the ranch together later. And believe me, I've got a lot to tell you.
Ethan clenched his jaw; he didn't like lying to Blake, but it was better she knew nothing.
—Okay. See you tonight.
—Right, by the way, I've got good news I hope to tell you tonight.
He hung up. The silence returned. Ethan scrolled his contacts and stopped at "Job." He hesitated a second, then hit the button.
After two rings, his old friend's deep voice answered:
—Well, you in trouble again? —Job said mockingly.
—You know me —Ethan replied with a tired smile—. I like to keep things interesting.
—What do you need? —Job asked, suddenly serious.
There was a snort from Job before he continued.
—Dig up everything on Michael Booth —Ethan said bluntly—. Where he lives, who protects him, shell companies, accounts, anything. I plan to pay him a visit.
Job laughed a little, incredulous.
—That idiot who tangled with you over the shooting? —he scoffed—. Poor bastard. You sure you want to go knock on his door? what do you need?
—I already have a plan —Ethan replied—. But I need the location and to know what I'm up against.
—Understood —Job said—. Give me twenty minutes; I'll send you the address, names, and any security they have. And Ethan… be careful and watch over my damn diamonds.
—I know —Ethan answered—.
He hung up with the feeling that, for the first time tonight, something might finally be moving in the right direction. He closed his eyes for a moment and lay down on the couch to rest.
Half an hour later, the phone alarm woke him: a call from Job.
—I'm sending you the address right now —Job's voice came through—. I checked the surveillance footage: Michael Booth just left.
Ethan heard a car pass outside. He got up, went to the window, and pulled the curtains aside with a sharp gesture.
—Good —he responded—. I'm heading over immediately. At least we can check his house to see if there's anything we can use against him.
—Alright —Job replied—. I'll be waiting. Call me when you're ready.
Ethan hung up and saw a yellow Camaro parked in front of the house, engine roaring. Behind the wheel, Letty watched him through sunglasses.
Ethan opened the door and raised his hand in greeting. The car shut off, and Letty hurried out to enter the house.
Letty removed her sunglasses, curious.
—Where's Sartana? Is she still alive?
—Yes, she's gagged in the bedroom —Ethan said, pointing toward the room.
Letty rushed in and burst out laughing at the sight of Sartana tied to the bed, with a murderous glare.
Letty's face tensed, but she quickly forced a smile.
Ethan banged on the doorframe in frustration and stepped out of the room.
—Don't do anything to her. She means no harm.
—I know —Letty said, approaching Sartana—. I know you've been helping the migrant workers, right? Otherwise, your boss wouldn't have demoted you.
Sartana stopped struggling, surprised.
—I know everything, they told me —Letty pounded her chest—. I won't let him hurt you.
Sartana had been helping many migrant workers, helping them escape ICE raids. Many of her friends had told her how Sartana had saved them.
—Why are you making me look like the villain? —Ethan protested, entering the room.
After Ethan explained his plan to Letty, they left the apartment.
—Damn… —Ethan held onto the handrail as the Camaro weaved violently between cars—. Slow down, we're not in a hurry. Were you a race car driver?
—Sorry —Letty muttered, jaw clenched—. What's the plan?
Letty opened the trunk with a sharp motion. Inside, a row of cases and bags revealed the metallic glint of several weapons.
—Take whichever you want, we don't know what we're going to find —she said sharply, locking eyes with Ethan—. We clear the house, take everything, and leave.
Ethan looked at her for a moment; in a few minutes, they'd be at Booth's villa, guarded and under surveillance, so a less direct approach was better.
—No —Ethan replied calmly—. If we go in shooting, we only confirm what they want: that we're the threat. I need evidence, not bodies.
Letty frowned but didn't argue. Ethan took out his phone and called Job.
—Ready? —Job asked as soon as he answered.
—Yes —Ethan replied softly—. I'm on my way. I want you covering from here: hack the surveillance cameras for at least two blocks and disable the house's motion systems, but make it look like no direct attack. I need the exact location of the basement and any adjacent sheds. And tell me how many guys are patrolling the property.
—Got it —Job grunted—. Give me ten minutes, I'll send you the full sweep.
The Camaro stopped a block away from the villa: a good observation point. Job had already begun sending data; a map showing access points, cameras, and the approximate number of guards appeared on Ethan's phone screen. Following Job's instructions, they entered through the back door, where surveillance was lighter.
He put on his headphones and called Job.
Half an hour later, Letty stopped in front of an imposing brick villa with palm trees and manicured lawns, then spun the Camaro to crash near a nearby tree, close to the guardhouse…
—Bang!
The car got stuck, and Letty stumbled out, clutching her chest. Two armed guards ran from the entrance, but seeing her descend, beautiful and unarmed, they slowed and lowered their walkie-talkies.
Ethan heard a crash and the sound of hurried footsteps; he slipped behind a bush, scaling the outer wall with ease. The electric fence was active, so he cut it with small pliers. Ethan raised his middle finger at the camera and jumped.
Behind the screen, Job took a sip of his Coca-Cola and returned the gesture.
In the security room by the villa's front gate, a guard looked at the footage indifferently, pursed his lips, and flipped through his Playboy magazine.
—The security patrols only cover the front gate and the exterior —Job's voice boomed—. The cameras only cover the perimeter around the entrance and the wall. Be careful; there might be someone inside. He has a daughter and a wife, they're probably inside.
After a brief discussion, they decided the main facade was the most watched point, and Ethan opted to let Letty distract attention while he looked for an opportunity to sneak in.
It would be much easier for him.
Turning on his radar, Ethan moved lightly around the house. The villa seemed deserted.
Trying not to make a sound, Ethan walked along the cobblestone path toward the back of the villa. Passing a low palm tree, his eyes widened in surprise.
In front of him lay the heart of the garden: a large pool surrounded by trees and lush vegetation that seemed to swallow the sunset light.
—Mom, don't be shy. Your fans love seeing you —whispered a female voice.
April, Booth's daughter, appeared. She wore a tiny thong and held a camera in her hands. Concentrating, she turned it on and aimed it at the pool, adjusting the tripod several times to find the perfect angle.
The young woman switched on the camera and aimed it at the pool.
—Perfect —she whispered—. Just right.
Several loungers and blue umbrellas bordered the pool. On one of them, a mature redhead lay with a sheet in her hand; the distinct aroma of marijuana hung around her. She was topless.
It was no surprise there were no cameras in that area. Ethan watched, amused: both were clearly high and moving slowly.
The redhead waved her glass of red wine, somewhat disoriented.
—Are you sure this will be okay? If your father finds us, we're dead.
—Please, Mom… Dad will never notice —the blonde girl replied with a big smile.
—Didn't you see your followers' comments last time? They all adore you —her mother insisted.
The girl laughed and helped her mother up, teasing her. Her mom had been unsatisfied for months, so after a bit of persuasion and some help from magical brownies, she joined the photo session.
—Not just Dad, fans all over the world are watching us too.
Ethan recognized the scene: these were surely Booth's wife and daughter. His eyes glinted.
While watching from the shadows, Ethan saw the two of them exchange a few whispered words. Then they kicked off their sandals by the loungers and slowly entered the pool. The water reflected the afternoon sunlight, wrapping their bodies in golden flashes.
They began to pose in front of the camera with sensual movements, skin brushing against skin, gently embracing and sliding their hands over each other—a game teetering between the sensual and the forbidden.
—Hey, you sick bastard, we've got work to do —Job exclaimed through the headset, watching the whole scene on his laptop.
—Job, wait a moment, I've got something to do —Ethan murmured into the headset, with a crooked smile—. You might want to turn off the cameras for a bit… this could get messy.
—Ethan, what the hell are you going to do? —Job's voice sounded both irritated and nervous—. We don't have time, damn it.
—Shit… well, maybe next time then —Ethan grunted, disappointed, knowing there were more urgent matters to attend to right now.
He slipped carefully, avoiding the two women distracted in the yard, and moved through the shadows toward the back entrance. He moved quickly, unseen, crossing the silent hallway to reach the stairs. With agile steps, he climbed to the second floor, heart pounding, until he stopped in front of Booth's heavy office door.
He powered on the computer; it asked for a password.
—Got any ideas? —asked Job through the headset.
Ethan stared at the screen, frozen.
—Wait —Job said after a pause of more than ten seconds—. I checked all of Booth's emails and found that he uses the same password: 9527**. Try it.
Ethan typed the code. It worked.
Unfortunately, the system was clean. He found nothing useful on the drive.
He shut down the computer and started rifling through the office drawers. Only work papers of little interest. He sat in the chair, hesitant, wondering if he would have to threaten Booth with the safety of his wife and daughter.
Looking at a painting on the wall, an idea came to him. It was such a cliché idea that it would probably work—every movie villain had a safe behind a painting. He approached, removed the frame, and discovered a safe embedded in the wall.
—Bingo! I found a safe. Do you think Booth uses the same password everywhere? —he asked through the headset.
—Safe? —Job replied enthusiastically—. There are people like that. What you did with the computer confirms the possibility. Try: 9527**. People who think they're untouchable don't bother to be smarter.
Ethan entered the combination. After a few beeps, the safe clicked open.
He opened the safe: the interior was divided into two levels. The lower level was full of bundles of cash; the upper level had several black notebooks stacked neatly, and on top, an external storage drive.
Ethan grabbed a notebook and flipped through it quickly.
After a while, he closed the notebook.
The notebook contained Booth's financial transactions and donors for the Senator's campaign, but he barely recognized any of the names listed.
Still, if Booth had that information recorded and stored in the safe, it was likely a kind of insurance policy. If he played his cards right, he could use it to threaten Booth.
He took everything from the safe and placed it in the suitcase at hand. People like Booth didn't usually carry much cash, and this time, he wasn't there for money anyway.
It was good to have it, but it didn't matter if he didn't.
Job asked anxiously, as Ethan hadn't spoken:
—Did you find anything?
—Yes, two notebooks, an external hard drive, and some cash —Ethan replied.
—Grab the stuff and get out of there… —Job said indifferently—
Ethan moved quickly. Then he sat at the desk, grabbed a sticky note, and wrote a few words:
"Nice try, Booth. But you lost the edge."
Scaling the wall from the inside was simple. Under Job's control, the electric fence posed no threat. Ethan jumped from the four-meter wall with a dull thud, stabilized, and quickly moved away.
Seeing him leave, Job breathed a sigh of relief and immediately restored security measures.
A few meters later, a Camaro pulled up beside him.
The paint was scratched, but the car didn't appear to have sustained major damage. Letty had controlled the impact well.
Ethan opened the door, climbed in, and the wheels spun quickly, taking them away from the scene.
—I'm out, I'll call you when I arrive —he told Job before hanging up.
Letty turned her head:
—What did you get?
—Ahem… —Ethan coughed softly—
He put the bag on his lap.
—I think we've got something. Some documents about the Senator's donations, a hard drive, and some cash. We won't be certain until we check it, there might be more —Ethan opened the bag, showing what he found, pulling out a thick stack of bills.
—Here, for your cabin and your car, Mr. Booth pays…
—Forget it, I don't need it —Letty replied, waving her hand.
Ethan shook his head. Today was a strange day: he couldn't even give away money.
—And where are we going?
Letty looked at the package on her lap and lifted her chin.
—We need to study it —Ethan said, leaving the cash and taking the external drive—. We're going to Sartana's house. She's a local law enforcement agent. Maybe she'll understand some things better.
—Alright, whatever you say, boss —Letty nodded, driving toward Sartana's residence.
By the time the Camaro stopped in front of the house, the sky had darkened. Unnoticed, the day had passed—they had experienced so much in a single day; it had been a whirlwind.
Ethan got out with the bag, but Letty showed no sign of leaving.
—Aren't you coming? —he asked, holding onto the car door.
—I still have some things to handle, remember, you left five bodies in my cabin, I have to deal with them. Let me know if there's any news —Letty said, waving as she started the car and drove off.