“Who the fuck is that?”
“Fed. Schager.”
C exhales audibly. “Is that blood?” He stalks to the spot where I went down. “You hit, Trick?”
Nodding toward my left side, I see C clench his teeth.
“After you were hit, where’d you walk? Show me.”
I walk the area with a finger extended.
“Get in the truck.” C goes to the back and takes out a chemical bomb for DNA. He pulls gloves on and walks around splashing the brew on the area. Then he recaps the jug and sets it in the crate where it sits. A second jug is missing. C Crue’s been busy.
C gets back in the truck and drives us out. “It’s your building. Any blood anybody finds can be explained in a hundred ways. Cut your hand at the gym or while cutting some vegetables. Hell, the FBI knows you shredded your knuckles on Enzo’s guy who tossed Laurelyn in the pool. A hundred ways to get your blood and DNA on the floor of your own parking garage.”
C doesn’t need to tell me. He’s mostly talking it through out loud. Then he falls silent.
“How bad are you hit?”
“Seems all right.”
“This isn’t Frank’s crew. It’s mine. If you need a hospital, fuckin’ say it and we’ll go.”
I smile at C getting paternal. Frank refused to let anyone go to a hospital ever. We watched ‘Vil almost die from a gut shot. It was not a good time.
The adrenaline’s wearing off, and my arm’s throbbing like a bitch, but I don’t plan to be one. “Let’s go to the house. I’m sure Raven Nightingale can nurse me back to health. ‘Vil will love that.”
C barks out a laugh. “He’ll put a pillow over your face first is more like it.” A beat passes. “Man, what a night.”
“So I hear.”
C leaves that alone. It’s not a discussion for here and now. “And what about you? You’re supposed to be hammered. Ambushed and still upright? Why am I chauffeuring your ass around town? Seems like you could’ve driven yourself,” he jokes.
“Party was lit. Wore myself out dancing, what not. Don’t feel like driving. Feel like being lazy.”
“Sure.” C smirks. “Lazy. That’s you all over.”
Chapter 12
Laurel
Something’s wrong.
When the bodyguard drops me off, Connor McCann meets me at the front door and takes my small suitcase, which of course would not happen if Trick were in the house himself. Have the police got him? Or is he on an errand for these guys? And, if so, how dangerous is it?
“Where is he? Is Trick all right?”
“Yeah, he’s downstairs. Anvil will bring him up in a minute. He had an accident, but he’s okay.”
All the blood drains from my head, and it swims. The suitcase drops, and C grabs me to keep me from sinking to the floor. Without a word, he picks me up and carries me to a couch.
“I’m okay. Really, I’m okay. Let me see him.” I try to get up, but C’s strong hand on my shoulder prevents it.
“Hey,” he says gently but firmly. “You are gonna see him in about ten minutes. Until then, lie back and relax.”
I push his hand. “Let me sit up at least. Please. I don’t normally faint. It’s just the preg—never mind.”
Removing his hand, he lets me right myself.
