As Ray had requested, Tristan sent a text to inform him of the impending delivery. The client, paranoid as anyone he’d ever heard of, had insisted Ray send a picture that the gold was placed inside his personal vault.
“Lifestyles of the rich and crazy,” Tristan muttered. He’d never want to be so suspicious that he believed everyone he met was out to get him and he trusted no one.
His phone buzzed again.Showtime.He strode out of his office and hit his earpiece. “Positions. They’re here.”
Midway through the first floor, he watched his staff get into position and met Owens and Truman at the door. The cases filled with the gold were stacked onto two dollies and the handoff went smoothly. He motioned to the two as they made their way across the floor with the gold.
“Okay. Follow me.” He glanced around. “Where are Christianson and Delman?”
Still pushing her cart, Owens looked over her shoulder. “Brady’s chatting up one of the couriers.” She rolled her eyes.
Furious, Tristan hit his microphone. “Christianson, Delman, inside now.”
Thecrackof gunfire sounded, and people outside screamed.
“We’re surrounded,” Delman shouted. “Help us.”
It was his worst fear. Before he could draw his gun, three men with black balaclavas ran in, spraying the area with bullets. Tristan knocked Owens to the floor, shielding her with his body. Truman was left in the open with the gold, and Tristan had a flashback of that awful night when he lost Terry. Not another husband and father would die. Not again.
“No!” he yelled, jumping into a crouching position and pulling out his gun, firing off two shots. He hit one of the bastards in the thigh, and the guy went down screaming. Truman got off several shots, but it didn’t deter the thieves. White-hot pain seared through Tristan, so he knew one of those fuckers had hit him. But when he saw one of the gunmen aiming at Truman, he ignored the pain and the commotion and got off another shot. He hit the gunman in the arm, but the man managed another shot and Truman hit the floor. Within a minute, police swarmed the bank.
“Freeze! Now!”
Understanding that in the chaos the officers might not know who was on the right side of the law, Tristan let go of his gun, but the bank robbers did not and whirled around. A spate of gunfire erupted, and the two remaining fell. Wounded arm dangling, Tristan crawled over to where Truman lay.
“You’re gonna be okay.”
Blood poured from his side. White-faced and scared, Truman blinked rapidly. “Tell my wife…I love her.”
Sirens filled the air, and Tristan grabbed his hand and squeezed it hard. “You’ll tell her yourself. I promise.”
Truman’s eyes fluttered shut.
“Medic, we need help,” he screamed, dizzy himself from the loss of blood.
“Tristan.” Ray ran over. “Are you okay? Shit. You’re shot. Here, come here. He’s bleeding.” Ray waved frantically, and Tristan brushed him off with impatience.
“I’ll be okay. Help Truman. He’s got a family.”
Three EMTs appeared and Truman was taken away on a stretcher. Tristan was loaded on one next and wheeled away, with Ray, still freaking out, by his side. Once he was put in the ambulance, he called out to Ray, who wasn’t allowed to travel with him.
“What happened to the others? Are they okay?” He feared the answer.
“Christianson is dead. Delman and Martinez were grazed, Jackson and Owens are fine.”
His heart hurt for Brady Christianson. They might not’ve gotten along, but he never wished him ill will. His stomach heaved, and before he knew it, he was retching over the side.
“Shit,” he mumbled, embarrassed as hell. “Sorry.”
“No worries, man. Happens all the time.” The EMT gave him a wet cloth to wipe his mouth and continued packing his wound to staunch the bleeding.
In the hospital, he was seen almost immediately, and while the bullet took out a good chunk of skin, no major vessels were hit.
“Lucky you,” the resident said as she stitched him up.
“Yeah, I was. Do you know what happened to the other person they brought in with me? Sal Truman?”
“Let me finish here, and I’ll find out for you.”
