“Holy Cristo,” Jai muttered and then proceeded toprayin Russian as he turned east, leaving Brady and Eric to turn around in their seats to watch as Ace kept going, the lone runner far, far ahead of the tangled pack.
And as the pack, both the eastbound and westbound waves of it, collided, the sound of bending metal and warping sirens ripped through the air in the light of the newly risen sun.
Jai was practically standing on the gas, and any law enforcement that would have followed on their tail was now caught up in the epic vehicular meltdown that had just occurred.
Brady turned back forward, and Eric followed his example, swearing as his vision went dark.
“Jai,” he said weakly, “we got any bandages?”
“Da,” Jai told him. “Under seat. There is also towel and duct tape.”
“Even better,” Eric muttered. He could feel the blood loss and thought gauze was too small for the wound right now. It hurt—fucking Jesus it hurt—to bend down, but he pulled out the promised first aid. The bullet would have to come out; heknew how these things went. Cuthbert had been carrying a .38, a revolver, which was a stupid gun for a law enforcement officer, but at least it hadn’t been a Desert Eagle or a .45 or Eric’s entire leg would have come off, and he wouldn’t have to worry about pain because he’d be dead.
Eric busied himself with folding up the towel and wedging it under the wound, and then, pass by painful pass, wrapping duct tape around his thigh until he felt the pressure of the towel and the tape stop the flow of blood.
Brady, in the meantime, was listening intently to the radio, and for a moment Eric felt completely alone, swimming in blood in the back of this stranger’s SUV, until Brady’s hand, groping blindly, thrust behind the seat.
Eric glanced up, saw Brady still scanning the road in front of him and listening on the handheld, but those fingers wiggled, and Eric reached forward and clasped them.
“I’m okay,” he said roughly.
“You’re not,” Brady replied, his voice tight. “But we’ll get you some real first aid. I swear we will.”
“You got shit to do first,” Eric said, and he squeezed those questing fingers before letting go. Brady pulled his arm forward reluctantly—but probably with a little relief because that couldn’t have been comfortable.
In the silence that followed, Jai’s phone rang again.
“Burton,” Jai said roughly. “You know what he’s doing?”
“No,” Burton said, “because I’ve got balls in the air. Where are you headed?”
“To set up a ramp so he can wipe out the rest of the police force, why?”
“Pull off on the westbound side of the road while you do that. Me and Brady got some shit to sort.”
“Da,” Jai said, and hit End Call.
Nobody said it, but there was a breath of relief in the SUV. They had the phone now. They were on to phase two.
Eric gave a slight groan and leaned back in his seat, allowing his eyes to close for a moment as he imagined his thigh was a tree trunk, ablaze in a forest of flame.
He sure hoped he’d be there for phases three and four.
Dues, Son. Dues.
BRADY LISTENEDto the reports coming off the radio and wondered if he couldbeany more useless.
He’d been so sure the phone would be in the sheriff’s office. Hell, as far as he could tell, it was the only thing he brought to the table—his knowledge of law enforcement, and his knowledge of the damned phone.
But the military covert ops people had figured out where the phone was, and the assassin had managed to get the info on their transpo and strategy needs. The Russian mobster had bailed them out of the shit, and the….
And the nice garage mechanic who had taken Brady in and let him eat at his table and who treated Brady like family when he hadn’t had that since his folks had died four years ago had just woven poetry and engine noise together to take out at least half the obstacles between the phone and actual daylight and public exposure in one terrible dance.
Brady was stuck holding the radio to his ear and….
“Shit,” he muttered, hearing the detested voice over the radio. “Cuthbert made it. I was hoping he’d at least crash the cruiser.”
“Too good for him,” Jai muttered. “When this is over, I will shoot a bullet up his ass. Will take half an hour to bleed out. Will hurt. A lot.”
