“Nope.” Force finally let the darkness take him. But everything still hurt.
Chapter Thirty-One
Brigid typed quickly, making sure there were no reports of stolen police cars from the small New York town, her worry over her father and Raider turning to acid in her stomach. The day had been long, and her back muscles might never relax again. The elevator dinged its normal announcement of arrivals, and she lurched from her chair and into the main room.
Malcolm sat hunched over a stack of papers, while Pippa was setting up a nice buffet on one of the desks. It looked like chicken casserole, rolls, and Caesar salad, and it smelled delicious. Roscoe sat on his furry haunches next to Pippa, his intense gaze on the biggest dish.
Brigid nodded at the quiet brunette and then moved for the elevator.
Raider, Wolfe, and Angus limped off, and she stopped cold. “Holy crap.” Blood and dirt covered them all. Her heart stuttered and then calmed. They were hurt, but they were okay. Raider was still alive. She nearly swayed in relief.
Roscoe barked once and leaped past her, whining as he sniffed around Angus.
“It’s okay, boy,” Angus said, patting the dog’s wide head. “I’m all right.”
“You sure?” Pippa asked, hesitating by the food.
Angus nodded and then winced, shutting his eyes. “I have to stop doing that.”
Brigid, her throat clogged, gingerly reached out to Raider. He had bruises along the side of his face, these a brighter purple than the one that had nearly faded from her dad’s punch. His arm hung at a weird angle, and blood seeped from his hip and his other thigh. “Raider?”
“I’m okay,” he said, lines of fatigue and pain fanning out from his midnight-dark eyes. “Eddie let me off in a nowhere town so I could get to work, and these guys were kind enough to pick me up before I passed out again.”
“My dad?” she asked, her voice trembling.
“Safe,” Angus muttered. “And locked down more securely this time, even with his own doctor. We had to have him removed from the hospital, but he’s okay now.”
The elevator door closed. The men limped toward the food, while Wolfe kept a close eye on the other two as if expecting them to drop at any moment.
Pippa hovered and turned to unwrap plastic plates. “I thought everyone would need a good dinner.”
Malcolm stood and studied the other men. “Are you sure we shouldn’t go to the hospital?”
“No,” Angus said shortly. “We’ve driven almost eight hours, all day, and we’re not seeing a doctor. There can be no medical records about this right now.” He jerked his head toward Brigid and then wavered before regaining control. “What’s the news?”
Brigid resisted the urge to put her arm around Raider’s waist to make him sit down. “Nari somehow got the HDD to step up and reach out to the local Collinsville cops, but we don’t know the extent of their cooperation as of yet. Rutherford and Fields aren’t responding to my calls.” Which hopefully meant they were working the problem.
The elevator ground loudly and then hitched, opening with a more drawn-out ding than usual this time. Nari stepped out along with a gnarled bald man wearing a white lab coat, Snoopy pajamas, and cream-colored women’s Ugg boots. He held an old-fashioned black doctor’s bag in one weathered hand. Nari’s jaw dropped. “Oh, good lord. You two need a hospital.”
“No,” Angus barked, sending the dog in a tailspin around him. “The next person who suggests a hospital gets shot in the knee.” He limped to the nearest chair and dropped onto it with a groan. Roscoe yipped and ran to his side, setting his furry head on Angus’s knee for reassurance.
Nari’s lips tightened. “Very well. This is Dr. George Georgetown, and he has agreed to see you both and make sure you’re not about to drop dead here in this crappy office.”
George Georgetown? Seriously? Brigid studied the elderly man.
He smiled, revealing ill-fitting dentures. “I’m still licensed but haven’t worked much the last couple of decades.”
Nari, the most petite woman in the office, leaned down to take his arm and draw him into the main room. “We appreciate any help you can provide.” Lowering her chin, she looked at Angus and then Raider. “I can’t tell who is injured worst.”
“He is,” they both said, pointing to the other.
Raider rolled his eyes. “Force has a concussion for sure, and based on his breathing during the last several hours, I’d bet on a broken rib or two.”
Angus didn’t even turn. “Not to mention the burn along my ass from you shooting me.”
Brigid gasped.
Raider patted her hand. “I had to aim close to you, and your butt was better than deafening you for life. But I didn’t know I’d burned your ass. Sorry about that.”
