Page 99 of Taken In Trade
I roll toward the downward set of stairs.
“Don’t you fucking die on me, Magnum,” Ringo yells into my earpiece. “I haven’t lost a partner in the field in six years, and I’m not about to start now.”
I toss myself down the last set of stairs somewhat more nimbly, taking the turn to run toward the emergency exit.
I’m bleeding everywhere, and all I can think about is how pissed Vanessa is going to be that I got myself shot.
The shit I stole had better have some kind of proof in it.
The cold night air smacks me in the face as I step outside, holding my hand to my shoulder. It hurts like a son of a bitch, and I’m bleeding like a stuck pig.
A black SUV pulls to a stop.
I reach for my gun, but my dominant arm is the shoulder I got hit in.
The window rolls down, and I exhale in pure relief as Mario’s face comes into view.
“Hurry,” he calls out. “We heard gunshots and figured you were in trouble.”
I take off toward the vehicle, barely making it into the SUV as the two security guards spill out the door of the building.
Mario takes off, and the tires squeal as the guy in the passenger seat turns around.
“Shit, they got you good. Hold on. We have a first aid kit here somewhere.” He reaches into the back floorboard, patting around.
My head falls against the headrest.
The car I spent all day camped out in is still a block away.
Moretti is going to be pissed.
I’m sure it’ll tie right back to him.
Grigoryan would be stupid not to lock down the entire area to search for clues.
Man.
What a clusterfuck.
The doctor is already waiting by the time we make it to Moretti’s mansion. They lead me into a room off the garage that I’ve never seen before. It’s white with a drain on the floor and a hospital bed on one wall. There are cabinets with who knows what, and I start to worry that maybe Moretti plans to murder me here.
I long ago pulled out my earpiece after thanking Ringo for a whole lot of nothing, but I kinda wish I had someone to talk to. At least I could warn him where I was last seen and ask him to tell Vanessa that I’m sorry we never got our night together.
I’m still livid that he was so focused about the team on the top floor that he failed to warn me that the other team was on the second.
I’ll probably be less pissed after my wound heals.
Maybe.
If Moretti doesn’t murder me.
Not to mention, my blood is all over the place. I’ve managed to avoid being in any police databases up until now, but I royally fucked up tonight. My only solace is that I highly doubt Grigoryan will call in the break-in.
Once I’m on the hospital bed, Dr. Gonzalez comes over, pulling on his gloves.
“Do you know your blood type? Have any allergies to medications or latex? Any medical conditions I should know about?” he asks in rapid fire.
“No to all three, but I’m getting real woozy,” I admit.
