Page 16 of The Norcross Rescue

Please stay safe, Vander. The police would be planning a rescue. They just had to hold on a little longer.

“It’s taking too long!” One of the guys, Tiger, strode jerkily through the crowd, waving his rifle around. “The longer we’re here, the higher the chance the fucking cops catch us.”

“Keep a lock on it,” Wolf growled.

“Fuck that!” Tiger lashed out and kicked the potted tree. It teetered and tipped over.

People cried out as the tree crashed to the floor. The pot cracked and dirt spilled everywhere.

Then Tiger froze and crouched down. He lifted something.

Something shiny.

Oh, hell.

“A police badge.”

Wolf strode over and snatched it away, studying it. He lifted his head and scanned the crowd. “Someone here is a cop.”

Brynn swallowed. Stay calm. No one would guess the heavily pregnant woman was a homicide detective, she hoped.

“A cop!” Tiger spun around, brandishing his gun. “Who the hell is a cop? They must be reporting back. That’s why the cops called.”

“We took all the cellphones.” Fox appeared, looking agitated. He ran a hand through his shaggy hair, almost dislodging his mask.

“Who here owns this?” Wolf demanded, holding up the badge.

A few people in the crowd sucked in breaths and people looked at each other. No one said anything.

Wolf slipped the badge into his pocket. “Even if someone is a cop, there’s nothing they can do.” His lip curled. “But I think they’ll make a nice demonstration when I need to start putting bullets in brains.”

People gasped.

Brynn’s throat tightened.

CHAPTER FOUR

Vander watched the man in the boar mask approach. He had a rifle in his hands, but as he neared the broken potted plant, he shifted the rifle to one hand and crouched down.

Bad mistake, asshole.

Moving fast, Vander silently moved forward and slipped the cable over the man’s head. Then he pulled back.

Boar dropped his gun, then scrambled to grab the cord, scratching at his neck. Vander held on tight, pulling him down to the floor. The guy fought, but Vander just tightened his grip. The man’s feet hammered, but he couldn’t get a sound out.

Dispassionately, Vander watched and waited until the man lost consciousness. Then he dragged the man into an office, propped him in one corner, and hog-tied him with the cord, hands and feet out of action. He opened some drawers and found some duct tape. He taped the man’s mouth closed.

Then Vander rose.

One down.

Nine to go.

He’d slipped out of the office, closed the door, then scooped up Boar’s gun. That’s when he heard approaching footsteps.

“Brady? Brady, where are you?”

Vander slid into a dark office doorway and waited. He couldn’t risk using the gun and alerting the other thieves. He rested the rifle against the wall.