Page 25 of The Professor
I shot. So did Mitch and Phil.
Ranson took one to the center of his forehead, likely Phil, and two to his chest, close together over his heart.
The force flung him backward, blood spurting, and he slumped against the wall, slid down it and leaving a claret streak on the grimy paintwork.
Mitch went up to the desk, shoved a few papers aside, then grabbed a small black book. He rammed it into his pocket.
“Shit!” Phil turned around, eyes wide.
“What?” I asked.
“That doesn’t sound good.” Phil stepped out of the bloody room. “That noise. What’s going on?”
I followed. The shouts and female screams were louder. “What the hell…?”
“It’s a raid. Cops.” Bald Guy leapt up and frantically looked left and right. “I gotta get out of here.” He pushed past Phil and through the door we’d used to enter the warehouse.
“What’s going on?” I turned to Mitch.
“No fucking clue.” He stepped toward the door. “But I can’t get caught in here, not by the cops. You know I can’t. I’ll get slung in prison, and cops don’t last long there.”
“I know, go,” I said. “Quickly.”
“Finn.” Cillian held his gun at the ready. “I gotta…my brother. I’ve gotta get him.”
“It’s too late.” I put my hand on his arm.
“No, I…”
“You’re no good to him in a cell, Cillian, come on.” I glanced out of the door at the lilac evening light upholstering the cornfield.
Mitch was running from the building toward our vehicle. Phil was in hot pursuit.
“It’s fucking chaos back there. Listen.” I pushed my face up into Cillian’s and shouted through my mask to get through to him. “Finn and Grant are already in the depths of whatever shit is going down with the law. We gotta go. You’re no good to him if you’re banged up, too.”
“But?”
I didn’t wait for him to say anything else and I clasped his wrist and tugged him outside. He didn’t resist and was soon running with me toward the van.
We leapt in. Mitch revved the engine and pulled away.
“Jesus Christ,” Phil said as we took a left onto a dirt track to avoid a dozen cop cars at the front of the warehouse. “Get your foot down, Mitch, this has gone to shit big time.”
Chapter Seven
Andrew
“We have to get them out of there. We have to.” Cillian paced the room then slapped his hand on the wall next to the screen. “We can’t just sit here.”
“We’re not just sitting here,” I said. “We’re working out a plan?”
“What fucking plan? We’ve been talking since we got back. Words ain’t gonna get Finn and Grant outta the nick. Me Ma is gonna go nuts.”
Dalton sat at the table with his head in his hands. “Maybe Mitch will get some information, while he’s on duty, like.”
I nodded. We could hope. But still, it wasn’t like our resident cop could break the guys out. They’d been caught in a drug and sex slave raid, all carrying—unless they’d been smart and tossed their weapons away at the first sound of trouble.
My phone rang. I picked it up. “It’s Mitch.”
