Page 41 of Resuscitation
Brick shovedthe hockey mom and her son back into the waiting room and glowered at all the occupants, following his gaze with his rifle.
“Sit down and shut up. Anyone moves, I’ll shoot you dead.”
They huddled and cried and kept their gazes down, not daring to look at him. Of course not, he had the power here. He was in charge.
Leon and Harper stumbled into sight from the other direction. Harper looked like he’d been in a barroom brawl.
Brick stepped out so the hostages wouldn’t hear. “What the hell happened to you two?”
“Tyson’s dead,” the South African said. “We got jumped by some guy. Not one of them.” He nodded to the hostages in the waiting room. “Guy had a uniform on.”
“A cop?” Brick snapped.
“No. He wasn’t a cop. Knew how to fight, though.” He thought. “A medic, I think.”
“You think?”
“He had a crowbar like what firefighters use. So, yeah, medic or fireman.”
Brick turned to Leon. “You see the guy?”
“No, he was gone when I got there, didn’t see where to.”
Idiots. He was working with a bunch of idiots. Never minded that he’d recruited them himself. “Get in there. Secure those hostages.”
“With what?” Harper asked. “Couldn’t find any gaffer tape.”
“It’s fuckin’ duct tape, and you should have your own.” Brick fished the small roll he carried from his inside jacket pocket. Didn’t everyone carry duct tape? Shit came in handy all the damn time. “That won’t be enough, there’ll be more in the ambulance bay or the cop’s SUV.”
“On it,” Leon said, taking off before Brick could give him the tedious task of restraining the hostages.
“Keep an eye out for your fireman,” Brick called after him. Then, to Harper, “I’m going to patrol, let Mercer know the situation. Think you can manage here?” It was more a challenge than a question. As far as Brick was concerned, if not for the rubies, he’d kill ‘em all and blow this joint now. Shit was getting too fuckin’ real.
Brick drew his sidearm and went down the corridor where they said the firefighter had ambushed them. He checked several empty patient rooms until he arrived at a nursing station. There he found an open walk-in closet. Lying on the floor was a man: Tyson.
He’d been shot twice through the back of the head, execution style. Definitely not the work of some rando fireman. Brick rolled him over, cringed at the way his face and eyes were red and swollen—not just the eyelids, but the eyeballs looked swelled up and milky. What the hell had done that?
Leon appeared from the ambulance bay, holding several rolls of duct tape as if he’d just won the lottery. “You were right. I found it!”
“Get back to the waiting room. Help Harper tie everyone up. Then I want you to go on patrol, find the motherfucker who did this.” Brick met the other man’s gaze, dared him to look away. “Think you can handle that?”
“Don’t worry about me, Brick. You know I can. Dude’s as good as dead.” He did a little celebration dance as if he’d scored a touchdown, then took off running.
Brick watched him leave, shaking his head. He needed to find those damn rubies so he could get the fuck out of Dodge.
Best way to do that was to get Mercer talking. Draw him close, remind him how much he trusted Brick—all the while acting like Mercer was in charge.
Time to call the boss. He keyed his radio. “Mercer, come in.”
After a moment, Mercer said, “I’m here, whatcha need, Brick?”
“Tyson and Harper. They got jumped, and now Tyson’s dead.”
“What the fuck? Who?”
“Harper said the guy looked like a fireman. No sign of him now.”
“Where you at?”
