“It can’t get much worse than this!”
“He’s breathing,” she said.
“Oh, God!” I burst into tears. “Oh, thank God!”
“Barely.”
“Urg!” I could kill Ethan myself. I was certain of it.
“This is bad,” Rosa said. Her hands were covered with Amano’s blood. “He’s got lots of holes in him.”
“Jesus. Amano, just hang in there. Dr. Forrester is on his way.”
“Ari,” Rosa said. “You don’t look so good, either. You are much too pale.”
I was afraid I might pass out. Or throw up. And the burning sensation didn’t abate.
Amano mumbled something. I stared at Rosa.
“What did he say?”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head. “‘Go…’ something.”
“‘Go…’?” I waded through the haze in my mind. “Go where? What the hell?” I cried with sufficient anguish. Then suddenly I said, “GoPro!”
“What?” She had no clue what I meant.
“Kyle’s mini—can you grab it, please?”
It was on the floor where he’d tackled Rosa and Amsel. She wiped her crimson-colored hands on her white nightgown, then rushed over, snatched the device, and gave it to me.
I employed last night’s lesson from Amano and was immediately streaming the video and audio feed from Dane’s McLaren. “Kyle, can you hear me?”
“Yeah!”
“What’s happening?” I couldn’t remain focused on the video with Kyle weaving in and out of traffic. It made me dizzy and nauseous.
“Ethan is several cars ahead of me.”
“Where’s Dane?”
“On his motorcycle behind me. Are you okay?”
“Been better.”
“What about Amano?”
“Swell,” came the bodyguard’s response.
“Don’t let him fool you,” I said. “He’s in bad shape. Dr. Forrester is on his way. Is there a GoPro on the bike?”
“No, the helmet.”
I pulled up that video. “Dane!”
“What the fuck?” he roared.
“It’s me! I’m in your head—your helmet,” I corrected. “GoPro. Amano and Kyle installed it.”