Promises Part 2 (Bounty Hunters 2)

A fire engine and a paramedic pulled into their tiny parking lot, but the police stopped them from entering. Dana propped his rifle against his desk, raised his hands high in the air. The police entered with their weapons drawn, cautiously moving around them, taking in the dead body and the two subdued perps. None of them moved, waiting for the officers to feel safe enough to tuck their guns back in their holsters.

Duke checked to make sure Rome was calm enough to leave his side.

“I’m okay, Duke,” Rome answered the silent question. “Go help Brian.”

Quick went to stand behind his desk while Duke filled in the officer in charge. Quick wanted to go in Duke’s office and have a stiff drink, while he called Cayson just to hear his voice. Cayson. Fuck. He was there alone. Well, hopefully, he hadn’t left and gone home. It was definitely too dangerous now. He finally got his hands to stop shaking long enough to send Cayson a quick text.

I’m okay. You still at my place?

When Quick lifted his gaze, Brian was being checked over by the paramedics, while the fireman and cops stood over the dead body. Quick groaned under his breath. This was going to take all damn day. Paperwork out the ass, including a lengthy trip downtown for more official statements. Yellow police tape all over their property and the news cameras which were sure to follow, never brought the kind of publicity they were going for. Surely, it was a justified shooting. Dana was a licensed marksman, all he’d done was save SWAT from having to come down and do the job themselves. His phone vibrated in his palm.

Thank god, I’ve been going crazy!! I’m still here. You coming back soon? Was it a false alarm???

God, he wished. It was already daybreak, the sun just barely lighting up the gloomy sky. He looked at his watch.

“You got somewhere to be?” One of the young cops asked Quick, watching him cautiously, raising a cocky brow in his direction.

He wanted to flick the rookie off. His sculpted biceps were crossed over his starched blue uniform shirt and all the gel-spiked hair screamed “Fresh out of the academy.” He had something to prove to his sergeant, so Quick ignored him. As soon as the paramedics got Brian on the stretcher, Ford walked out with him, his hand firmly inside his brother’s. The driver was shaking his head when Ford tried to climb inside the back. All it did was set off another wave of anger. Surprisingly, Dana ran outside, wrapping his long arms around Ford’s bulk, pulling him backwards while the medics slammed the doors and sped out of the parking lot. Quick watched out the window, not intervening, thinking it better to not add to Ford’s stress. Dana was whispering something in his ear and it appeared to do the trick. It also looked intimate, from where he stood.

Ford turned to look at Dana, neither of their mouths were moving, but their bodies were so close that they could’ve been whispering in each other’s ears.

“What’s going on?” Duke asked, looking to see what Quick was watching so intently. “Oh.”

“Is Dana?”

“I don’t think so.” Quick frowned.

“Is Ford?”

“Whatever. I don’t give a damn. What’d you find out from the cops?”

“It’s exactly what we thought.”

“Goddamnit.”

“Call Cayson. We all need to stick together right now. That distinguished, well-known, very rich doctor just put a hit out on you. We need to make moves.”

“I know.” Quick felt terrible. He watched as Dana ushered Ford into one of the EMS vehicles. They were getting a ride either to the hospital or to their vehicles, which they’d parked around the corner. He wanted to go check on Brian, too, but knew they had to go down to the station.

“Which one of you pulled the trigger?” The rookie cop asked, approaching them from behind with his notepad open.

Duke huffed. “I already told you. My sniper did.”

“And where is he?”

“He just left with the paramedics.”

“He was ordered not to leave.”

“I have an injured man. He went to be with him. And he’s not under arrest; it was a justifiable homicide. Besides, he went to the hospital, not the Bahamas,” Duke argued, digging some papers out of Dana’s desk. He needed to be sure they all had their licenses and credentials when they went to give their statements.

“Um, sir. That’s all official police evidence right now.” The rookie stood erect, his chest jutting out against the cheap blue polyester of his uniform.

“This is my office, probie.” Duke sneered.

“It’s my crime scene at the moment. I’m going to have to ask you to step outside.”

This was new, but then again, there’d never been a homicide in their office. He wasn’t in the mood to argue and hoped Duke wouldn’t either. He was past ready to be out of the office. There was vomit, and even urine, on the floor where one of the perps had pissed himself. The tangy, metallic smell of blood was stifling in the closed space. He knew the smell too well. Couldn’t stand it. But something worse was coming any minute, and he didn’t need the added stench that would surely have him clutching his stomach and throwing up. Post-mortem defecation.