Run the Risk
Page 101
“But you do now?”
“Well…yes.”
“Great.” Irony dripped from Reese’s tone. “At least I can die knowing I eventually won you over.”
“And you think I feel any differently, you impudent ass?”
Logan understood their ploy. Stall, distract, redirect the attention. He appreciated their efforts because it gave him a chance to peek in again, to better formulate a plan.
Andrews kept his gun loose at his side, but his goon maintained a dead aim on Rowdy.
Proving he had a streak of cruelty a mile wide, Morton spoke with sick anticipation. “Your sister will go missing, you know. No one will ever see her again, but believe me, she’ll be put to good use.”
Instead of going into a fury, Rowdy grew calmer. “No, I don’t think so. She’s safe—and you’re pathetic.”
Did Rowdy want to enrage Andrews? If they started shooting, Reese and Peterson were sitting ducks. Or…had Rowdy noticed him? Was he drawing their fire to save the others?
Logan couldn’t let that happen.
He only needed to distract the men for a single second. He knew, given any opportunity, Rowdy would react. Between the two of them, they’d make it work.
If he shot Andrews, the goon might kill Rowdy.
If he shot the goon, Andrews could take aim on Peterson or Reese.
The room was small enough that, if anyone started shooting, they’d all be eating bullets. Best to avoid that if at all possible.
With that decision made, he put the gun back in his waistband and slowly inched into the door frame.
Proving a keen awareness, Rowdy’s gaze went right on past Logan so that he wouldn’t give away his position.
Reese flattened his expression and leaned a little in front of Peterson.
To assist him, Rowdy frowned and looked at the closet. He widened his eyes.
Taking the bait, Andrews jerked around to face the new threat, and Logan was on him. He caught Andrews’s wrist and pressed his gun hand down, squeezing hard until the weapon fell from his hand.
Rowdy and the other man crashed into them, and Logan heard a whispered pop, pop, pop.
The silencers made the shots barely detectable, but a searing burn cut through his right upper arm. Damn it.
Refusing to let any injury slow him down, Logan brought his left elbow up and into Andrews’s face and smashed his nose. The bastard howled in fury and grabbed for him. Logan drove him forward until they fell into the dresser, then landed hard on the floor in a tangle.
As he reared back to demolish Andrews, he saw the odd twist of his neck, the wide sightless eyes and slack mouth.
Morton Andrews had broken his neck and faded away with little fanfare.
Disbelief obliterated the pain in his shoulder.
Reese shouted, “Damn it, Rowdy, stop it!” He rattled the entire bed with his objections. “You’re going to kill him!”
Logan saw the gunman sprawled under Rowdy, unmoving, his face bloodied and battered. “Rowdy.” He got to his feet and clasped Rowdy’s shoulder. “That’s enough.”
Breathing hard, fist cocked, Rowdy pulled back, paused and then shoved to his feet. He stood heaving for only a moment before bending to go through the man’s pockets.
After finding the key to the cuffs, he turned to Logan and flattened his mouth. “Sit down, why don’t you?”
Logan ignored that to collect the guns now strewn every f**king place. He tossed them on the bed near the lieutenant’s feet, and in the process, managed to get blood everywhere. Shit.
Rowdy stepped in front of him. “Seriously, Logan. Sit.”
He glanced at his arm, at the slow oozing of blood and blackened flesh, the swelling. Disgusted, he said, “I’ll ruin the bedding.”
“Damn you, Logan,” Reese snarled as he struggled with the key. “I can buy new bedding!”
“You’re sounding hysterical,” Logan told him.
Reese drew a deep, strained breath. “No.” He drew another. “I’m perfectly fine. Please sit down before I get free and kick your ass!”
Now that the others kept pointing it out, his arm went from numb to screaming pain. “Yeah, all right.” But rather than join Reese and Peterson on the crowded mattress, he went to the wall and slid down to the floor.
Rowdy crouched down in front of him to check the wound. “Damn, man. I’m sorry. I tried to control his gun hand, but he—”
“You’re not hurt?”
Rowdy gave him a comical look and laughed. “Bruised head to toe, but otherwise fine—thanks to you.” Gingerly, he lifted Logan’s arm. “It looks like the bullet passed through. Do you think it hit bone? Does anything feel broken?”
“No. It’ll be fine.” It had to be; with Andrews out of the way, he wanted time with Pepper. He did not want to be incapacitated.
“Sucks that it’s your right arm.”
Done discussing it, Logan said, “Dash is outside keeping an eye on one of Andrews’s men.”
While continuing to poke and prod like a damned doctor, Rowdy asked, “My sister?”
It astounded Logan that Rowdy didn’t seem more concerned for her. “In the apartment with Alice.”
“Ah. Good. I was counting on you keeping her safe, and you did. I owe you for that.”
“You don’t owe me a damned thing.” Majorly pissed off at himself, Logan put his back to the wall and stretched out one leg. “I don’t f**king believe this.”
“Well…yes.”
“Great.” Irony dripped from Reese’s tone. “At least I can die knowing I eventually won you over.”
“And you think I feel any differently, you impudent ass?”
Logan understood their ploy. Stall, distract, redirect the attention. He appreciated their efforts because it gave him a chance to peek in again, to better formulate a plan.
Andrews kept his gun loose at his side, but his goon maintained a dead aim on Rowdy.
Proving he had a streak of cruelty a mile wide, Morton spoke with sick anticipation. “Your sister will go missing, you know. No one will ever see her again, but believe me, she’ll be put to good use.”
Instead of going into a fury, Rowdy grew calmer. “No, I don’t think so. She’s safe—and you’re pathetic.”
Did Rowdy want to enrage Andrews? If they started shooting, Reese and Peterson were sitting ducks. Or…had Rowdy noticed him? Was he drawing their fire to save the others?
Logan couldn’t let that happen.
He only needed to distract the men for a single second. He knew, given any opportunity, Rowdy would react. Between the two of them, they’d make it work.
If he shot Andrews, the goon might kill Rowdy.
If he shot the goon, Andrews could take aim on Peterson or Reese.
The room was small enough that, if anyone started shooting, they’d all be eating bullets. Best to avoid that if at all possible.
With that decision made, he put the gun back in his waistband and slowly inched into the door frame.
Proving a keen awareness, Rowdy’s gaze went right on past Logan so that he wouldn’t give away his position.
Reese flattened his expression and leaned a little in front of Peterson.
To assist him, Rowdy frowned and looked at the closet. He widened his eyes.
Taking the bait, Andrews jerked around to face the new threat, and Logan was on him. He caught Andrews’s wrist and pressed his gun hand down, squeezing hard until the weapon fell from his hand.
Rowdy and the other man crashed into them, and Logan heard a whispered pop, pop, pop.
The silencers made the shots barely detectable, but a searing burn cut through his right upper arm. Damn it.
Refusing to let any injury slow him down, Logan brought his left elbow up and into Andrews’s face and smashed his nose. The bastard howled in fury and grabbed for him. Logan drove him forward until they fell into the dresser, then landed hard on the floor in a tangle.
As he reared back to demolish Andrews, he saw the odd twist of his neck, the wide sightless eyes and slack mouth.
Morton Andrews had broken his neck and faded away with little fanfare.
Disbelief obliterated the pain in his shoulder.
Reese shouted, “Damn it, Rowdy, stop it!” He rattled the entire bed with his objections. “You’re going to kill him!”
Logan saw the gunman sprawled under Rowdy, unmoving, his face bloodied and battered. “Rowdy.” He got to his feet and clasped Rowdy’s shoulder. “That’s enough.”
Breathing hard, fist cocked, Rowdy pulled back, paused and then shoved to his feet. He stood heaving for only a moment before bending to go through the man’s pockets.
After finding the key to the cuffs, he turned to Logan and flattened his mouth. “Sit down, why don’t you?”
Logan ignored that to collect the guns now strewn every f**king place. He tossed them on the bed near the lieutenant’s feet, and in the process, managed to get blood everywhere. Shit.
Rowdy stepped in front of him. “Seriously, Logan. Sit.”
He glanced at his arm, at the slow oozing of blood and blackened flesh, the swelling. Disgusted, he said, “I’ll ruin the bedding.”
“Damn you, Logan,” Reese snarled as he struggled with the key. “I can buy new bedding!”
“You’re sounding hysterical,” Logan told him.
Reese drew a deep, strained breath. “No.” He drew another. “I’m perfectly fine. Please sit down before I get free and kick your ass!”
Now that the others kept pointing it out, his arm went from numb to screaming pain. “Yeah, all right.” But rather than join Reese and Peterson on the crowded mattress, he went to the wall and slid down to the floor.
Rowdy crouched down in front of him to check the wound. “Damn, man. I’m sorry. I tried to control his gun hand, but he—”
“You’re not hurt?”
Rowdy gave him a comical look and laughed. “Bruised head to toe, but otherwise fine—thanks to you.” Gingerly, he lifted Logan’s arm. “It looks like the bullet passed through. Do you think it hit bone? Does anything feel broken?”
“No. It’ll be fine.” It had to be; with Andrews out of the way, he wanted time with Pepper. He did not want to be incapacitated.
“Sucks that it’s your right arm.”
Done discussing it, Logan said, “Dash is outside keeping an eye on one of Andrews’s men.”
While continuing to poke and prod like a damned doctor, Rowdy asked, “My sister?”
It astounded Logan that Rowdy didn’t seem more concerned for her. “In the apartment with Alice.”
“Ah. Good. I was counting on you keeping her safe, and you did. I owe you for that.”
“You don’t owe me a damned thing.” Majorly pissed off at himself, Logan put his back to the wall and stretched out one leg. “I don’t f**king believe this.”
