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Byron snorted, the gray cast of his face making him look like a particularly sickly Ghost of Christmas Past. “Yeah, I’m sure the cops’ll be completely understanding when they burst in on this shitshow.”
Luca let go of his injured arm and pushed himself to his feet, wavering for a moment before he locked his knees. “Stay here, both of you. I’ll go wait for them outside with my hands up and explain what happened.”
I managed to push myself upright as well. “With Berlusconi still unaccounted for? Like hell you will. I’ll go.”
Luca made a small noise in his throat and slid right back down the wall, as though his burst of strength had exhausted itself with that single act of bravery.
“Okay,” he whispered.
I wasn’t sure how much longer my adrenaline-fueled muscles were going to keep cooperating. Even so, I couldn’t just climb over Byron and the unconscious goon, leaving them behind in a tangle.
“Come on,” I said, taking Byron’s arm and helping him stagger upright. “Let’s get you lying down and elevate that leg again.”
The goon didn’t so much as twitch, and I had the horrible thought that I might’ve killed him outright.
Don’t think, I reminded myself firmly.
I got Byron settled on the floor with his heel propped up on the edge of the low metal table. “Stay here and try to look unthreatening. I think the cops are almost here.”
“I’ll get right on that,” Byron wheezed, staring up at the moldy ceiling tiles.
I patted his shoulder and gave Luca what I hoped was an encouraging smile. Then I hurried out of the room, trying veryhard not to register the blood coating one side of the goon’s slack face as I sidled past him.
Outside might as well have been pitch black now that my eyes had adjusted to the portable lights inside the room. I blinked rapidly, trying to force them to make out shapes in the dark. There was a large rectangle in the far wall that seemed lighter than its surroundings. An open delivery door? I peered at it, and sure enough, I could make out faint strobing color beyond. Red and blue... police car emergency lights.
I headed in that direction, feeling my way.
I’d made it maybe twenty feet when a flashlight pierced the darkness. It came from a different corner of the warehouse floor—were the police already inside?
“Officer?” I called, raising my hands for good measure. “I need help—there are people injured!”
The flashlight beam landed on my face, blinding me.
“You!” Berlusconi snarled. “How the hell did you call the cops here? Never mind—you’re my hostage. Stay right where you are, or I’ll shoot you in thefucking face!”
More lights illuminated the echoing space, crisscrossing crazily.
“Freeze!” shouted a deep voice. “Drop the gun!”
Berlusconi’s flashlight dipped away from my face, no longer dazzling me. As the afterimages cleared, I could make out a dozen dark shapes swarming the building, fanning out in all directions. Several beams merged on Berlusconi like spotlights in a stage performance.
My heart jolted. His gun was still pointing at my head. But as I watched, frozen, his gaze darted around the warehouse like a cornered prey animal. Unthinkingly, he turned, the pistol pointing vaguely in the direction of the swarming police.
“Drop the gun,drop the gun!” shouted another voice.
An instant later, the warehouse floor rang out with dozens of shots. Berlusconi jerked like a marionette in the hands of a drunken puppeteer, staggering backward.
I dove for the floor for the second time in less than ten minutes, covering my head with my hands. Blood from my cut palm stuck to my hair.
More yelling. “Man down! Requesting medical support!”
And then someone snapped, “Stay down! Identify yourself!” from very close by.
“I’m unarmed!” I said, my voice shaking. “My name is Nathaniel Bell! I was kidnapped with two other people from the Elderflower Inn restaurant in Soulard! We need help—one of them is badly injured!”
Rough hands lifted me to my feet. “Can you walk?”
I stumbled, leaning against a broad shoulder. “Y-yes. I’ll take you to them. Please hurry.”