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Stupid bastard.

And Bull was running after him.

Bull, who had good instincts, but fook-all when it came to experience, was running after an experienced undercover operative who’d already shown enough resource to carry a second gun.

Did he have a third?

“Fook fooking fook fooker.” The word was a constant litany as he forced himself to his feet, Felicity at his side alternately pushing and pulling and doing very little to actually help. “Fook.”

“Yes, yes, you have a very impressive vocabulary. Are you certain you are well?”

“Nay, I’m not well, woman, I’m bleeding all over the place.”

Felicity twisted about to watch her son chase a vicious criminal. “Well, fudge.”

Unaccountably, one side of his lips curled. “At least ye’re no’ spelling it.” When she blustered, he yanked her to him, planting a hard, fast kiss on her lips. “I’ll get him, Flick, dinnae fash. Ye help Ian, aye?”

“Be safe,” she whispered. “I…”

But he didn’t have time to stick around and guess what she was going to say. With a firm nod, he set off after Bull.

There’d been times in his life he’d had to run, and run hard. He’d been fast and serious and deadly.

This was not one of those times.

The burning slice in his side was making it hard to breathe, and breathing was, as it turned out, important.

But still, he pressed his arm to his side, lowered his head like a bull, and shuffled on as fast as he could.

Ahead of him the two figures had reached the bridge, and for the first time in a long while, Griffin found himself praying.

Dinnae let Bull do something stupid.

If the lad was hurt, Felicity would… Well, he knew what it was like to be afraid for someone he loved. And right now, he was afraid for Bull.

Ye love him. Ye love him as much as ye love his mother.

It was true.

Jesus Christ, he loved Bull the way he loved his own children. Somehow, the little shite had wormed his way into Griffin’s heart. And after years of worrying for his children’s safety, he was terrified he was about to watch his worst nightmare play out.

The bridge was just as tall as Duncan had been bragging, the angle steep. Griffin reached it as Totwafel disappeared over the apex…and Bull threw himself forward.

The lad had finally come close enough to tackle the possibly armed bad guy?

Griffin didn’t know if that was stupidity or ballocks the size of grapefruits.

Likely both.

“Fook fook shite fook,” he muttered under his breath as he labored up the steep incline.

Totwafel and Bull came into view, rolling about at the top of the bridge, entirely too close to the wooden railing. Totwafel was larger and heavier, but Bull was kicking and biting like a champ to retrieve the camera.

And before Griffin could reach them, could pull Bull from the other man and tell him his safety wasn’t worth the proof the camera offered, the pair of them rolled over the side of the bridge.

Griffin’s heart stopped.

For one long moment, he thought he’d died as Bull had died, but he threw himself forward to peer over the edge of the bridge…