Page 58 of Shadow Boxed (Shadow Warriors #2)

The dude listened for a moment before repeating the lie Cosky had told him earlier.

“His pulse and breathing are stable, but he’s still unconscious.

” He listened some more and shook his head.

“No medical conditions that I’m aware of.

No allergies—food, airborne, or otherwise.

” He listened some more before offering an unconscious nod.

“You’ll remain on the line until the paramedics get here?

” He nodded again, his shoulders and neck relaxing.

At this point, Capland should have switched the scrambler back on to drop the 999 call. They couldn’t afford to have the dispatcher on with the real paramedics when Rawlings and Winters walked through the door.

As if thinking about them conjured them, Rawling and Winters rushed through the door with a collapsible gurney. The bodyguard who’d gone down to greet them was right on their heels.

Fuck, their timing was perfect.

“The paramedics are here,” Nantz’s head guard said into the phone, only to swear. “I lost the call,” he growled.

The jammer had taken effect.

The head bodyguard rose to his feet and moved aside as Rawlings rolled the gurney next to Nantz. The two squids were decked out in the green shirt and trousers of London’s registered paramedics.

The bodyguard dialed 999 again, but the call wouldn’t go through. He scowled. “My damn cell isn’t working.”

Winters shrugged and lifted his phone to show the talk screen. “I’m on with dispatch. They know we’re here.”

Dispatch in this case was Wolf’s team. The team cellphones were using a different frequency than the scrambler was set to.

Rawlings collapsed the gurney to the right of their target and dropped to his knees beside Nantz. He plugged a stethoscope into his ears while Winters wrapped a blood pressure cuff around their patient’s arm.

As Rawlings recited the vitals, Winters reported them to Wolf’s dispatcher. To O’Neill’s surprise, the former SEAL spoke with a distinct English accent and used the correct English terminology. He hadn’t realized the southerner was such a good mimic.

“His vitals look good,” Rawlings said to the room. “He could be having a stroke. We’ll treat him for that and transport him.” As Rawlings deftly inserted a needle into Nantz’s arm and set up a drip line, the head bodyguard leaned forward with a frown.

“What are you giving him?”

“tPA.” Rawlings glanced up, his voice calm. “It will break down any blood clots in his brain, in case the cause of the collapse is due to a stroke.”

Which was the correct treatment for a possible stroke victim. This drip didn’t contain tPA though. It contained propofol. Which would keep Nantz asleep until they reached Wolf’s Citation.

The head bodyguard straightened with a nod. At least he didn’t look overly suspicious now. Just bodyguard suspicious. So far, so good. Now if they could get their target into Rawlings’s rig before the real ambulance showed up.

The squids deftly lifted and slid their patient onto the gurney, strapped him down, and repacked their bags.

“Where are you taking him?” Embray asked. “We’ll meet you there.”

“St. Bartholomew's.” Rawlings said without looking up.

“Bartholomew?” The head bodyguard’s voice sharpened. “Why there? Berkeley Medical is closer.”

Rawls shrugged. “Park Street is shut down. Multi-car accident. There’s no estimate when it will reopen. We can reach Barts faster.” Winters collected their med kits while Rawlings pumped the gurney to waist level, then wheeled it across the room, out the door, and into the hall beyond.

Nantz’s entire security detail, as well as his secretary, followed. They were quite the procession—two billionaires, three bodyguards, three fake bodyguards, and a secretary.

At least they lost most of them at the elevator.

They reached the lobby, and then the fake ambulance parked outside, before the rest of their entourage showed back up. O’Neill was on edge, just waiting for a real ambulance to come screaming in and fuck everything up.

But the street out front was empty of flashing lights and sirens.

Rawlings and Winters collapsed the gurney, lifted it, and shoved it inside the ambulance. That’s when the trouble started. The head bodyguard tried to shove past Winters to follow Rawlings inside.

Winters blocked him. “You can’t ride with him. You’ll have to meet us at the Barts A the real paramedics could show up any minute. They needed to get Nantz on the road.

Winters reached for the radio mic clipped to the fabric above his uniform’s shoulder. “Dispatch, be advised we have an individual holding up transport.” His voice was hard as he spoke into the mic, his gaze even harder as he stared the lead bodyguard down.

O’Neill scanned the street again. He needed to break Rawling and Winters free.

He stepped up to the bodyguard. “You called for a car, right?” He didn’t wait for the dude’s nod.

“You can follow behind them. You’ll still have eyes on your client, and he’ll get the help he needs.

” He paused when the guy didn’t look convinced.

“You’re not doing your paycheck any favors by holding up his treatment. ”

A frown planted itself on the bodyguard’s face. He glanced toward the street as a Cadillac Escalade pulled up to the curb.

“Fine.” He scowled at Winters, then nodded at the Escalade idling at the curb. “We’ll be on your tail.”

O’Neill expected the dude to add something threatening, like I’ll be watching you , but he just waited for Winters to shut and latch the ambulance doors before pivoting and heading for the Escalade.

The second bodyguard followed. Soon as Winters pulled onto the street, the SUV completed a quick U-turn and fell in behind him.

Winters is away, but Nantz’s bodyguards are on his tail. O’Neill sent the update through the Neealaho, even as he pretended to text Wolf.

How many?

Three

O’Neill watched the ambulance, and its tail, vanish from sight. Fuck...they’d actually done it. They had Nantz.

Now they just had to keep him.