Page 9 of Nightcrawler

Right off the showroom floor, with all the bells and whistles including a tow package and upgrades, the Dodge had cost me a cool forty-eight thousand, but I wasn’t about to tell him that. I shrugged, feeling a flush of embarrassment rush over my skin. “What’s it to you and just why the hell are you so mad?”

He took a step closer, close enough to take a swing at me and hit me in the face if he’d wanted to. The sneer which appeared on his handsome lips made me shrink and take a full step back. Even though he was broader in the shoulders than I was, wewere almost the same height. He had an inch or two on me at most, but he really knew how to use his size to be intimidating. I glanced at his left bicep, once again seeing his Marine Corps tat peeking out from under the fabric. He must have been a hell of a Marine.

“What’s it to me? Let me tell you, rich boy.” He shook a finger in my face. “It’s guys like you, driving around in your fancy cars, wearing your fancy shoes, and stealing bounties away from hard working stiffs, that make mejusta little angry! That’s why I’m mad!”

“Maybe you haven’t noticed but bounty hunting and insurance recovery are dog eat dog—” I stopped midsentence when I saw his eyes widen. He was looking at something over my shoulder and the second the expression of horror made an appearance on his face, I heard Passantino’s shout.

“Stop right there!”

“Mathis!” Huerta shouted. “Get down!”

Before I registered what was about to happen, a shot rang out and a searing hot barb hit me in the side, whipping me around. I had no time to think before Huerta grabbed my arm and yanked me toward the kitchen, shouting at me to run. A second bullet whizzed past my head, striking the paintwork of the doorjamb between the dining room and kitchen, sending stinging shards of wood exploding outward and hitting me right in the face.

“Run!” Huerta screamed, still holding onto my bicep and dragging me through the kitchen. We made it as far as the door to the garage before a third shot slammed into the six-burner Viking range hood six inches away. Huerta yanked me through the door, slamming the solid wood fire door shut as three more shots rang out, burrowing into the closed door. That fucker meant to kill us, and my brain had finally fully caught up to whatwas happening. We scooted around the Lamborghini, making our way to the final door, spilling out into the side yard, with Huerta still pulling me along.

The Marine finally let go and sprinted to the iron gate to slam open the slide bolt, yanking it open. We both crashed through it and ran as fast as we could to the ivy-covered wall. I was panting like a freight train, sucking in air, feeling like I was going to pass out as I watched Huerta make a running leap, scrambling up the wall. He stopped at the top and changed position to his belly, hanging half over as he reached down with both hands.

“Take my hands!” he shouted. When I just stood there in shock looking up at him, he screamed again, “Take my fucking hands, Raven! I’ll pull you up!” It took the clang of the metal gate behind me to make me move. That maniac was right behind me, so I grabbed Huerta’s hands with both of mine. He slipped over the side, probably scraping his belly on the cinderblock wall as he used his own weight to pull me up and over. We both landed on our asses on the grassy parkway strip. Before I could register what had just taken place, Huerta was up, holding out a hand. “Give me your keys!”

“What?” I asked, grabbing my side as the pain finally made itself known to me.

“Give me your fucking keys, Raven! My truck is parked all the way around the block and if you haven’t noticed we’re being chased by a crazy man with afuckinggun! Not to mention the fact that you’ve been shot!”

“Shot?” I asked, scrambling to my feet as I dug out my key fob with a bloodied hand.Fuck…I’ve been shot.

I instantly gave him the keys, hearing him click open the door locks as I looked down and stared dumbly at my bloody hand. “I’ve been shot, Huerta.” The truth was only now starting to sinkin. That fucker, Passantino had shot me. I hadn’t felt it until now due to the adrenaline coursing through me. Now it rolled over me, making me nauseous. I felt weak, like all the fight had left me. Just as I felt my legs going out from under me, Huerta was there, pulling one of my arms over his broad shoulders, and helping me to the open passenger door of the truck.

I looked up, fumbling for the grab bar to pull myself inside, cursing the fact that I’d bought a truck outfitted with a lift kit. The very idea of pulling myself up to get in made the wound in my side throb. Huerta wouldn’t let me think about it too long, however. He practically shoved me into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut, before he pulled himself up into the driver’s seat, and started it with a roar.

The iron gates blocking Passantino’s driveway began rolling open as the Marine gunned the engine and tore off down the street. In the side view mirror, I could see Passantino charge out into the middle of the street and stand there dressed only in pajama pants, before leveling the gun at the truck. I held my breath as Huerta screeched around a corner on two wheels. I let out a sigh and closed my eyes, trusting that he knew what to do next.

TRIGG

I glanced into the rearview mirror, checking if we were being followed, taking several turns in the neighborhood, before pulling out onto Ventura Boulevard. Huffing out a sigh of relief, I turned to look at Mathis, and wasn’t surprised to see he was unconscious, almost as gray as the leather seats in the beautiful black truck I drove. The black knit long-sleeved T-shirt he wore was soaked with blood, slowly seeping from the hole in his side.I could see a patch of pale, golden skin beneath where it was marred by a ragged bullet hole…one I needed to get a better look at.

What Ineededto do was get the man to a hospital. I bit my lower lip as I cut across two lanes and made a sharp turn onto a side street. I chose the empty parking lot of a steak restaurant and nosed up to a fence. The tint should stop anyone seeing in.

I threw the truck into park and reached over, carefully easing the hem of Mathis’s shirt up so I could examine the wound. It was in his left side, a through and through, therefore less dangerous than it would have been had the bullet still been inside. I pulled off my shirt and put some pressure on the pad to stem the bleeding front and back. I needed to get it cleaned up and stitched but if I could get it to stop or slow down a lot, I could avoid the hospital.

Calmer now, knowing the bullet wound wasn’t going to kill him—having had extensive experience with all kinds of gunshot wounds in the service—I debated what to do.

I could take Mathis to his own house which would be easy enough to locate from the vehicle registration he probably kept in the glove compartment. If it wasn’t there, I could call Jamie to ask him to run Mathis’ name through the DMV, but I really didn’t want to face his wrath when he figured out I’d lost yet another bounty on top of getting Mathis shot. I looked at the big man who leaned against the passenger door. Taking him to his place was a huge risk and it probably wouldn’t have the supplies I needed to treat the wound. What if he had a wife at his place? What if—God forbid—the man had kids, and I dragged their bloodied father into the house?

In the end, I decided to take him back to my place where I could get him looked at. I had no doubt I could get Trevon tocome over with his medic’s bag. Even if I hadn’t known how to handle basic first aid and do an acceptable field dressing, I still wanted him looked at by a pro. Chances were Vonne would have the antibiotics Mathis would need. He wasn’t a doctor, but he may as well have been. We’d all relied on him to keep us alive on missions. But, more than anything, I wanted to reassure myself that the bullet hadn’t nicked something vital. There wasn’t enough blood for an arterial bleed, and I couldn’t smell feces from a punctured intestine, both of which could kill him, but I wanted to be sure.

The drive to Hollywood and my rundown apartment was a good half hour. I tied the front and back pads around him with our pants’ belts looped together and pulled the seatbelt across Mathis’ side, heading out of the parking lot.

I bypassed the 405 Freeway, knowing it would already be filled with commuters at this time of day, and took the winding Laurel Canyon Boulevard up and over the hill before driving home. I was thankful we’d both come out of this alive, if not unscathed. Mathis was coming around as I hung up the phone with Vonne and was pulling into my subterranean parking garage, thankful for once, that I had a concealed place to hide his truck, in case the cops were looking for the Dodge. Who knew what Passantino had told them, if anything, about his role in the incident…or ours.

I parked in my space, grateful that the garage was empty, and jumped out of the truck, coming around quickly as Mathis sat forward. I yanked his door open, and he glanced down at me, looking confused and if possible, paler than before.

“Where…Huerta? Where are—?” Mathis suddenly winced and he turned to look down at his side as I tapped the top of his thigh. He pivoted back to me, wincing again, and stared blankly.

“Come on. We’re at my place,” I said as gently as possible. “Let’s get you inside where I can get a better look at that.”

“I need a hospital, Huerta,” he said, even as he took my hand with one of his, clinging to the grab bar with the other as he slid out of the truck with a long moan.

I was there as his legs buckled, with a shoulder under his arm, supporting his weight. He groaned as he righted himself. “Can’t take you to a hospital. This is a gunshot, Mathis. I have a friend coming over to see to it. Now, come on.”

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