Page 84 of Cutter

Two guys screamed, the DEA agent ran in their direction, and Cutter took advantage of the distraction to reevaluate the distance to the fallen man. The fight seemed to be moving their way. If he waited, he’d be cut off from the wounded agent.

A sudden lull gave him the chance he needed. “Now!” he whispered.

He dashed across, Emily at his side.

“This way.” He signaled with two fingers. In a half crouch, he scrambled to the sprawled government man. Emily came up right behind him.

He shoved his hand against the guy’s throat, feeling for a pulse. “He’s alive.”

Behind him, Emily kept her voice low. “He’s hit, though.”

Careful not to jostle the agent, Cutter inspected the man’s head. There was some blood on the side, but nothing that appeared too urgent. “I see that. A hit to the head. He’ll have to wait for help. We gotta move him up. Too exposed here.”Grasping the fallen man’s armpits, he pulled him closer to the shelter of the container, then turned to Emily. “Keep your gun handy. This ain’t over. I think we’re going to need it.”

Her blue eyes glinted like sapphires under the warehouse’s parking lot lamps. She tried to touch his arm. “Daddy, I?—”

Cutter jerked from her. “Not now,” he answered, whispering through his clenched jaw. He was pissed. He’d warned her, told her this would be dangerous. But she had to come. Now she was beginning to understand.

Emily’s trembling lips snapped shut.

More shouts and quick bursts of gunfire came from the center of the parking lot. Cutter slid to the edge to peek at the situation. Out of the insanity, he recognized Diesel’s screaming and the responses from his men.

“Forget the merch. We can’t get to it!”

“But Chema?—”

“Fuck him.”

“We have them circled!”

That was the captain’s voice. “Can you contact Weaver?” he whispered to her. She nodded, pulling out her phone.

Voices and shouts continued.

“Behind you.”

“Watch it!”

“We’re outta here.”

“Let’s go! Let’s go!”

Three Chaos men ran across the parking lot toward the street. Pointing their weapons behind them, they fired at anything. Stray bullets whizzed and slammed in every direction. This was Cutter’s fear: uncontrolled gunfire that struck anyone within reach.

Explosions from a grenade launcher and rapid-fire response came closer. Squinting at the flashes, he clutched Emily’s shoulder and dragged her to him. “Dammit, stay down,” heyelled over the deafening noise, then hunched over her, covering her body with his as more explosions, screaming voices, and gunfire continued all around them.

A flash of heat, something like a stab, struck his arm. Though he could guess what it was, he ignored the pain. This wasn’t life or death. Taking care of it could wait until this operation was over.

As the fighting sounds receded, he wondered with some detachment if the delivery had survived and if enough evidence against the Sons of Chaos had been collected. In other words, had Emily’s operation succeeded?

With all his heart, he hoped it had. The well-deserved accolades would improve her status in the station, and he wished nothing but the best for her.

“Sounds like it’s over,” he murmured, sliding away from her. “Go check on your captain.” He sat against the container, pointing at the unconscious agent. “And get help for him. He needs it right away.” Almost on cue, emergency sirens followed his words. The EMTs must have been waiting nearby until the confrontation was over, and were called in.

“Cutter? What is it?” Leaning close, she tried to check his arm. He pushed her away.

“I’m fine.” He jutted his chin at the agent. “He’s not.”

“Okay. But I’ll be right back. Your arm needs attention.”

---