Page 92 of S.O.S. Mizzay

“Fleischerman,” he yelled, to draw the man’s attention.

The agent turned angry, yet frantic eyes his way.

Cobble held up both hands, palms facing away from the agent, to show that he wasn’t armed with a gun. “I’m unarmed.”

The agent’s trepidation relaxed, and an evil grin spread across his face. “Aww. Isn’t that sweet. Our star witness doesn’twant Andriopolos to be dragged off alone. Gag me. Okay, asshole,” he taunted Cobble. “Move closer, but I have my eyes on you. If you pull a gun and try to use it, you’ll instantly be a dead man.”

Cobble lifted his arms out perpendicular to his body, and shrugged. “No gun,” he grunted as he steadied himself and prepared to do what was needed.

“Come forward, then,” the guy ordered.

Cobble drew in a deep breath, and…

Without warning, he cocked back his arm, aimed, and let his projectile fly.

The sharp rock hit Fleischerman square in his gun hand. The man’s weapon, struck forcibly from his grasp, went flying.

“Andy. Drop,” Cobble yelled, his feet already moving in her direction.

Andy fell at the same time a shot rang out.

Fuck!

Blood sprayed and…

Cobble slid to her side. “Andy, are you okay?”

She raised her head, shook herself off, and gave him a cheeky grin.

“Never better.”

Yes!

Cobble glanced at a now screaming Fleischerman, clutching at his shoulder, that looked like it had been obliterated by Prez’s shot.

Fleischerman’s knees eventually buckled, and he crumpled to the ground.

The SOS team didn’t waste a second.

They ran to where Fleischerman, still wailing, was trying to keep a one-handed grip on Missy’s ankle, refusing to give up.

Cobble glowered, and rolled to aid in her release, but he should have known she wouldn’t require his help. Without a bitof hesitancy, Missy raised her free foot and slammed it right into the raw meat of Fleischerman’s shoulder.

The man gargled out something unintelligible before his eyes rolled back in his head, and he passed out.

Cobble hoped the asshole was dead.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

“So what are you going to do with yourself once the trial is over,” Andy asked.

They were finally back at the bungalow after the debacle earlier in the day, and a prolonged afternoon in Director Baskin’s office. They were companionably enjoying a piccata that Cobble had cooked and dished up.

Had they eaten earlier? Cobble didn’t remember, but his stomach said they hadn’t.

Andy’s question, which he’d been expecting, was one Cobble had been pondering off and on all day.

First and foremost, once they finished eating, he was going to call his parents. On a regular phone. And talk for as long as he wanted. His parents would love that.

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