Page 12 of Devil and the Deep Blue Fish

Unlike the holes in the door, in which the wood splintered outward toward the hall, the holes above the bed were splintered in.

Henry had gotten some shots in through the door—that much was easy to see—but someone had gotten their own shots in through the short section of wall that outlined the bedroom, and taken Henry out.

“Henry!” Jackson fell to his knees on the floor, aware of the blood soaking through his jeans. “Man, how you doing?”

“Jackson,” Henry croaked. “They went out the back. She went out the front. You gotta find ’em.”

“I will, brother,” Jackson murmured, smoothing Henry’s lank blond hair back from his forehead. “But first you gotta get help.”

“All alone,” Henry mumbled. “Outside, all alone.”

“We’ll get them,” Jackson promised. “Did you see who it was?”

“Woman,” Henry mumbled. “Logo on the jacket. Good call. Sent them back.”

Jackson could see it, see Henry checking the door, straight from getting Jackson’s hurried texts about the danger Cowboy was in. He’d sent pictures of the Moms for Clean Living—the woman had obviously worn the logo on the jacket, but how? How? How did she know where Cowboy had been taken? Who had she followed? How had she known?

“You did good,” Jackson told him, scanning his body. Henry’s front had two spreading splotches of red, but most of the blood seemed to be coming from the back. Shit. Hollow points? But the holes in the wall were small, and they would have spread. Maybe .22s that had shattered on impact. Bad at close range, but not a .45 or 9mm. Hell, what did Jackson know? Hesurvivedgunshots, he didn’t treat them.

He’d grabbed Henry’s hand and was squeezing it, trying to still his racing mind, trying tothink,when he heard a clatter on the stairs.

“Medics!” he cried out. “EMTs! In here!”

“Don’t let Lance yell,” Henry whispered, and the last time Jackson had knelt before a fallen friend, he hadn’t been able to talk because of a punctured lung. Henry was hurt, he was bleeding, but he could move his arms, his toes.

“Course he’ll yell,” Jackson told him. “He’ll yell at me.Can you fuckin’ hurry?”

“Of course we can,” murmured a squat man with thinning hair and a usually genial smile, who was hunkering down next to Jackson. “But we’re gonna need you to move, okay? I mean, I know it’s usually you who’s bleeding, Rivers, but you do know this goes differently when you’re not the one hurt, right?”

“Yeah,” Jackson said.

“Find them,” Henry mumbled, obviously losing consciousness again. “Can’t let them get lost.”

“Where they heading?” Jackson asked urgently, pushing to a squat but keeping his grip on Henry’s square-palmed hand.

“Flophouse,” Henry mumbled. “My apartment. Don’t let them upstairs. Warp the kid for life.”

Jackson let out a startled “Ha!” before he was elbowed aside, and he stood disoriented, trying to decide what to do next.

At that moment Ellery came storming in and the friendly EMT who knew Jackson on a first-name basis, started talking. “Hello, Henry, I see you got shot here. Is there anything we should know about you?”

“Blood type B-pos,” he mumbled. “On PrEP protocol. Jackson can call my people.”

Jackson looked at Ellery, who said, “I’ll call his people. What do you need to do?”

Jackson scanned the billowing curtains and glanced again at Ellery, who swallowed and nodded.

“Go,” Ellery said. “Go. You got your phone, be safe as you can. Find them.”

In the silence after he spoke, they both heard an indignant “Mew!” and Jackson grimaced. Under the bed he could see two sets of paws, one gray, one black, barely peeking out from under the bed skirt, and he gave a startled little laugh.

“Shit,” he said, indicating the paws. “Uhm, Ellery—”

Ellery grunted. “I’ll get them,” he muttered. “I can see the carriers in the closet from here. We’ll find a place for them until Isabelle gets home.”

Jackson nodded, and feeling oddly fortified by knowing that Isabelle’s kittens would be safe, took two steps forward and kissed him hard on the mouth before turning to slide out the window and onto the fire escape.

It smelled like wet metal and piss, and Jackson put his feet on the outside rails of the ladder, holding himself steady as his running boots let him slide right down.

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