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Hollis’s stomach gave a vicious twist. “Since you like the ‘do you know’ game so well, do you know I can say you shot at me first? Nobody is going to give a shit how you go under as long as you sink to the bottom.”
Jagger laughed. “You do want him. Too bad. I doubt he got away from Big G. No one ever does.”
Hollis had seen that guy and just the thought of him hurting Ian had Hollis dropping his finger from the guard to the trigger, the muscle twitching.
The shooting around them changed—the thunderous noise started to come more from within the house, and he knew the teams had made it inside. Unfortunately, Jagger dropped to the floor while he was distracted. Hollis cursed and ducked behind the massive wood desk. He had no doubt there was at least one more gun in or around that desk. Sure enough, a shot rang out.
Hollis lay flat as the teen started whimpering from where he was balled up in the corner. Horror slashed through him when the boy cried out. “No, Boris!”
“Shut up,” Jagger hissed. “Hey cop, if you don’t stand where I can see you, I’m going to shoot this kid.”
Hollis closed his eyes, his mind racing. He twisted around so he could meet the kid’s eyes and mouthed, Move.
The kid lunged toward Hollis, putting more of the desk between himself and Jagger. At the same time, Hollis took aim and shot Jagger under the desk, lodging a bullet in the man’s leg.
“Fuck!” Jagger yelled. He started firing across the desk and the kid crawled toward Hollis, his thin face white with terror.
Utter chaos surrounded them. Men were yelling and shooting in the hallways. Jagger was firing over his head. None of the shots seemed to have any finesse or aim—they were wild and crazy and Hollis watched Jagger’s feet, ready to take another shot when he stopped limping around. The kid got to him and tried to burrow under him. Hollis took his attention off Jagger’s feet, trying to shelter the teen while keeping his eyes sharp.
Someone kicked in the locked door and it flew open and into the wall. Hollis didn’t hesitate when he recognized one of Jagger’s goons. He shot and the man grabbed his chest, falling back into the hallway, but he was still coherent enough to fire back. The bullet hit the desk over Hollis’s head. He fired back, shielding the teen as much as possible with his own body.
The guy cried out and the firing stopped.
Hollis waited, panting and watching for both the goon and Jagger. When nothing happened, he hurriedly looked back under the desk, but Jagger’s feet were gone. He flipped onto his back, gun aimed up, and nobody was there. He scrambled to his feet, gaze darting around the opulent wood-paneled walls, over the leather chairs. The chandelier above him swayed, probably from getting hit by a bullet, but there was no other movement in the room.
Had Jagger gotten past him? How?
Hollis told the kid to crawl under the desk and he darted to the open door. Cops were still yelling, Jagger’s men—the few left—still shooting and so far, it seemed nobody else had made him, which was a miracle considering the guy he’d shot was sprawled on the floor in a puddle of blood. Glass, a lot of it stained red, glittered on the marble floors. He held back as the yelling grew louder and heavy boots echoed down the halls. Within moments, cops spilled in from every direction and the shooting stopped.
He stayed in the office and caught the eye of a cop he knew, waving him into the room. He wasn’t ready to give up his cover to all of Jagger’s employees, although word would get out if Jagger had escaped. Hell, his superiors would be putting him into protective custody no matter what at this point. “Did you get Jagger? He had to have run your way.”
Dave shook his head. “We came from both wings—met here in the middle. He didn’t pass us.”
Hollis cursed, kicking a turned-over chair as he stalked across the office. “Try to shut that door, will you?” He looked closer at the walls, the massive framed art pictures. He walked to the one behind the desk and pressed his hand on the wood.
“Was he in here with you?” Dave asked as he let two more cops into the room before wrestling with the broken door.
“I was on the floor, protecting the kid. He’s under there.” He pointed to the desk. “I took my eyes off Jagger for only a few seconds. Where the fuck did he go?” Hollis squatted and met a pair of brown eyes so like Ian’s, his breath froze. Jagger had a type all right, and he had no idea how long this kid had been in the man’s clutches. Hopefully not long—he was so fucking young. “Hey,” Hollis said softly. “You’re safe now. The cops are here.”
