Page 97 of Bared

The officer attached to the spotlight took a couple of steps forward. “I don’t usually squander my handcuffing skills on situations like this, Your Highness, but if that’s the game you’re after—”

“And there’s the fucking money shot.”

The expression was beyond her comprehension, but since Brickham laughed his way through every word, she dared to inhale again. But two seconds later, she cut the inhalation short—as her senses caught up to the full facts of the moment.

Fact: the officer had spoken to them in English, not French.

Fact: there was a distinct laugh in his line too.

Fact: the chuckle was not accompanied by a French accent.

It was Australian.

“Sorry, mate. My money shots are reserved for one human alone, and you’re not him.”

The quip transformed Jayd’s hunch into hope. And then, as she watched three figures stroll closer, her hope into joy.

“Rahmie Creacu!” she exclaimed, rushing at them in return. “Emme!” She embraced the woman with careful elation. She did not miss the elephant-sized cast between her friend’s ankle and knee, as well as the hefty crutches Emme was using to maneuver with the thing. “How…on earth…did you…”

“You and Brickham are quite the stars of the midnight news.” Her assistant made a rare attempt at wry humor. It was washed out by the anxiety that coated her whole face. “We listened to the reports, and then Ozias took his best guess at what Brickham would do. After Jagger switched out our rental car, we came over and started praying.”

“And it worked.” Jayd gulped down happy tears. “The Creator is good.”

“Yes. Good, indeed.”

But the pleasant words did not match Emme’s tired gaze. Jayd shrugged off her resulting discomfort. The woman had likely been poked and prodded in more ways than she wanted at the hospital, before having to ride along with Ozias and Jag on a wild goose chase for Brickham and her. No wonder her energy was not spiking to meet Jayd’s adrenaline high.

“The leg is okay.” Jagger supplied the information while stepping over, looking decently dapper in a PP officer’s uniform. “The fractures are straightforward and easy to set. The bruising makes it look worse than it is.”

“Creator be praised,” Jayd murmured, though she basked in the celebration for but a few seconds. “But why are you out here, still putting weight on it?” she accused at Emme. “Jagger, you two could have dropped her off at the apartment and then—”

“Not an option,” Jagger inserted.

Jayd cocked her head. “Is what not an option?”

“The apartment.” Ozias supplied that part while pivoting toward them. He was dressed in a dark-blue uniform that matched Jagger’s. “It’s not anywhere close to an option. Not anymore.”

Jayd zipped her stare between him and Jagger. “Do I dare ask why?”

Jagger stepped forward, jamming his hands into his front pockets. “After Emme was discharged, we had to go back to grab these standby uniforms—”

“Which you came by how?” Brickham inserted.

“Long story,” Oz supplied. “I’ll save it for the plane.”

“The plane?” Jayd jumped in with her own query, hating its necessity as much as the dread that brought it on. Her instinct prickled, starting to fill in the likely reasons for Oz’s wrencher of a revelation. “To go where?”

“As we were leaving the place, a horde of the city’s finest descended on the building,” Oz continued. “I have no idea how it happened, but we’re well and truly blown.”

Jayd cocked a look toward Brickham. As soon as their gazes met, they were on the same page about that answer. “Gervais,” they declared together.

Emme echoed the imbezak’s name with a shocked snort. “You mean that piece of trash from the alley at Particulier?” she added.

“That sneaky piece of trash,” Jayd clarified with a fast nod. “He was Trystan’s getaway driver.”

“Trystan?” Jagger spat, clenching his jaw. “You saw that kimfuk?” His gaze expanded more. “Wait. Getaway driver?”

She didn’t bother nodding again. “He used LaBarre as his bait for me,” she revealed. “But once Brickham and I made it to the meeting place—”