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“Seton!” Grey’s frantic voice came through the receiver.
“Grey! It’s him! He just shot at us and ran!”
“Where are you?”
I looked at Hassan, who was pale as a ghost. He stammered a few words and I repeated them back to Grey.
“Stay low! We’re coming!”
“No! He’ll get away! I’m going after him!”
“Seton, no! It’s too —“
I ended the call and sprinted down the corridor, leaving Hassan in my wake.
6
GREY
“Seton!” I shouted into the phone. “Goddamnit motherfucking son of a bitch!”
Jesus Christ, my wife was being shot at. “Get me down there!” I yelled at the security guard who was with me. My gun was out and in my hand in a second. The guard wasn’t happy, but when he saw the expression on my face he wasn’t about to try and stop me.
As we ran, I shouted back at my VP. “Trig! Get in contact with the other Kings! Make sure no one has left the parking garage or any of the exits!”
Cal came sprinting after us, catching up quickly. “What—“
“Cal, your girls are still in this building.” I told him in a couple words what had happened.
“We’re not losin’ ‘em,” he growled, his face drawn but determined.
“Damn right we’re not.” Down in the underground corridor, we found Hassan. He told us he hadn’t moved since Seton took off. “She went that way,” he said, nodding down the hall. “She followed him through that exit door.”
“Where did he come from?” Cal demanded.
Hassan pointed at a door behind us. “He was coming out of there. Those clothes on the floor were in his arms. He dropped them when he started running.”
At our feet was a Santa costume. Cal swore and bent to pick it up.
“Go through the pockets, and check out that room,” I told him. “I’m going after Seton.”
I tore off down the hallway and pushed open the heavy fire door. On the other side, I stopped to listen. I thought I could hear the pinging of shoes on concrete, and sprinted off that way. The fuckin’ security guy didn’t follow me, the pussy. I was on my own down here.
I rounded a corner and almost collided with two women in maids’ uniforms, who shrieked at the sight of my gun and flattened themselves against the wall.
“What’s down here?” I demanded, pointing.
“Uh… laundry,” stammered one of them.
“You see anyone else come down here running? A woman, small, long hair, pretty?”
“Yes, a minute ago…”
“Get out of here. It’s dangerous,” I told them, and kept going. My phone buzzed. “Talk to me!”
“It’s Cal. There’s a guy unconscious in the room the guy came busting out of. Looks like a head wound. I think it’s the original Santa guy. I’m trying to wake his ass up to see if he can tell us anything.”
“So we know the first Santa wasn’t in on whatever this is.”
