Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
“You have any friends here?” Lang asked, holding the gun on him as I turned Mosbach around to face the bar and patted him down, taking the Walther P99 from the shoulder holster he was wearing and passing it to Lang. “Maybe some folks who have been helping you stay out of sight?”
“I’m not turning in my friends, you assholes.”
I looked to the bartender, who had stepped back several feet. Everyone had moved away, giving us room. No one was running or screaming or yelling because no shots were fired. But the music was off, and the closing lights were on as patrons strained to see what was going on.
“Hey, who was he drinkin’ with?” I asked the bartender.
“Him”—he pointed to a guy in a tracksuit, of all things—“and him,” he finished, picking out from the crowd the second guy, who was obviously Mosbach’s muscle.
“Step over here,” Lang commanded the guy in the designer tracksuit, then turned his attention to the very large man staring daggers at him. “And you as well.”
Tracksuit started toward us.
“I’m leaving,” the Muscle informed Lang, and when he did, Tracksuit stopped moving.
“No, neither of you is going anywhere.”
“There’s only the two of you,” the Muscle pointed out. “How are you gonna stop us when the shooting starts?”
“By shooting you both,” Lang said flatly. “But why would you think there’s just the two of us here? Do you know where you are?”
Smart to keep them talking.
“Shoot them,” Mosbach ordered.
“Shut up,” Lang countered. “You’re the idiot who got them into this.”
“What’d you do, Mos?” Tracksuit yelled at him.
“I didn’t do—”
“Federal marshals,” I heard Wes Ching roar as the SOG unit appeared in their black body armor, carrying automatic rifles, looking as scary as ever. “On the ground!”
We really were so close to work, which turned out perfectly.
Tracksuit and the Muscle both lay down on the floor, and the SOG team rushed over to them, put Plasticuffs on both, then on Mosbach.
“You two have had a long day,” Ching commented as one of his team came over and held out a plastic evidence bag for Lang to drop the Walther into.
“We like to stay busy,” Lang told him.
Ching smiled as his team took custody of the three and started walking them out of the lounge. “You know the drill. Both of you need to come back to the office with me and write up your statements since you’re the primaries.”
“Yessir.” I holstered my gun, watching Lang do the same.
“That’s good work, gentlemen,” Ching praised us. “Hopefully with this arrest we’ll be able to give the Regan family some closure.”
“I hope so,” Lang agreed.
“Do you want to ride back with us, or do you have a car here?”
“We’ll walk,” Lang told him. “I need to make sure my sister will be—”
“Sharpe and White can drop her. They’re on call this weekend and were on their way home when you sent up the bat signal.”
“Oh no,” I said quickly, glancing at Lang, then back to Ching. “That’s okay. We just need to put her in a cab, and we’ll be—”
“Absolutely not,” Ching stated. “She’s family. We take care of our family.”
“Thank you,” Lang replied, clearly touched and not at all understanding my concern. He hadn’t been with me earlier in the night when his sister first laid eyes on Sharpe.
The SOG team always traveled in two armored rescue vehicles, or BearCats, and so the first one left with the prisoners, half the team, and Ching, while the second waited on us. Jill Stowe, Ching’s second-in-command, came with us to get Talia.
“Sorry about this,” Lang said, walking over to Malik. “We have to go, so text me the total for Nicolette, me, Talia, and Del. I’ll send you the cash.”
Malik nodded, looking from Lang to me.
“I’m sorry I can’t see you home,” Lang said to Nicolette as Talia stood up beside him. “But it was a pleasure meeting you.”
“And you,” she assured him. “Talia has my number.”
“We can take you home,” Garvey offered Talia. “It’s no problem.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Stowe informed him, clipping her words. “Family members of marshals at a crime scene need to be taken into immediate protective custody so that the marshal in question is not in any way impacted, thus keeping them from performing their duties to the best of their ability.”
“Oh,” Talia said. “So I need to come now.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“All right, then,” she said, smiling big, and waved at the table. “Bye, you all, I had a great time. I hope to see you soon.”
They were all sad to see her go. No one gave a crap about me or Lang except Nicolette, who I was pretty sure had decided that taking a deputy US marshal home might not be the worst choice ever.
As we followed Stowe out, flanked by SOG team members on all sides, I texted Cody, saying I hoped he would give me a rain check.