Through the camera lens, I could make out Sullivan’s form walking from the warehouse. He greeted the two drivers, West, and another man who rode along with the second driver.
Sullivan’s faithful bodyguards stood there with him. I wondered if he got them as a package deal off of eBay.
This was it. This was the night that we would have photographic evidence of Sullivan unloading contraband into a warehouse that he owned. Through a shell corporation, of course, because he wasn’t stupid, but after a lot of digging practically with a backhoe, I’d been able to uncover him as the owner.
His days as a black-market broker were about to be over.
I snapped several more pictures as the large warehouse door rolled up and the truck drivers climbed into their seats once again. They turned the trucks around and backed into the warehouse, one at a time.
The trucks were too long to close the warehouse door after them.
The beeping of a forklift echoed loudly through the night. The safety feature still in place seemed pointless.
After gathering all the video and picture evidence I needed, I watched as the trucks disappeared.
Soon the cars followed, and I knew it was safe to leave. Sullivan had gone home after locking up. I’d be able to send the evidence to the chief, and then we’d be able to get the warrants we needed and hopefully make arrests at Sullivan’s upcoming auction.
I waited an extra few minutes after the last car left before I crept toward the back fence.
A grating sound surprised me into stopping quickly. I kicked a little of the gravel, making it skitter.
“Hey!” a loud voice barked.
My heart sank. Sullivan had left a man behind. Careful not to move, I waited to hear where he was. It was nearly pitch black and I couldn’t spot anyone.
“Is anyone out there?” the voice called out again.
Yeah, the guy who has the evidence we need to lock everyone behind bars for a long time.
And then he started moving straight in my direction. I didn’t think he could see me. It was one of those horribly unlucky moments.
Crunch. Closer.
Scuff. Nearer.
I had to move. Even though he hadn’t spotted me behind the shrub along the fence line, he would soon be tripping over me. I patted my chest to make sure everything was secured well enough to make the run. I couldn’t risk anything happening to the evidence.
And then I ran like my life depended on it.
“Hey! Stop, or I’ll shoot!” the faceless voice yelled as I sprinted for the back of the fence.
Good luck shooting a guy wearing all black on a nearly moonless night…
I planted a boot against the fence and jumped up, grabbing the top of the fence. I pulled myself up, but as I reached the top, I felt the wood give way. I began falling at the same time I heard the ominous and unmistakable sound of a gunshot.
I slammed against the fence as a searing pain speared through my butt.
He’d hit me. He shot me in the ass.
Maybe he had some type of night vision. With a grunt, I hauled myself over the top of the broken fence with my upper body strength. I landed hard on the ground on the other side. I stood up, and the pain shot through the back of my leg all the way up to my back.
But I didn’t have the luxury of taking injury inventory. I had to get away before he caught me. I half limped, half sprinted through the trees to the flat spot where I’d parked the rental car. I climbed in, careful to put weight on my uninjured side.
I’d never been shot before. I knew it was a possibility in my line of work, but I’d never thought of the possibility of getting shot in the ass.
There was nothing practical or convenient with getting shot there.
It was difficult lying on my left side trying to drive the car. I could feel the blood soaking my jeans. Without a doubt, the guard would have notified Sullivan of the intruder, which meant they would be scouring every lead to find out who knew about the warehouse.
I couldn’t go to the hospital. They might end up checking there to see if anyone had shown up with a gunshot wound.
Not to mention, the ER docs always got a little jumpy when a gunshot victim came in. They had to follow proper protocol of notifying the police. Patient privacy only extended so far.
I needed help. And there was only one person I knew I could trust, no matter what we’d been through.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Saidy
I shut my door and locked it. I’d sat on the porch a little longer with my mom before I made the drive home. She’d told me I should spend the night in my old room and eat breakfast with her and Dad in the morning.
If I didn’t have to go to a quick consultation in the morning, I would have done it. Nothing beat my mom’s breakfasts. It was something she’d learned from her mother. While Grandma could be a real pain in the we-all-know-where, she was the queen of breakfast. When she was in an indulging mood, she would make a huge breakfast that would leave you full for weeks. Mom did the same thing, and I loved it.
With a heavy sigh, I double-checked the lock. It hadn’t slipped ever since Fletcher had fixed it.
I didn’t bother turning on the living room bank of lights. There was no point to it if I was going to go straight to bed.
But then I remembered that I hadn’t closed my curtains for the night. I flicked on the lamp, then drew my curtains over the big bay window. I turned on the porch
