Nico (The Mavericks Book 8)

answers that way.”
With the bleeding somewhat slowed and the gunman lying on the ground, apparently unconscious, his breathing hard and raspy, Nico looked up to see Charlotte standing in front of them. “I don’t even recognize him,” she said. “What’s he got to do with this?”
She stepped back, then turned toward the prisoner and asked, “Do you know him?” The prisoner couldn’t quite see from where he was, so he shrugged.
Keane pulled out the shooter’s wallet from his back pocket, but, outside of cash, there was no ID. “Hired gun?”
“I don’t know what else,” Nico said. “They’re trying to distance themselves from this to clean up.”
“So what is he? An amateur?”
“It’s professional equipment though,” Nico said, kicking the gun off to the side.
“And gloves. But that’s almost standard.”
“The real question is, did he do anything to the cameras?” Nico asked. With Keane trying to staunch the blood and to keep the guy alive, Nico walked to his laptop and quickly told his team what had happened and to arrange for a medic. And to find the camera feeds immediately for this floor. It took less than thirty seconds to get a link, and, as the link came up, there came an image of the guy’s face. Yep, that’s him, Nico said. Track him down and follow the cameras back and see how he got in here. There could be somebody in the garage waiting for him.
Only if he succeeded came back the answer.
True.
A name popped up. Thomas Galloway. Walked into the underground lot on his own.
Nico looked at his prisoner and asked him, but the prisoner shook his head. He mumbled something further.
Keane stood and took off his gag. “Repeat that.”
“They said they were talking about bringing in some extra help, but I don’t know that man.”
There followed a simple rap sheet of breaking and entering and holding up a convenience store one night. “He’s a petty thief who wants to be a bigger bad guy,” Nico said, reading the doc, then he joined Keane.
“Well, whatever he was doesn’t matter now,” Keane said, pointing at the gunman. “He’s dead.”
“Of course he is. Managed an easy out for himself after all.”

Chapter 4
Charlotte didn’t even know what to think about the men’s casual attitude. But, since the gunman had come in firing, she knew there really hadn’t been any other response. And she could see that any attempt to shoot reasonably high would have taken out his heart. Nico was obviously affected, although the big strong guy inside wasn’t allowing him to show anything. She walked over and slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. “Well, I, for one, appreciate it.”
“The question is,” Keane said, alongside the dead gunman again, as he sat back on his heels and looked up at the two of them, “was he after you, Charlotte, or was he after our prisoner?”
“Oh, I never thought of that,” she said. She glanced over at the prisoner. “That’s possible too, isn’t it?
“Particularly if they’re cleaning up,” Nico said, staring at his prisoner.
The guy blanched. “There’s no reason for him to send a gunman after me. I already warned you that her life is in danger.”
“But you didn’t tell us why,” Keane said.
When a series of raps came on the door, she let out a light cry and stepped behind Nico. He reached for her hand reassuringly and said, “It’s okay. We know this one.”
Keane opened the door, and, within seconds, the dead man was carried out. The men didn’t introduce each other, and they didn’t say hi. Nothing. They came in, set the gunman into a body bag, loaded him onto a body trolley—or whatever the hell that was which they used at hospitals—and took him away. Somebody else came in right behind them to clean up the blood. Not a word was spoken.
She watched in amazement at a complete industry that she had no clue even existed. When the guy was done, he left, taking all the mess with him. She looked at Keane and then whispered to Nico, “Does this always happen this way?”
Keane walked into the bathroom and washed his hands. “If you mean, do we shoot guys and have invisible teams show up and take away the body? No.”
“So this is unusual then?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Okay then,” she said. “I wondered what crime-scene cleanup happened before the cops even got here.”
“No police involvement here,” Keane noted. “And we prefer not to corrupt a crime scene when they will be called in.”
After a moment, when she couldn’t find the right word, she said, “That was unnerving.”
Nico wrapped his arms around her and walked her to the table. She kept glancing back at the door. Keane came out of the bathroom, drying his hands on a towel. She looked at him. “Are you okay?”
He tossed her a grin. “I’m fine.” Then he turned to Nico and said, “We need to move.”
Nico nodded and looked down at the food, but their plates were mostly empty, having had the time to eat. He glanced at her and asked, “Did you want to take any of the extra food with you?”
She looked down at the fruit and picked up an apple. “Where are we going?”
He gave her a hard smile. “Anywhere but here. Obviously we’ve been made.”
She stopped, stared at him, and realized what he meant. “So we have to leave? And it won’t be on a flight to go home, is it?”
He shook his head, but he already moved his packed bag to the front door. At an odd series of knocks on the door, he opened it and let in two other men, who quickly removed the rest of the dishes.
Nobody looked at the prisoner or made a comment about the fact that they had a man tied up or about the fresh smell of bleach either.
Nico turned to her and asked, “Do you have anything here you want to keep?”
She looked at the few bits of clothing that she had changed out of and shook