Kingston Kidnappings (What Happens In Vegas Book 3) by Matt Lincoln (classic books for 10 year olds txt) 📕

“Don’t even think about it,” Patel grit out coldly as she stepped up beside me, brandishing her own weapon. “Put your hands up, and get on the ground, now.”

The man slowly brought both of his hands up in front of him before moving to obey her commands. Both men got to their knees, a little too easily, in my opinion. As Patel moved forward to handcuff the suspects, I noticed that one of them had moved his hands together behind his head. It was a normal position, but something about it seemed off.

“Patel, stop!” I yelled as I realized what the man was doing. The next moment, he pulled a gun from behind his back. He’d had a modified holster strapped to his shoulders. She managed to duck out of the way just as the man fired a shot at her.

The other man took advantage of the distraction by leaping to his feet and lunging toward me. I fired my own gun, but he’d anticipated my actions and jumped to the side. My shot missed him and instead pierced the coffee table in the center of the room. I felt a sharp, hot pain as the man’s knife tore through my abdomen. I hadn’t even seen him draw it.

I cried out in pain and pressed my hand to the wound on my side. I turned and tried to train my gun on the man as he made a break for the front door, but the pain in my side was distracting me, and after accidentally hitting the coffee table, I didn’t want to fire inside the room again unless I could get a clean shot.

I swore as the man rushed out the door, causing me to miss my chance. I heard a gunshot behind me and turned just in time to see the man who’d shot at Patel fall to the ground. She rushed forward to kick the gun he’d dropped away from him.

“Go after the other suspect,” she called as she turned to look at me. “I’m fine here.”

I had confidence in Patel’s abilities. Since she seemed to have a handle on things in here, I turned and took off out the door at a sprint. The wound on my side screamed in protest as I sprinted down the street, but I gritted my teeth and pushed through the pain.

It was so dark that I could barely see anything. The light of the moon provided a bit of illumination, but the shadows cast by the tightly packed buildings plunged everything back into darkness. Fortunately, there was virtually nobody out on the street at this time of night, so I was quickly able to catch sight of the suspect as she raced down the street.

He must have heard my footsteps as I began to close in on him because he suddenly turned around to look at me over his shoulder. I was worried he might try to shoot at me. If he did, I’d be completely exposed out here in the open street. I tensed, ready to jump to the side or duck to the ground the moment I saw the flash of metal.

It never came. Instead, he suddenly took a sharp turn down a narrow alley. I followed him down it, but I couldn’t move as quickly as he could. He was clearly familiar with this area, and he leaped over trash cans and around stacks of wooden crates with ease. In contrast, every obstacle I hit put me just a few steps further behind him.

I finally made it to the end of the alley and into a more open square in the center of the neighborhood. I looked around frantically for any sign of him and caught a small flash of movement ducking behind the corner of a building at the other end of the square. I ran around the edge of the building and caught sight of the suspect running toward a group of men. They were standing at the corner of the street smoking and talking, and their conversation fell silent as they watched us approach.

The suspect yelled something at them in Patois. Even though Patel had spent the afternoon teaching me some common phrases, I still didn’t manage to catch what he said. Whatever it was, I could tell it wasn’t good as soon as the men threw down their cigarettes and began to walk toward us. I stopped dead in my tracks as I was gripped with an intense feeling of foreboding.

The suspect tossed a smirk at me as he ran past the men and around the corner of the building. The men, however, continued to advance on me.

“I’m not looking for trouble,” I explained as I put my hands up in a placating gesture. I was confident in my abilities in a fight, but I wasn’t cocky enough to think I could take on four grown men on my own, even with a gun.

“You a cop?” one of the men asked as the group came to a stop a few feet away from me.

I wasn’t sure how I should respond to that question. I somehow doubted that telling them I was actually a federal agent would make any difference. Patel had mentioned more than once how dangerous this area was, so it was possible that admitting to being any kind of law enforcement wouldn’t end well for me.

“I asked if you were a cop!” the man shouted as he took a step closer.

“I am,” I answered cautiously. They probably wouldn’t have believed me if I denied it, anyway. I needed to be tactful with what I said next. “That man who just ran off, he was trying to hurt a little girl.”

“What girl?” the man asked.

“She lives a few houses away,” I explained. The men most likely lived around here. In my experience, even the most hardened of criminals detested those who went after kids. Maybe appealing to their sense of sympathy