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

men were on the ground before carefully approaching the backroom. There was a blind spot to my right, and I had a feeling I’d be attacked as soon as I tried to enter.

“Come out with your hands up,” I commanded.

My order was met with only silence, and I began to wonder if I was just imagining things. The next instant, a man came flying from around the corner, brandishing his gun. He fired. My first instinct was to jump aside, but a voice in the back of my head stopped me. The room behind me was full of children. If I moved aside, the bullet might hit one of them instead.

I fired my own gun and then fell as an intense pain bloomed across my ribs. I hit the floor with a thud, but I kept my eyes trained on the suspect in front of me, who fell to the floor as well. My bullet had definitely hit him, and once I was certain he wouldn’t be getting back up soon, I allowed myself to roll gingerly off of my side and onto my back.

“Agent Patel!” Smith yelled as he came to kneel beside me. “Don’t move. Crowe is calling for backup and an ambulance now. We have all the suspects in cuffs, and the upstairs is clear, so just relax for a moment.”

I sighed in relief at his words. I was glad we’d managed to apprehend all the suspects, but I couldn’t just lie here. We still needed answers, and I needed to have a look around the base.

I used my left arm to check the wound on my ribs and hissed in pain as my hand made contact with the injury. I gingerly undid the clasps on my tactical gear and felt for the spot where I’d been hit. My hand came away bloody, which meant that despite the protective vest I’d been wearing, the blow had just missed and managed to break the skin. Luckily though, the wound didn’t appear that deep.

I took a deep breath. My chest hurt, but my ability to inhale meant that my lungs hadn’t been damaged. That was definitely a good sign, as it meant that the bullet hadn’t managed to pierce all the way through and puncture a lung. A fractured rib could have easily punctured the delicate lung tissue as well, but it looked like I was going to get away with some bruising and a bit of blood.

“What are you doing?” Smith asked. “Stop moving! You’re going to hurt yourself worse!”

“Are the children okay?” I deflected his question. “Were any of them struck?”

“What?” Smith responded. “No, they’re all fine. Scared, but it looks like they’re all physically okay.”

“Good,” I replied as I pushed myself up into a sitting position. I fought back the urge to groan in pain as I did so.

“Are you crazy?” Smith demanded.

“A little,” I shrugged as I took a look around the room. Some children were crying, but they looked okay. Finally, I found what I was looking for. On the edge of one of the tables was a small indent where the bullet had buried itself after passing through me.

“Agent Patel, could you at least wait until the paramedics get here?” Smith implored. “You got shot at close range.”

“Fine,” I agreed as I pressed my hand into the wound on my side to staunch the flow of blood. I was itching to continue the investigation and find some clue as to where Amber might have been taken, but I needed to be practical. If I fainted from blood loss, I’d be nothing more than dead weight.

I watched as Smith, Johnson, and Crowe began to corral the suspects against the wall. While they did that, Fletcher and MacMillan came down and ushered the older children upstairs. It would be safer for them not to be in the same room as the suspects, and we’d be able to keep track of them if they were all in one place.

A few minutes later, I heard sirens outside as a swarm of police cars and ambulances came to a screeching halt outside the building. It must have been quite a shocking scene for all the civilians and tourists milling around outside. I watched through the window as more and more ambulances pulled up one after another. It was understandable, considering the dozens of children we’d discovered. While they seemed relatively healthy and unharmed, we couldn’t be sure they were okay until they were examined by a medical professional.

“Over here,” Smith called out as the police officers and paramedics began to enter the building. “We have a federal agent with a gun injury and two suspects down. The children are all upstairs.”

Everyone got to work, and two of the paramedics rushed over to me at Smith’s beckoning.

“You should really go to the hospital,” one of the paramedics said as he pulled my hand away from my wound to examine it.

“I will,” I answered. “Right after I’m finished with my investigation. Right now, I need you to patch me up as best you can.”

“Ma’am, I really don’t--,” the young man tried to argue.

“If you don’t,” I interrupted, “I’ll just continue investigating the case as I am now. I’d much prefer not to collapse from blood loss, but if you’re unwilling to accommodate my request, then I will have no choice.”

The young paramedic leveled me an incredulous look but ultimately conceded and began to patch me up.

“I know you folks are busy,” he mused as he wrapped thick bandages around my ribcage. “But isn’t this a little extreme? You’re not a superhero.”

“Tell that to the dozens of children this group has kidnapped and sold into slavery,” I quipped back. “I may not be a superhero, but I’m the one those children depend on right now.”

“I get it,” the paramedic nodded somberly as he finished his work. “Just try to take it easy, okay? I wrapped you up nice and good, but you really need to get an x-ray to see if