yelled, running in the direction the SUV had taken. It was almost four in the afternoon. There was too much traffic for the driver to have made a quick getaway.
And it hadn’t. I can fucking hear it.
Legs pumping, Mason sprinted across the street, barreling down the block full tilt. The SUV turned at the corner, and Mason leaped over a chain that separated a parking lot from the sidewalk. Weaving through the cars, he kept running, determined to cut through it.
At the corner, he ran around a dumpster, crashing into a trash can. He fell into the sidewalk, scraping the skin of his palms, but he didn’t stop to think. Mason acted.
Training kicking in, he rolled to his feet, grabbing the trash can lid as he went.
The SUV plowed through the intersection, blasting through a red light. It was getting too big a lead.
An image of Laila’s face flashed through his head as he threw the lid, spinning it like an Olympian discus thrower. He hadn’t consciously aimed through the window, but it sailed through anyway.
Mason didn’t know if it hit the driver or merely blocked his view, but the result was the same. The SUV veered sharply to the right—sending it straight into the heavy metal base of a streetlamp.
The sound of crumpled steel and breaking glass rent the air. The SUV’s horn blared. Inside, he could see someone flailing behind the bright white of the deployed airbag.
He also caught a glimpse of something else his training had taught him to search for—the cold glint of a gun. The driver held it as he tried to get out from behind the partially deflated airbag.
Fuck. Mason had to disarm the assailant before the man could get out of the car. The surrounding office buildings were emptying, and the sidewalks were filling up with office workers and lookie-loos coming to check out the accident.
Too much collateral damage.
He tensed, preparing to launch himself into the vehicle, when a small hand grabbed his arm.
“Here!” He spun on his heel to see Laila holding something out to him.
“Laila.” The one word held everything—equal parts fear for her mixed with his love and intense frustration she hadn’t listened to him. How dare she put herself in danger?
Turning back to the SUV, he threw open the door, grabbing the gunman’s arm and bringing his own down on it with enough force to break a bone.
The dark-haired assailant screamed as Mason hauled him out into the ground with a shout. “Laila, get back!”
“Oh my God, it’s Oscar.”
“What?”
“Oscar Johansen—he’s Bryce’s dad.”
Of course. The fixer.
“Get Silano,” he gritted out as he kneeled on Oscar’s lower back, holding him down without crushing his lungs, aware that, despite his anger, he needed the fucker to talk.
Laila held up her phone, an active call displayed on the screen. “Don’t worry. She’s on her way.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Laila was as mad at Mason as he appeared to be with her. How could he think she was going to just hide in a damn drugstore while he ran after the bad guy, unarmed?
Okay, so he hadn’t needed her stun gun. She’d never seen anyone do a karate chop in real life, and it had been impressive as hell. Laila had heard Oscar’s bone snap, and though the sound made her wince in retrospect, she barely registered it at the time. The scream that had followed had caught and kept all of her attention.
That Mason had executed the move in the tight confines of the SUV, generating enough force to break a bone, had amazed the EMTs and the cops who came with Silano to make the arrest.
Laila paused, remembering her gleeful grin as the detective caught sight of Oscar Johansen laid out on the floor with his hands cuffed behind his back like a gift Mason was presenting to her.
“Christmas came early,” she declared, repeatedly slapping Mason on the back.
The detective had wanted to hug him, Laila knew, but the woman had restrained herself.
Can’t say I blame her, Laila thought, peeking at Mason from the corner of her eye. He was digging under a cabinet, his sculpted derriere within touching distance. But Laila kept her hands at her sides, mostly because he was mumbling about needing to check her out.
He rose a minute later with a canvas first-aid kit in his hand.
“Come over here,” he said gruffly.
Laila crossed her arms. “No.”
Mason stepped back, eyes flaring. “You could have cuts and bruises. I need to check you out.”
Standing as straight as she could, Laila held out her