Ryker snarled. She wasn’t supposed to show up. God. She’d told Heath and Denver about Norton, hadn’t she? “You touch her, and I’ll make sure you beg for death. Which I won’t grant.”
Norton moved toward the door, the gun pointed at head height for Zara. He opened the door. “Give me the package.”
“Not until I see that Ryker is alive,” came Zara’s clear voice.
Everything in Ryker settled and stilled. She was in the crosshairs of a gun, and he was handcuffed. He moved to the edge of the sofa, tucking his feet beneath him, preparing to ram the detective so Zara could run. She had better, by God, run.
Norton yanked Zara inside and shut the door, quickly locking it.
She saw him, and her eyes widened. “Ryker. You’ve been shot.” She tried to move for him, but Norton stopped her with a hand on her arm.
“I kill him right now if you’re not alone,” Norton growled, jerking her up onto her toes.
Ryker readied to attack.
“I’m alone.” Zara reached into her jacket and shoved an envelope at Norton, her gaze not leaving Ryker.
Brock coughed, and she stilled, craning her neck to see beyond Ryker. “Brock?”
“Hi, Zara,” Brock rasped out.
She paled. “You’ve been shot, too?”
“This is a mess,” Norton agreed, taking the envelope. “I’m afraid you all have to die.”
Ryker’s head swam, but he focused on the envelope. It wasn’t the same as the one in the truck. Zara was bluffing with the psychopath? He jerked his head to the left, and she gave a barely perceptible nod.
Then he struck, his head down.
He smacked into the detective’s chest and jerked up, hitting Norton beneath the chin with his head. The cop’s head snapped up, and he bellowed, smashing his elbow down on Ryker’s wound. Ryker howled and levered his legs up with a series of kicks.
Movement caught his attention from the other room, so he dodged to the side and took Zara down to the ground, covering her with his body.
Cool steel suddenly rested against his temple.
Norton stood above him, his legs splayed. “I guess you die first.”
Two additional guns cocked.
Ryker stilled and slowly turned his head. Then he smiled. “There are two guns pointed at you, Detective,” he rasped. Heath and Denver aimed at Norton from opposite angles.
Norton looked around, his eyes wild.
The moron might actually go for it. Ryker fell back, twisted, and kicked up, nailing the prick in the groin.
Norton let out a pained “Oof” and leaned over, his face flushing a deep red. “You asshole.” He swung the gun toward Ryker.
A shot rang out.
Norton yelled and dropped the gun, holding his bleeding right hand. “What the fuck?”
Ryker looked around. Denver grinned and spun his gun before setting it in his back pocket.
“Nice shot,” Ryker breathed, rolling off Zara.
She moved with him, her hands pressing on his wound. Pain lanced through him and he grunted. “Sorry,” she murmured, her beautiful face set in concerned lines, tears filling her eyes. “How bad is it?”
He pushed himself up. “What the hell are you doing here?” he ground out.
“Told you he’d be pissed,” Heath said.
“Her plan worked.” Denver took Norton down to the floor and searched his pockets, grabbing a key and tossing it to Heath, who knelt down and uncuffed Ryker, then threw the cuffs to Denver, who secured them firmly around the detective’s wrists.
Ryker bit back a moan. “Brock? You okay?” He tried to see past the coffee table.
Brock grunted as Denver tugged him up and then helped him to the sofa after apparently having tied his belt around Brock’s thigh. “I’m good,” Brock groaned, settling back into the cushions. Blood covered his pants and hands, but some of the color had returned to his face. “How about you?”
“I think I’m all right.” Ryker winced as he tried to pull off his jacket. Zara helped him and then pulled his shirt over his head. Pain exploded in his arm again.
Denver instantly knelt and studied the wound. “Bullet went through,” he said, probing the wound.
Agony ripped through Ryker’s shoulder, and he jerked away.
Heath looked around. “Zara? Do you have a big bandage around here? We can use that until we’re back at headquarters.”
Zara nodded and jumped to her feet, hustling into the bathroom.
Ryker took in the entire scene in bemused silence. He would rather avoid the hospital and any records. However, Brock needed a doctor. “Brock? You’re solid, man. Thanks for rushing in here.”
Brock nodded. “Next time I’ll bring more than a frying pan.” He coughed out a laugh and then groaned again. “We should probably call the police.”
Ryker frowned. “Yeah. Let’s get you and the detective here to the hospital, and then you and I will call them.” He had to cover for his brothers.
Brock frowned. “Um, why aren’t you going to the hospital?”
Ryker paused. “I’m undercover and can’t.” He yanked a dollar out of his back pocket and tossed it at the lawyer. “You’re our lawyer now.” That way Brock couldn’t say a thing about them.