“Tell me, like,clearly.” Fynn edged closer to the kidnapper’s side. “What do I do?”
“Tape around his wrists.” Nolan schooled his voice slow and calm.Fynn’s pretty shaken. Easy does it.“Peel six inches loose to start with, stick the end to his arm and go round and round. He won’t move.”Not if he wants to live.
“Oh. Okay.” Fynn extended a tentative hand with the loose end of the tape. Nolan kept an eagle eye out for the motherfucker so much as twitching a muscle, but the bastard held still for Fynn to stick the tape to him. By the time Fynn had the third loop wrapped around, pinning the man’s wrists, Nolan backed off his hair-trigger.
“Take the roll in between his arms too. Go round that way.” Nolan flicked his gaze back and forth between the two kidnappers. Shot-fucker lay still now, breathing harshly. Not-shot-fucker was getting well mummified at Fynn’s hands. “Good, now tape his ankles together. Same deal.”
When Fynn had managed that, Nolan allowed himself a long breath. “Micah? You gonna survive if we deal with the other bastard?”
“Yeah. Just sore, I think.”
“Good. Fynn, I don’t suppose you know guns?”
“Not even remotely. Plus my glasses went in the lake.”
Nolan made a mental note to fix that ignorance. Fynn might never wantto use a gun, but knowinghowwas a vital skill.Get through today first, firing range lessons later.“Okay, same deal with the other guy. Tape him up.”
“He’s bleeding. A lot.” Fynn’s voice went wobbly. “There’s a ton of blood on me.”
“I’ll look as soon as I can put the guns down. I need you to restrain him first.”
“He might die…”
Too damned bad.But Fynn wouldn’t like that. “You taping his feet won’t kill him. Then I can safely see about first aid.”
“Okay.” Fynn crawled over and made a decent job of securing the guy’s ankles. When he took hold of one of the man’s hands, shot-guy screamed and Fynn hesitated. Nolan figured they were safe enough.
“That’s fine,” he told Fynn. “Let me search the other douchebag and then I’ll come get his hands. Back away from him.” Nolan reholstered his own gun, grimacing at the wet leather, and moved the weapon he’d taken to his right hand. He knelt and did a thorough one-handed pat down of not-shot-fucker, finding nothing more threatening than keys. Other guy now.
Shot-fucker was oozing heavily from the bullet wound high in his arm. Nolan thought the humerus might be broken, but the bullet had missed the chest and there was no arterial spurting. He’ll live.The man’s tanned skin showed pasty undertones, and the wrist Nolan had kicked didn’t look great either. He screamed again and passed out as Nolan taped his blood-streaked arms securely in front of him.
“Is he dead?” Fynn asked breathlessly.
Nolan checked the guy’s pulse.Rapid but fine.“No, but I bet it hurts like a motherfucker.” He took off his shirt, wadded the fabric up, and duct taped it tightly around the guy’s shoulders to apply direct pressure over the mess of the wound. He went ahead and searched him, faltering as he found a switchblade in the guy’s pocket.If he’d got that into Fynn…Nolan set the knife safely out of the way. The man stirred as he finished, moaning again. Nolan rolled him onto his good shoulder in case he puked, and stood. “We need to get cops and paramedics out here. My phone went in the lake. Fynn, does yours have bars?”
Fynn checked. “Um. It’s dead. I swam with it.”
Oh, yeah.“Micah?”
“They took mine. It must be here somewhere.”
“I could call you and ping it,” Fynn said breathlessly, “Except mine’s waterlogged.” He giggled, the sound high-pitched.
“No worries,” Nolan soothed. “Not-shot-dude has one in his front pocket. You should be able to call 911.”
“I can do it.” Micah scuttled sideways and dug into the guy’s pocket, coming up with the phone.
Not-shot-dude snapped, “That’s stealing.”
Fynn laughed sharply. “Tell the cops.”
Nolan said, “Give me a strip of tape.” He took the piece Fynn ripped off and slapped it over the bastard’s mouth, ignoring his muffled protests. “Problem solved.”
Micah stepped clear of the awning with the phone, dialed, and answered the dispatcher’s, “What’s your emergency?” with, “I was kidnapped and the shot guy’s bleeding a lot,” and Nolan finally relaxed.That should bring out the professional assistance.
Fynn reached for him, but Nolan held up a hand. “One more precaution.”
He eased the magazine out of the handgun he’d taken from not-shot-fucker, checked the chamber, and set the unloaded gun and ammo safely into the open storage bin. Then he unloaded both of shot-fucker’s weapons, collected the knife, and stowed them safely too.
