“Jesus.” Brody rolled himself to his knees. “Who the hell are we dealing with?”
“Uh…Sir?” The female paramedic addressed him before his team could answer. “You really shouldn’t—”
“Where do I sign?”
“I’m sorry?”
Something pulled against his arm when he pushed himself to his feet. When he looked down, he found an I.V., which had apparently been administered while his ass was still out cold.
Brody yanked the catheter free from his vein and tossed the plastic tube onto the floor next to the rest of the medical supplies. “A.M.A.” He shot the woman a pointed look. “Where do I sign?”
The young redhead blinked. “You want to sign out against medical advice?”
He gave a curt nod.
“Sir, I highly advise against that,” the other paramedic offered his unsolicited advice.
“Yeah, King.” Hansen took the guy’s side. “You’ve been out a while. I’d listen to him if I were you.”
“He’s right.” The woman’s wary gaze found his once more. “Concussions are very serious, and you could risk—”
“I know the risks,” he growled. “Just give me the papers so you and your partner can be free to go help someone who needs it.”
He knew he sounded like a total dick, but social mores weren’t exactly high on his current list of priorities.
Both medics and Hansen all looked as though they wanted to argue, but thankfully, they kept their mouths shut and did as he’d asked. Once the electronic form had been signed, they drove off in their ambulance and he was finally able to focus on what mattered.
“What do we know about Ro?”
God, he could barely breathe for the fear running through him. Last he’d seen her, she was in his bedroom—naked and looking like every wet dream he’d ever had. He’d kissed her before he left, and then…
“Maybe you should just show him.”
Brody turned to Cade, who looked as miserable as the rest of them. With a slight lift of a shoulder, the just-turned-thirty-year-old sniper looked him in the eyes with an honest, “If she were mine, I’d want to know.”
Ah, fuck. That didn’t sound good.
“Know what?” He scanned the entire group, including Hansen. “I swear to Christ, if someone doesn’t start talking right the fuck now—”
“Here.” Liam brought his trusty tablet over to where Brody stood. “It’s dark, and he wore a mask, so you can’t make out the bastard’s features, but….” The tech genius tapped the screen, and the frozen image that had been there came to life.
Fear turned his veins to ice as he watched Ro climb from his bedroom window, drop to the secondary roof, and then shimmy her way down the post. He also felt damn proud of how incredibly brave she’d been in her attempts to escape.
But as Liam switched to show a different camera’s viewpoint—there were three in his backyard, alone—Brody’s heart ripped all the way open as he stood there, watching while some meaty bastard grabbed her from behind.
Ro fought. She fought damn hard. But then…
Ah, God.
The man holding Ro against her will made an abrupt change of course, pulling her up next to the house, and then slamming her head against its side. Three fucking times, the bastard did that to her. Then he picked her up—limp and unconscious—and carried her toward the alley behind his house.
One of the cameras he’d installed was mounted on the back of his house, facing that direction. From there, he could see the man shoving Ro into the trunk of a dark, partially concealed car before driving away into the night.
Taking the woman who owned Brody’s heart with him.
Liam lowered the tablet. Several began talking at once. Detective Hansen stepped in to take charge, but Brody wasn’t listening to any of them.
He was too busy punching a fist-sized hole in the nearest wall.