“And Tara,” she sobbed out, inconsolably. “Both of them. The baby and Tara.”
Molly’s sister lay less than three feet away. I could tell without getting any closer that she was gone. But I didn’t want to tell Molly that. It wouldn’t help her to know. I wondered if her sister had brought a baby with her. More than likely, though, Molly was simply disoriented.
It was more than understandable under the circumstances. All that mattered to me was that she come out of this okay. Alive.
She thrust a hand upwards as if reaching out for me, and I took a hold of it, kissing the skin along the back of her hand despite the blood that had begun to congeal along the inside her palm. “I’m so sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for, Molly.” I went back to putting pressure on her wounds, feeling more and more desperate about how much she was bleeding. Where the fuck was that ambulance?
At long last, the EMTs arrived. I released her only long enough for them to stabilize her, place gauze on her wounds, and prepare her for transport. I recognized one of the EMTs and he nodded at me. There’d be no issue with me accompanying her to the hospital. But then, even if they’d hesitated, I would’ve done whatever was necessary to be with her.
My nine-millimeter often said more than my words ever had to.
“Luca?”
“Don’t worry, I’m going with you,” I told her.
“Luca?”
I again gripped her hand in mine. It would’ve taken more than what existed in heaven and on earth to make me let her go. “Yes?”
“Tell them…” her words became a cry of pain as they lifted her up, shifting her onto the stretcher.
“Be careful with her,” I snapped at them, my patience at its breaking point. Then, I refocused on her. “Tell them what, Molly?”
She gently laid her free hand on her stomach, over the bullet wound there. This time, she seemed to be trying to hold something, to clutch it against her. “Tell them to save our baby.”
I froze as the other EMT asked, “Miss, are you pregnant?”
And sobbing harder than ever, she confirmed what I’d just that second come to understand, causing everything she’d been saying to make cruel and horrifying sense. “Yes.”
32
Roman
From my fallback position, I squatted on the balls of my feet, removing my ski mask and catching my breath. Things had gone off without a hitch, or nearly, and I was pleased with the results.
I put away my mask, threw a scarf around my neck and lower face, and moseyed away with my hands in my pockets like I had all the time in the world.
I did my best to ignore my speeding heart. It was more difficult than I’d thought it be, acting sedate when I was this excited about what I’d done. The combined effects of wild glee and jubilation felt so potent they were hard to tone down.
I’d done it. I’d completed phase one and taken her out. Luca’s woman. She was dead.
I was eighty-five percent sure.
I hadn’t been able to stay to secure one hundred percent certainty due to one annoying glitch. An alarm. At first, I hadn’t even recognized what it was. It’d been this high-pitched whistle, almost otherworldly in its bizarre frequency. It’d knocked off my aim a bit on those last four shots.
Then, what that noise meant clicked into comprehension for me, and I knew I had to split.
Like, yesterday if not sooner.
So, I had. I raced out of there on foot like a bat out of hell, which left me without the chance to confirm Molly Greene’s death beyond a shadow of a doubt.
I knew for a fact that I’d taken out the Varasso-assigned guards, though. First one and then the other. I’d gotten my hands on a chemical that worked as both a paralyzing agent and a poison.
It’d been effective, too.
Two darts shot in quick and deadly succession from under the cover of a nearby shrub. One at the so-called city worker, and one at the student sitting with his backpack at the bus stop. Done and done.