Irish Throwdown (What Happens In Vegas Book 4) by Matt Lincoln (motivational novels TXT) 📗

him!” Seamus yelled, and two of the officers took off after him.

“What’s going on?” a weak voice groaned from behind me. I spun around and found that Junior was starting to sit up.

“Easy there, partner,” I cautioned him as I went to help him up. “I think you took a hit to the head there. It’s becoming a bad habit of yours.”

“You don’t need to tell me.” He grimaced as he reached a hand up to touch his head.

“Ambulance is on its way,” Seamus assured him. “We’ve got a few officers injured as well. We managed to apprehend everyone up at the house, though.”

“Good.” I nodded. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“Well, then,” Seamus said as he bent down to haul O’Sullivan off the ground. “Let’s just get this eejit back to the station. We can discuss things there.”

“We’ll meet you there after we get Junior checked out at the hospital,” I replied.

He nodded before turning to guide O’Sullivan out of the cave. Junior and I followed closely behind him, and as we stepped out of the darkness and into the warm sunlight outside, I felt a profound wave of relief that we’d managed to survive this harrowing ordeal.

37

Charlie

Junior’s injury had turned out to be more than just some minor bruising, which wasn’t surprising. The force from the bullet’s impact had actually shattered a few of his ribs and resulted in a contusion on one of his lungs. Aside from that, he had a grapefruit-sized bruise on his torso that the doctor said would probably be painful for a few weeks. Then there was the concussion he’d given himself when he’d fallen and hit his head on the floor of the cave.

“Why does this always happen to me?” he grumbled. “This never happened when I was with the FBI. I join MBLIS, and suddenly part of me is breaking every other month.”

“Just think how impressed Fiona will be,” I encouraged him in an attempt to make him feel better.

“She’ll probably just freak out,” he sighed as he repositioned the ice pack he was holding to his injured ribs.

We were sitting in the lobby of the Larne police station. We’d called Seamus to let him know we were coming back, but apparently, he was busy dealing with the bureaucratic paperwork that came in the aftermath of the raid. Five suspects had died just in the cove, and a few more in the house. In the end, several suspects and cops alike had ended up injured or killed, which meant that there was a lot to deal with in the aftermath.

Now that both Gallagher and O’Sullivan had been captured, I felt weariness creeping its way over me. All that was left to do was figure out exactly how everything connected to our original case in Las Vegas, and we’d be able to head home.

“Agents, I’m here,” a familiar voice huffed, and I looked up to see Seamus trudging down the hallway toward us, looking a little worse for wear. O’Leary followed just a few steps behind him. “Sorry that took so long. It’s been a right nightmare dealing with trying to get things settled. I kept telling them that interrogating O’Sullivan should take priority, but everyone always thinks their problems are the most important.”

“Oh, would you quit your belly-aching?” O’Leary sighed. “Anyway, gents, the suspect is ready in the interview room now if you are.”

“I’m ready,” I replied as I stood up from my chair. I turned and waited for Junior to get to his feet a little more slowly, careful not to agitate his ribs.

“Alright, let’s go then,” Seamus nodded. He and O’Leary led us down the main corridor and through a labyrinth of hallways before we finally arrived at a nondescript room. If they hadn’t stopped us from going any further, I wouldn’t have guessed that it was an interview room at all.

“Considering the circumstances,” Seamus explained, “we felt it was probably best to choose a room that wouldn’t call attention. Just in case one of his men tried something the way they did with Gallagher back in Dublin.”

“Smart,” I nodded as I remembered the way Finnian Gallagher had bragged about having friends within the Garda.

O’Leary dug a key out of his pocket and quickly unlocked the door to the room. We filed inside one by one. As I’d thought, this wasn’t actually a typical interview room, but rather what looked like a standard storage room that had been emptied of everything but a table and some chairs. It was large enough that it could have been an office, but there weren’t any windows, which was probably what made it a better choice than an ordinary office space.

“I thought you said he was in here?” I asked as I took a look around the empty room.

“He was,” Seamus replied, his voice weak with disbelief.

“What?” I turned around to look at him.

His eyes were wide, and his mouth was agape with shock.

“He was just here, handcuffed to the table!”

“Where the hell is he?” O’Leary yelled.

Just then, as if in answer to his question, a shot rang out from somewhere outside the room, followed quickly by two more.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I growled as I took off out of the room and down the hallway toward where the sound had come from. Seamus was beside me in an instant, surprisingly fast despite his large stature.

We rounded a corner and spotted a pair of Garda lying on the ground.

“Oh, no,” Seamus gasped as he hurried toward them.

One was unresponsive, but the other was conscious and called out to us as we approached.

“It’s Dowd,” the woman coughed, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. “He helped O’Sullivan get out. They’re heading for Gallagher.”

“Damn,” O’Leary hissed. “I can’t believe he was one of the ones working with the mafia.”

“Take Charlie down to the cells, quickly,” Seamus ordered. “I need to stay and help Sorcha and Dan.”

I realized that he must have been speaking about the two fallen officers. I also realized