Brian drew in a deep breath, wincing when his chest ached and a shaft of pain radiated through him at the movement. His fingers fumbled for the gun under his jacket before he wrapped them around the grip. Rolling onto his stomach, he glanced through the small bushes lining the inside of the fencing and peered at Helen. Their gazes locked, hers filled with worry, while he knew his eyes reflected his fury.
“Where’s Makayla?” Brian asked in a furious voice.
“Ren Lu took her,” Helen replied with relief and confusion. “How bad are you hit?”
“I’m good, just bruised,” Brian said, glancing toward the statue. “Do we know where the gunman is?”
Helen shook her head. “No,” she muttered, wincing when another bullet struck the bench above her and bits and pieces of concrete rained down on her.
Bria
