Before the glass hit the ground, Mockingbird was rolling away from the window to peer over the roof at the idling towncar. Eight men came running out of the building, six of them scattering while LaCroix and his trusted posse squeezed into the car and burnt rubber, too panicked to notice the ping of Mockingbird's tracking dart hit the trunk. That wasn't going to get her far; if they really were as clever as it took to get them this far, they'd be ditching that car ASAP and she would have to sniff out the trail all over again.
She started to turn back the way she had come over the roof when she was almost shouted off of it, wheeling backward in surprise before throwing herself down flat as the bullets zinged by her. "Zut alors!" she retorted since they were playing that game, taking a quick look around in the beat of quiet then doing her own scrambling-- darting for the window this guy had Spider-man-ed his way through with her arms flung over her head as he shot again. Tumbling head first, she fell blindly, only discovering in the air his convenient wire and grabbing for it, huff, before she crashed like the window on the warehouse floor. Her shoulders didn't like it much, but that didn't slow her down, letting the rope slide through her hands and falling rapidly away from the gunfire. Squinting up at the broken window, Mockingbird realized she knew that voice. Gee, was she in trouble.