by Mel Odom
“Max,” Shel said, understanding at once.
“You passed out from blood loss. Max went into total protective mode. Unfortunately that wasn’t what you needed at the time.”
“Max is okay?” Shel knew there were times when a dog had to be put down so medical teams could save an unconscious and wounded K-9–equipped soldier.
“Max is fine,” Maggie said. “He’s downstairs with Remy. They’ve become best buds.”
Shel grinned. “You won’t believe how sad a day it is when a man’s dog deserts him.”
“Hardly. Max knows you’re here. Somewhere. How he knows is anyone’s guess, but—”
“He’s a trained Marine. Never underestimate Marine training.”
Maggie gave him a wry look. “—but he’s refusing to leave the hospital now that he’s here. He walks the corridors a lot looking for you.”
“Remy?” Shel deadpanned. “I knew he was starting to warm up to me, but—”
“Oh, if you can do humor, maybe you can get your own ice chips.”
Shel smiled and thought again how he shouldn’t be doing that. “I give.”
Maggie gave him another helping of ice chips. “Anyway, the EMTs should have started you on an IV immediately. And packed the shoulder wound. Remy did that and kept you alive until you reached the ER.”
“Naahhh,” Shel said. “I’m too tough to kill.” Fatigue washed over him then, or it might have been the Demerol. He closed his eyes and quietly went away.
Somewhere in there, though, he heard Maggie whisper, “I hope so.”
>> Federal Bureau of Investigation Field Office
>> 400 South Tryon Street
>> Suite 900
>> Charlotte, North Carolina
>> 1126 Hours
Dressed in a suit, including jacket and tie, Will Coburn sat in the waiting area outside the FBI offices. He referenced his notes on his Pocket PC and ignored the attention he was getting from the young FBI agent seated on the other side of the office. The agent had been put there to bird-dog him. Will didn’t mind. As long as the agent was there, it was a sure indication that whoever had assigned the detail to him was in the building as well.
Will had been kept waiting for over two hours. But he didn’t think of sitting there as waiting. He was guarding the door. Special Agent-in-Charge Urlacher was in the building. Will intended to see to it that the man didn’t leave without talking to him.
Ten more minutes passed; then Urlacher emerged from the back offices with Victor Gant and three other agents. Gant, Will noticed, wasn’t in handcuffs. That, he decided, was interesting.
Will stood and put his Pocket PC back on his hip. He straightened his jacket over the holstered Springfield XD-40 snugged under his left arm and followed Urlacher and his entourage out into the hallway.
“Special Agent Urlacher,” Will called.
Urlacher looked over his shoulder but didn’t break stride on his way to the elevators. He nodded at one of the younger FBI agents. The agent peeled off from the group and headed back toward Will.
“I’m sorry,” the agent said. “Agent Urlacher can’t be bothered right now.”
Without saying a word, Will stepped around the man, moving too fast to be stopped because he’d never slowed his pace.
The agent grabbed Will’s right wrist and pulled. “I said—,” he started.
Will smoothly slid his hand over the agent’s wrist, rotating his own wrist toward the man’s thumb to pop it free. He grabbed the man’s jacketed shoulder before he could react, then twisted him around and shoved him face-first into the wall hard enough to jar the picture hanging there. He jacked the wrist he’d captured up toward the man’s shoulder blades.
The man grunted in pain and stood in place.
“Touching me without provocation is assault,” Will said in his commander’s tone. “I’m a federal officer, so that’s a federal violation.”
The other two agents reached under their jackets for their weapons. Will held his captive and stared straight into Urlacher’s eyes. Victor Gant seemed amused by the situation.
Urlacher raised his hands and the two agents pulled their hands back. “Commander Coburn.”
“That’s right,” Will said. “I thought maybe we could have a word.” He forced a smile. “A polite word.”
“It’s hard to be polite when you’re wallpapering the hallway with one of my men.”
“It’s hard not to wallpaper the hallway with your men while one of my team is lying in the hospital because you had to try to high-hat us,” Will said. His captive struggled, so he lifted the man’s arm higher till he was tiptoeing to keep the pain at a tolerable level.
“Pretty harsh talk from a single man,” Urlacher said.
“Trust me,” Will said, “I’m all that’s standing between you and a base full of Marines that happen to think a lot of my gunnery sergeant.”
“What do you want?”
Will stepped back from his captive and released him. He watched the man. The agent nursed his arm and walked over to join Urlacher and the others.
“There’s going to be a review by the Charlotte police department crime teams of what went down last night,” Will said.
“You mean the shooting.”
“I do mean the shooting,” Will said. “I expect my gunney to be cleared in the matter. I thought I’d come talk to you and get this worked out ahead of time. In case you or your men had problems remembering exactly how everything happened last night.”
“You’re with the NCIS?” Victor Gant asked. A crooked smile twisted his thin lips.
Urlacher put a hand on Victor’s chest and held him back. “Stay out of this,” he said.
“Do you know who I am?” Victor demanded.
“I do,” Will said. “I don’t have an issue with you at the moment, Mr. Gant. I’d like to keep it that way.”
“Maybe I have an issue with you,” Victor said. “Your man killed my son. Shot him down like he was a dog.” His voice was hoarse with anger.
Will met the man’s angry glare and didn’t look away. He couldn’t. Both of them knew it hadn’t happened the way Victor Gant said it did, but any weakness on his part would have confirmed the other man’s story in his mind.
Urlacher grabbed Victor by the arm and shoved him back. “Get moving.”
Victor continued to stare at Will.
“Take it outside,” Urlacher said, eyeing the man vehemently. “Or I will arrest you.”
Victor went, accompanied by two of Urlacher’s agents, but he glared at Will until the elevator doors closed.
18
>> Federal Bureau of Investigation Field Office
>> 400 South Tryon Street
>> Suite 900
>> Charlotte, North Carolina
>> 1132 Hours
Urlacher wheeled on Will. “Your timing stinks, Commander.”
“I’d have preferred to meet in your office,” Will said. “You’re the one who forced this.”
Urlacher stepped to within inches of Will. “I didn’t force anything.”
“You did.” Will didn’t budge an inch. He locked eyes with the older man. “If you hadn’t gone there last night, my guys could have taken Bobby Lee Gant without anyone getting hurt.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do. They’ve worked a lot of pickups. And did it without anyone getting hurt.” Of course, there were some that didn’t turn out so well, but Will wasn’t going to mention those.
“What do you want?” Urlacher asked.
“Like I said,” Will replied, “I want that shooting report squared away. No problems for my gunney. He’s a good man and a fine Marine. His record’s going to stand clean and without blemish.”
“And if I don’t see it that way?”
“Then you’re going to be in a world of hurt.”
Urlacher laughed, but the effort didn’t sound convincing. “There’s nothing you can do to me.”
“You seem to be getting awfully c
hummy with Victor Gant,” Will said. “My guess is that you’re going to try to get him to snitch on some people for you.”
“I can’t hold him on what I’ve got.”
“He wasn’t wearing cuffs when he went through here.”
Urlacher didn’t say anything.
“My gunney took three bullets and nearly died,” Will said, “so he could take down the problem you lit a fire under without getting that woman hurt. If your report doesn’t corroborate that, I’m going to look into Victor Gant’s business with a microscope.” He smiled slightly. “I’m betting that’ll throw a kink in whatever tea party you’ve got planned with Victor Gant.”
“You can’t do that.”
“I can.” Will kept his eyes locked on the other man’s. “When Bobby Lee Gant hurt that Marine in Jacksonville, he had three men with him. I’m still looking for those three men. For all I know, they’re part of Victor Gant’s little motorcycle club.”
Urlacher growled a curse. “You’re making trouble for yourself.”
“Not if I don’t have to. I’ll take a clean report on that shooting and I’ll pack up and leave.”
A frown tightened Urlacher’s lips and he gave a grudging nod. “It’ll be like you said.”
“Not like I said,” Will told him. “Like it was last night. You owe my gunney that. He might have saved the lives of your men.”
“You’ll get your report.”
“By end of day,” Will said. “Or we start turning over rocks in Victor Gant’s neighborhood.” He reached into his jacket pocket and took out one of his business cards.
“I’ll have it there.” Urlacher scowled as he took the business card. Without another word, he turned and walked away.
Silently Will watched the FBI agent go, but he couldn’t help wondering what it was that Urlacher was working on. For the agent to have capitulated so quickly, it had to be something big.
Let it go, Will told himself. You’ve got enough on your plate. He let out a deep breath, then turned and walked away.
But he couldn’t get Victor Gant’s eyes or voice out of his mind. The man had radiated pure evil and hate. Will decided he was going to be happy when he could get Shel out of the hospital and back home.
>> 1137 Hours
Surrounded by FBI agents, Victor stared at the elevator indicator lights as the cage dropped to the bottom floor. One of the agents had stopped the cage and waited for Urlacher to get on again. Victor had only heard a muffled version of Urlacher’s conversation with the NCIS agent. The cage swayed and the two men next to him bumped against him.
“Don’t go getting any ideas,” Urlacher said.
“Wouldn’t think of it,” Victor replied.
“You tangle with the NCIS, make this personal, I don’t have enough juice to pull them off you.”
“Understood.” Victor nodded. It was already personal. How could somebody killing his son not be personal?
“What happened to your boy—”
“Bobby Lee,” Victor interrupted.
Urlacher looked at him.
“My boy,” Victor said. “His name was Bobby Lee. Don’t you go remembering him as just another dead kid.”
Urlacher didn’t back off. “Stay away from those NCIS people.”
Despite the No Smoking sign posted in the elevator, Victor took out his pack of cigarettes and lit up. Overhead, the smoke alarm shrilled.
“I heard on the news that Marine who shot Bobby Lee lived,” Victor said.
“If you go around him, I’ll toss the deal and put you in jail.”
“For what?”
“For whatever,” Urlacher said. “Jaywalking. Spitting on the sidewalk.”
Victor smiled. “You act like I should be afraid of them.”
“They run a pretty tight crew.”
The elevator dinged and came to a gentle stop. The doors opened. Victor got out with the cigarette in his fist.
Two matronly women gave him discourteous looks. One of them pointed at the No Smoking sign posted inside the elevator cage.
Victor said something offensive and both women stepped toward the next elevator cage.
“I’ve got half a mind to take you and stash you in protective custody,” Urlacher said.
“Quickest way to guarantee that I won’t tell you a thing.” Victor walked through the downstairs hallway. His eyes roved the people and stared through the glass doors at the front of the building. “You leave me be, I’ll get you what you want.” He stopped and looked at Urlacher. “And this is where we go our separate ways, gentlemen.”
Hesitation soured Urlacher’s features. In the end, though, Victor knew that the FBI agent didn’t have a choice. Not if he wanted to nab all the opium he had his eye on.
“All right,” Urlacher said.
“Then I guess I’ll be seeing you.” Victor took his sunglasses from his shirt pocket and slipped them on. He took his cell phone—returned to him with all his other possessions that morning after he’d agreed to the FBI’s deal—from his pocket as he walked away. He punched in Fat Mike’s number.
“Yeah,” Fat Mike answered.
“Me,” Victor said. “I need a ride.”
“Where are you?”
“Walking out of FBI offices.”
“Cool, bro. I’m just dipping my beak at the strip club over on Tyvola Road.”
“That place seems a little upscale for you.”
Fat Mike laughed. “Maybe it was, but after I walked through the door, its standing dropped through the basement.”
“I’ll be out front.” Victor stepped through the glass doors and out into the heat of the day. “Got a question.”
“Okay.”
“Do you know where they took that cop? The one that killed Bobby Lee?”
Fat Mike sucked in a breath. “Yeah.”
“I want to go there.”
“Now?”
“Yeah.” Victor closed his cell phone and pushed it into his pants pocket. He lit another cigarette while he waited and thought about what he wanted to do to the big Marine who had killed Bobby Lee.
>> Parking Lot
>> Presbyterian Hospital
>> Charlotte, North Carolina
>> 1208 Hours
Will pulled the dark gray Taurus he’d gotten from the rental company into the parking lot and started to get out. When he opened the door, a blast of superheated air slapped him in the face. It was hard to believe that it was going to be hotter still in a couple more weeks.
Before he could get out, he tracked movement in the side mirror, and a big hand fell onto his door. He’d already abandoned his jacket when he’d gotten into the car, so it took only a second to reach up under his arm and free the Springfield pistol.
In the next instant, Victor Gant stepped to the window and smiled at him. “Hey, cap’n,” the biker said. “I come in peace.”
Will kept the XD-40 in hand as he checked his mirrors. There were no other bikers in sight, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there.
“Just me,” Victor said good-naturedly.
Will didn’t say anything. He knew the man would say what was on his mind when he was ready. After all, he’d come all this way and somehow even beaten Will to the hospital to say it.
“Ain’t you got nothing to say?” Victor asked.
“It’s your show,” Will said calmly. “Why don’t you run it and I’ll see if I find any conversation starters.”
“A man of few words,” Victor said. “I like that.” He kept his hands in plain sight. “I liked how you stood up to Special Agent Urlacher and told him off. That was choice. And all he could do was stand there and eat crow.”
“I’m pretty sure you didn’t come here to congratulate me for that.”
“No, I guess you’re right. I didn’t. I was wondering if you’d do a favor for me.”
Will waited, sensing what was coming.
“Do you know if the big Marine that shot my boy believes in God?” Victor asked.
“You
want to be careful what you say next,” Will said.
“No foul, cap’n,” Victor said. “Just asking for a little information, that’s all. Sometimes I stand around on street corners and hand out them pamphlets what’s got God’s Word on ’em. I was just asking about that sergeant.”
Will said nothing, but he felt the naked, cold threat that blew in off the man.
“Tell him for me that if he don’t believe in God now, he should start real soon. Things come at you in life and everything changes so fast that sometimes you don’t get the time to do the things you should. Tell him I said he should get to know God because him and God could be on a first-name basis before you know it.”
As he gazed into the dark hate in Victor’s eyes, Will’s stomach lurched a little. It wasn’t because he was afraid, though it was normal to be fearful at a time like this. It was because he knew that Victor couldn’t be scared off his chosen course.
“You just give him that message,” Victor said as he turned and walked away. He threw a hand in the air and a big motorcycle engine rumbled to excited life. Without turning his back to Will, the biker stepped out to the edge of the parking lane. “And you have yourself a nice day, cap’n.”
A motorcycle and sidecar sped into view and stopped behind Will’s rental car. Victor threw a leg over the sidecar and dropped into it. He tossed Will a final salute and rode out of sight.
Will remained where he was and listened intently. He was certain Victor Gant hadn’t put in an appearance by himself. Sure enough, less than a minute later, a handful of other motorcycle engines roared to life all around Will.
Hard-faced men wearing their colors rode slowly up behind the car; then they too roared out onto the street and were gone.
Carefully Will took his suit jacket and used it to cover his forearm and the pistol in his fist. He wasn’t going to take any chances. Moving slowly, he slid out of the rental car and turned his steps toward the hospital. The sooner they could move Shel—even if it was only to get him back to the base hospital—the happier Will was going to be.
