by W. L. Dyson
“On it.”
By the time Nick arrived at A-One Pawn less than ten minutes later, the phone booth was empty. He drove slowly up one street and down the next, hoping to catch sight of her. Who was she calling?
He dialed Annie's number. No answer at her home phone. He tried her cell. She answered quickly and sounded out of breath. “I'm on my way.”
“Annie? Where you going?”
“Nick? Didn't he tell you?”
“Who? Tell me what?”
“That Barbara called me. I'm on my way to meet her now.”
Nothing was adding up, and the clock was running. “Where are you meeting her?”
“She asked me to meet her at Jiffy's at two.”
He did a quick U-turn in the middle of the street, ignoring the taxi that honked at him for it. “I'm on my way. Don't go in there without me.”
Pushing the speed limit laws to the edge, he wove through traffic. He dialed his cell phone when he got stuck at a red light. “Rafe? You get ahold of Conner?”
“Yeah, we're on our way to A-One.”
“Good. Change of plans. Meet me at Jiffy's as fast as you can.”
“What's goin’ on?”
“Zeena called Annie.” The light turned green, and he pushed down on the accelerator. “They're meeting at Jiffy's. We need to get there and pick her up before she disappears again.”
“We're pushing the speed limit.”
“Did either you or Conner talk to Annie? Did she tell you that she was going to meet Zeena?”
“No.”
So who was it that Annie told? Or was that a lie to cover the fact that she hadn't called him? He'd find out soon enough. “I'm almost there.”
“On our wa—”
Just then, Nick spotted Zeena about fifty yards up from Jiffy's. “I see her. She's in the used car lot on Sixth, in the far back, making her way on foot toward the bar. One of you needs to come in from behind her in case she turns back the way she came.” Hanging up, he pulled into Gabby's Used Furniture lot and parked. Jiffy's was across the street and down the block about thirty yards. He was going to have to make this fast.
He grabbed his gun, handcuffs, and stun gun from the back, but couldn't see his Kevlar vest. He hoped he wouldn't regret not searching for it. Staying low, he eased out of his vehicle, and staying between parked cars, made his way to the curb. He had to get across the street without Zeena seeing him. If she saw him, she had a far enough lead to disappear before he made it halfway through the car lot. He was dressed in jeans, a leather jacket, and combat boots, which at least would help him blend into Jiffy's crowd. Hopefully she wouldn't look too close at the bulk under his jacket.
Nick spotted her at the end of a row of cars, peering down the street, as if waiting for company but not wanting to be seen. He also noticed a dark blue SUV pull up to the curb a block down from Jiffy's. It was a Navigator—patrons of Jiffy's might have a job washing it, but they didn't have a job good enough to actually own one. Which meant it was one of Jon Carver's.
Just as Nick started across the street, he saw Annie's car pulled up into Jiffy's parking lot. He jogged through the slow-moving traffic. Zeena was on his left. The two men in the SUV were down on his right. And in between them, Annie was getting out of the car.
The two men in the SUV climbed out of their vehicle, their hands hovering at their waists. It was Ira and Scott, two of Jon's enforcers.
Walking quickly down the street, Nick tried to blend in with the local foot traffic while at the same time hoping to draw Annie's attention. But she seemed completely focused on Jiffy's front door.
Good news—I've got Zeena in my sights. Bad news—Jon's goons are standing in my way.
There was no doubt in his mind that the two gunmen were focused entirely on Annie. Of course, they thought that she was Zeena.
Easing his gun out of its holster, then holding it against his thigh, he flipped his cell phone out with his other hand and dialed the police station. Besides the fact that it was law for bounty hunters to call the police when they suspected a possible shooting, there was also no way he wanted to fire his gun without the authority to do so. When he got the dispatcher, he quickly explained the situation and then shoved his cell phone back in his pocket.
Annie was almost at the door when Nick saw Ira slowly draw his gun from under his coat. Nick broke into a run, not sure whether he was going to make it in time.
“Annie! Down! Get down!” he screamed.
Annie stopped and looked around. She saw him and froze.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw the man lift the gun.
No time.
Running, he took a deep breath and dove at her, catching his shoulder in her midsection. She gasped as they made impact, and again when they hit the ground. Nick rolled, standing up between Annie and the gunmen, but he didn't pull out his gun just yet. He revolted against firing—there were innocent people on the street. Someone could get hurt.
Ira kicked him in the chest. He fell backward, pain shooting through him. Rolling, he heard Annie scream and stood up again. He spun out a kick, knocking the man to the ground. Whipping around, he turned his attention to Scott, who was pulling Annie to her feet.
She was kicking and screaming, digging her heels into the ground, trying to get free of his grip on her arms.
Finally, Nick lifted his gun. “Let her go!”
Scott aimed his gun and fired. Three times. Nick felt a shot and flew back.
On the ground, he heard a police siren scream barely a block away. The two men started running for their vehicle. Nick staggered to his feet and ran after Scott. He dove into him, knocking Scott, Annie, and himself to the ground. As he reached out to land a punch, Scott rolled. Nick's knuckles grazed him, but not enough to slow him down. But at least he'd let go of Annie. Scott pulled himself to his feet and kicked out at Nick, who ducked and then delivered a fast kick of his own. The man fell back.
Ira honked the horn, and Scott gave up on Nick and Annie. He jumped into the vehicle and they sped away.
Nick limped over to Annie. She was lying on the sidewalk, a bloody scrape on her cheek. “I told you to wait for me, didn't I?” He helped her to her feet and steadied her. “Are you okay? Is anything broken?” She just shook her head, and he could tell that she had no injuries besides shock. “Go get in your car and stay there. When the police arrive, tell them what happened. I'll be back.”
She stared up at him with shock-wide eyes, but he didn't have time to deal with it. He needed to capture Zeena before she got away again. He picked his gun off the ground and took off up the street and around the corner of the building in time to see Zeena disappear behind a van. His shoulder burned like the devil, but he couldn't let her get away.
Weaving through the cars in the used car lot, he splashed through puddles and stumbled on the gravel, trying to keep his eyes on her. She looked back at him once, eyes wide, and then darted behind the neighboring pharmacy.
He came around the pharmacy, caught a glimpse of Zeena running down a side street. He spotted her at the far end of a vacant lot. She scurried over a chain-link fence and hopped-skipped over the railroad tracks. He sped up his pursuit. If she made it to the factory at the far end of the field, she would be gone for good, disappearing into a maze of buildings and levels that would take twenty men more than two hours to search.
Rain began to fall, and it came down with a vengeance, with huge drops of rain that drenched Nick in a matter of minutes.
Nick moved to scramble over the fence, but when he went to climb, his left arm felt numb and his feet slid on the wet metal. He tried again. Only after falling off the fence twice did he realize just how weak he was becoming. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he slowly climbed again, catching one leg of his jeans on the sharp point at the top. He heard it rip, felt the slight drag, but he finally cleared the fence. Breathing hard, he hopped the railroad tracks and kept going.
Zeena ran into a two-story factory.
K
eep running, Nick. You can't lose her now. He looked down at his gun and saw the blood running from under his sleeve, dripping onto his Glock. Well, he'd clean it later. He jumped a puddle and jogged through the doorway.
As he entered the building, something hit him square in the chest. Idiot ! was his last thought before everything went black.
9
Wednesday, 2:15 p.m.
Jiffy's Bar, Garrison Blvd., Baltimore
Annie sat in the back of the police cruiser, hugging herself close, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Never in her life had someone taken a shot at her. Or tried to kill her.
She toyed with the tear in the knee of her jeans. She'd only worn them twice. Her boots were scratched up. Her coat was a muddy mess. She was soaked right down to her skin, and if she looked in a mirror, her mascara was probably nothing more than black streaks down her face at this point.
She looked up to see a police officer kneeling down at the open car door, holding a Styrofoam cup of coffee. “Here you go, miss. Take a sip of this. It won't taste good, but it's hot and it'll help.”
“Thank you.” Annie reached out and, with trembling hands, took the cup, savoring the warmth.
“Do you know who those men were?”
Annie shook her head. “I never really saw them, to be honest. It all happened so fast. I was on the ground and then I looked up and one of them grabbed me and then they were dragging me down the street and then they started shooting and it was just so—” She shuddered and took a sip of the coffee. She grimaced. It was black and strong. She wanted a cup of hot tea with cream and sugar. She wanted to be as far from Jiffy's Bar as one could get and still be in the state.
She answered the officer's questions as quickly and as succinctly as she could, all the while trying to get warm. At one point, the officer finally noticed that she was shivering and turned the police cruiser's heat up to full blast. It didn't help.
“And you came down here to meet your sister?”
Annie nodded and took another sip of the coffee. “She called and asked me to meet her here.”
“What about the bounty hunter that called this in? Nick Shepherd. Were you expecting to meet him here as well?”
“Yes. And thank goodness he was here.” She shivered again. “I think he was shot.” She lifted her head as the thought morphed into a realization, and stared at the police officer. “Oh my! He was shot! I saw blood when he got up.”
He had taken a bullet for her. That brought on guilt, which initiated a whole new level of shakes. She gripped the cup and felt the cup bend beneath her fingers. “You have to find him.”
“We'll find him.”
Reassured, she sank back in the seat. “I've never had anything like this happen before.”
“Okay, so they grabbed you and started to drag you toward their vehicle. And you have no idea why they were trying to abduct you?”
She shook her head. She was about to offer up a suggestion that maybe the guys thought she was her sister, but before she could, his radio chirped and someone said something, but she couldn't make out the words.
“I'll be right back,” the officer told her.
When he stepped away, the man whose name she remembered as Conner leaned in the door. The one Nick called Rafe stood behind him. “Annie, hi. Where is Nick?”
“He took off through that lot over there. After that, I don't know. No one has found him yet?”
Rafe shook his head. “Who's looking for him besides us?”
“He was shot.”
Conner stiffened, eyes narrowing. “Shot?”
She nodded, hesitant to say the words again.
Conner turned toward Rafe, his hand resting on the cruiser above Annie's door. “I'll check the lot. You guys look around Jiffy's.” Then, without another word, Conner ran off toward the used car lot.
Annie leaned back and took another sip of the coffee. Now that the shock was wearing off, suspicions started rolling. Had Zeena set her up? How had those men known to come at that exact moment? By the time the officer had returned, the shakes were gone.
She handed the officer the cup. “Is there anything else you need from me, or can I go home now?”
“I suppose it would be okay to let you go. If I need anything else, I'll call you.”
Annie climbed out of the cruiser. “Thank you.”
Wednesday, 2:25 p.m.
Old tire factory complex near Jiffy's Bar, Garrison Blvd., Baltimore
The rain had settled down to a light misty drizzle. Conner pulled his badge from inside his jacket and let it hang where police officers could see it clearly. No sense in getting shot by accident. Or arrested. Kneeling down, he touched a dark spot on the wet grass and lifted his finger to look closely. Blood.
He stood up and looked around the area, wiping the blood off on his jeans. The residential homes were separated from the industrial area by fencing and railroad tracks. If I were running for my life, which way would I go?
There was no question. He ran toward the fence.
As he was preparing to jump the fence, he spotted a smear of blood. He was on the right track. Tucking his gun back in his holster, he climbed, then dropped on the other side of the fence with a light thud. He pulled out his gun again and headed over the railroad tracks.
Wednesday, 2:30 p.m.
Prodigal offices, Baltimore
“You bought the dog a collar, a leash, and squeaky toys?” Jenna stuck her pencil behind her ear and shook her head at the collection of goodies that Steven had dumped on her desk.
“Well, he gets bored while I'm at work, so the toys should keep him happy. And how am I supposed to walk him without a collar and leash?”
Jenna stood up and picked up a stack of messages. She headed down the hall. “You were supposed to take him to the pound.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Steven called out to her.
The phone rang. “Get that!” Jenna called to him from down the hall somewhere.
Steven reached over to pick up the phone. “Prodigal Fugitive Recovery.”
“Steven? It's Rafe. Nick's been shot.”
“Shot?” He leaned against Jenna's desk and then slowly sank down in her chair. A million thoughts raced through his mind. “Nick's been shot?”
Jenna suddenly reappeared. “Nick was shot? When? How?”
“Wait,” Steven whispered to her. “Where is he, Rafe? What hospital are they taking him to?”
“We haven't found him yet. He took off into the neighborhood. Probably chasing Zeena. That's why I'm calling. You might want to get down here and help us find him.”
Steven jumped up from the desk. “I'm on my way.”
Wednesday, 2:30 p.m.
Old tire factory complex near Jiffy's Bar, Garrison Blvd., Baltimore
More blood. It spurred Conner to move a little faster, a slow jog across the uneven pavement toward the nearest building. There weren't many people in his life that he would call friend, but Nick Shepherd was one of them. He needed to find Nick before the worst happened.
As he ran, images of his and Nick's friendship flashed through Conner's head. Whenever he and Ria would go through a rough patch, Nick never took sides and never divided them. He listened, he advised, he understood. But he never judged. Not that Steven or Marti would ever agree with that assessment.
Sure, there were times when Conner wanted to knock some sense into Nick —like when he gave Steven a hard time —but the man couldn't help being emotionally stunted. He'd lost his father, his marriage, and his mother for the most part. He felt responsible for Steven and Marti, the business, his mother, and his daughter. He dealt with the worst people society had to offer day in and day out. The kind of people who lied to you with a straight face and then tried to kill you. He wanted everyone important in his life taken care of. Sure, Nick didn't know how to say something as simple as “I care,” but Conner was inclined to cut his friend some slack. Heaven knew Jessica rarely did.
Carefully, Conner approached one of
the buildings, checking through gaping windows and doorways for any movement. The complex had once been a thriving tire factory with manufacturing and storage buildings, docking bays, and large parking lots. But with the revitalization of Baltimore and the expansion in Frederick, the tenants had moved. Now the huge loading doors were gone, leaving gaping holes in the buildings. The parking lot was littered with old newspapers, broken bottles, and trash, and weeds erupted through cracks in the pavement.
Approaching an opening, Conner stopped and listened. Hearing nothing to alarm him, he entered sideways, easing along the broken door frame.
The only light was coming in through the windows, and there was precious little of it. He stayed pressed against the wall, giving his eyes time to adjust to the dark shadows and murky haze inside the building. As he stepped forward, his foot hit something. He looked down.
A body.
Not just any body. Nick's body.
Keeping his weapon drawn and pointed out into the building and his eyes sweeping from one shadow to another, he knelt down and pressed two fingers to Nick's neck. A pulse. Slow. Steady. Good. He whipped out his cell phone and called Rafe.
“I found Nick and he's hurt. Get the EMTs over here. We're in the old tire factory's main building at the south shipping door.”
After making sure that no one else was in the building, Conner holstered his weapon and returned to where Nick lay. There was a tear on the right shoulder, and blood was streaking down the front of Nick's jacket.
After unzipping the jacket, Conner peeled back Nick's shirt to examine the wound. It was still bleeding. “You really messed up this time, didn't you, pal?”
Wednesday, 2:45 p.m.
Old tire factory complex near Jiffy's Bar, Garrison Blvd., Baltimore
Nick felt the pain first as it racked across his shoulder. “Quit being such a mother,” Nick groaned as he slowly sat up.
“Are you nuts? Nick, you've been shot.”
“It's just a flesh wound.”
