Shepherd's Fall

by W. L. Dyson

  “Just sit tight.”

  “Conn?” Nick whispered. “Help me up.” He shoved back at the pain the way Luke had taught him, concentrating instead on something else. “Zeena got away?”

  “Yeah. Do you know who did this to you?”

  “A couple of Carter's goons, Scott and Ira.” Grimacing, he placed a hand over his wound. He started forward, walking unsteadily out the door of the building.

  Rafe was just climbing out of Conner's SUV. “Nick?”

  Nick lifted his hand. “I'm not as bad as it looks.”

  “Well, that's great, because you look like you're one step from keeling over.”

  He really didn't need all the fuss buzzing around him, but he agreed to sit on the bumper of the ambulance and allow them to clean his wound and bandage it. It wasn't until the EMTs concurred that a bullet had grazed the shoulder, but didn't lodge inside, that Conner showed signs of relaxing.

  While the EMTs worked on Nick's shoulder, the police questioned him.

  “Did you see the two men?”

  “Of course I did. They were standing right in front of me.” Nick flinched as the EMT cleaned the wound out with antiseptic.

  “Could you describe them to me?” The officer flipped the page in his little notebook and continued writing.

  “The driver was about five-ten, five-eleven. Maybe a hundred and forty pounds. Bald with a scar on his chin. He was wearing black jeans, heavy boots, dark shirt, and a navy blue jacket. The shooter was closer to my height, maybe six-two, six-three. Short brown hair, military cut, heavy eyebrows, he was missing an eyetooth, and he had brown eyes. He was wearing jeans, a black pullover, and a brown leather jacket. Button front, not zip-up like mine. The driver's name is Ira. Can't recall his last name. The shooter was Scott Michaels. They're both employed by Jon Carver. Sometimes as his bodyguards, sometimes as his enforcement goons.”

  The police officer lowered the notebook and grinned at Nick. “Trust you to have everything but their kids’ names.”

  Nick's lips twisted in a hint of smile. “I think Michaels has a kid named after him. Scott Junior.”

  The officer flipped his notebook closed and shoved it in his shirt pocket. “Any idea why they were shooting at you?”

  Nick looked away from the EMT who was taping a bandage over the wound and up at the police officer. “Might have had something to do with the fact that I wasn't going to let them take Miss McNamara.”

  “And they wanted Miss McNamara because…”

  “Because they thought she was Zeena Bantham. What they don't know is that Annie McNamara is Zeena's twin. All I have is rumor and conjecture, but supposedly a dealer named Danny Sloop stole something from Jon Carver and passed it to Zeena, and Jon wants it back. Again, I'm going off street rumor, but I heard it was Jon's laptop and it was stolen out of his car.”

  Just then, Nick saw Steven's Mustang squeal into the parking lot. Steven jumped out of the vehicle and came running over. “You're okay?”

  “I'm fine. Calm down. Do me a favor, would you? Scout around here. See if you can find any trace of Zeena. She went through that old tire factory, but then I lost her. Try to pick up her trail.” As Steven started to move away, Nick called out to him. “And be careful. Someone whacked me in the chest with a tire iron or something. And I don't think it was Zeena.”

  Steven nodded. “Got it.”

  Nick thanked the EMT who had finished the bandaging job and was packing up. Slipping his jacket tenderly over the wound, Nick stood up. “Any word on Richie?”

  The officer just stared at Nick for a long moment. “Don't go there, Nick. We all know about your history with the Carvers.”

  Nick looked up at the officer. “You arrest them for every crime known to man, and the courts let them out on bail, and then I have to chase them down and bring them back in. Not to mention the fact that the last time you guys let him out on bail, Richie killed a fifteen-year-old girl, who just happened to be my daughter's best friend.”

  “I understand your frustration, Nick. We all do. But if something goes wrong, it won't look good for you.”

  “You honestly think I'd just kill him in cold blood? You believe that of me?”

  “No, Nick. I know you better. But things go wrong. You know that better than anyone. Let us find Richie and bring him in. Stay away from it.”

  Nick zipped up his jacket. “What's the story on this other guy? The one that broke out with Richie?”

  “Not much I can tell you. He's a heavy hitter out of Jersey. Was arrested making a hit in Baltimore. Sentenced twenty-five to life. Goes by the name of Cutter Thorne.”

  “Likes the knife, eh?” Nick said as he started walking toward Conner's SUV.

  “So I hear. Carves them up pretty good.” The officer followed him.

  “I'll keep that in mind.”

  As Nick and Conner were climbing into the SUV, the officer said. “Nick, I'm warning you. Don't get involved in this.”

  Nick fastened his seat belt. “If you haven't caught him by now, I don't have much confidence that you ever will. When I find him, I'll give you a call.”

  “Nick…”

  Nick grinned at the officer and rolled up his window. “Where's Rafe?”

  Conner started the engine and put the SUV in reverse. “I gave him your keys and sent him over to make sure that Annie got home safe.”

  “Good.”

  “You think Annie is in danger?”

  “They thought Annie was Zeena. Which means they want Zeena bad enough to risk shooting at me in broad daylight. I don't know if Zeena has this rumored laptop or not, but if she does, Carver's not going to give up trying to get it back. And as long as he's looking for Zeena, Annie could be in danger.”

  As Conner pulled out onto the street, he voiced another thought. “What are the chances that all this about Zeena is a smoke screen to keep us off Richie?”

  “I don't think so,” Nick replied. “But it is something to consider. The timing would be about right. But I need you to do me a favor.”

  “Name it.”

  “I need you to talk to Annie. Find out who she told she was on her way to Jiffy's.” Nick looked over at Conner. “She said she told one of us about the meeting. So either you or Conner knew, which I know you didn't, or someone was impersonating us and got the information from her.”

  “Someone told her they worked for Prodigal?”

  “That's the way it sounds.”

  Conner whistled. “You think it was one of Carver's men?”

  “Most likely. It would be a smart thing to do.”

  “You want me to track down and verify these rumors about a laptop?”

  “Doesn't matter. We have a capias warrant for Zeena. So we find Zeena and take her into custody, laptop or no laptop.”

  Wednesday, 4:10 p.m.

  Downtown Baltimore

  It took Annie nearly ten minutes to convince Rafe that she was fine and that he could go. But by the time she pushed him through her apartment door, she was breaking out in a cold sweat. As she closed the door behind her, she sank down on the floor, barely able to keep her eyes open. Okay, I'm not fine, but no way do I want that man to see me like this.

  She was about to crawl to the sofa when she heard the knock on the door. She reached up and turned the knob. Rafe pushed the door open slowly, looked down at her on the floor, and shook his head. “I knew it. Why do women always think they have to be so tough around me? I'm really into damsels in distress. Honest, I am.”

  He reached down and scooped her up into his arms. She wanted to protest, but by the time her head hit his shoulder, she was unconscious.

  Wednesday, 4:30 p.m.

  The Stark Lily, Park Heights, Baltimore

  Jon's anger was mounting by the second. “You saw her. But she's not here. Why is that, again?”

  Scott and Ira didn't blink. Scott was clenching his jaw so hard that Jon wouldn't have been surprised if his teeth broke. “That bounty hunter was there.”

  Jon
picked up a crystal paperweight off his desk and threw it at Scott. Scott ducked. The paperweight hit a picture on the wall and shattered the glass. “I want that girl. Just stay away from that bounty hunter.”

  “We shot him, Boss. But then the police showed up, so we split.”

  “Tell me you didn't kill him?”

  Scott shook his head. “No.”

  Jon clenched his fists, then unclenched them slowly. He glared at his men. “Go to the farm and get Richie. Don't make any trouble, and be sure that you aren't followed. And on your way out, send Iris up to me. She'll have to pick up where you idiots left off.”

  Wednesday, 4:45 p.m.

  Prodigal offices, Baltimore

  As Steven pulled into the parking lot at Prodigal, Michael's Porsche followed. Michael jumped out of the car and was at Steven's door before Steven had his seat belt loose. “Where's Nick?”

  Steven nodded his head toward the building. “In his office. Probably indulging in Jenna's hovering and fretting. You got here fast.”

  “I got your message, cancelled my meeting, and headed over here. How is he?”

  “Refusing to admit that he's in pain. You know how he is.” Steven started walking toward the door, and Michael fell into step beside him.

  Inside, Michael shrugged out of his cashmere overcoat and draped it over his arm. Jenna was heading toward Nick's office with a can of Mountain Dew. “Hi, Michael.”

  “Jenna, hi. I was just on my way in to see my boy, but that can wait. I have to flirt with you first. You know how it is.”

  Jenna laughed as she shook her head. “Yeah, we know. You can't pass a woman without trying to prove that you've still got it.” She winked at him. “You lost it in college, but don't worry about it. I won't tell anyone.”

  Michael groaned and clutched one hand over his chest. “She's brutal, I tell you. Breaks my heart every time.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Jenna popped the top on Nick's soda and headed into his office.

  “The woman is pining away for me,” Michael said.

  “Jenna? I didn't notice anything,” Steven said with a laugh.

  Steven's phone rang. He didn't recognize the number, but the area code gave him pause. “Hello?”

  “I just wanted to thank you. I got the money.”

  “You're welcome. I can't talk long. Nick's been shot. Can you call me back a little later? Or give me a number to call you?”

  There was a gasp and then silence.

  “Hey. You there?”

  Finally, he heard her speak again. “I just wanted to say thanks. I'll call later if I have time.” Steven heard a click, then he snapped the phone shut.

  “Who was that?” Michael said.

  “Marti.”

  “As in your sister? I thought you guys didn't know how to contact her.”

  “We don't. She calls us. Well, she called me.”

  “Does she know what's going on here?”

  “She knows. But she still refuses to tell us where she is or to come home.”

  Michael just shook his head and walked into Nick's office. “She always was a spoiled brat.”

  Steven stared at Michael. Where in the world did that come from? Marti was headstrong and independent, but a spoiled brat? He couldn't think of anyone who would describe her that way.

  Wednesday, 4:50 p.m.

  Prodigal offices, Baltimore

  Nick moved from the sofa to his desk when Michael walked in. As strange as it sounded, Nick actually felt uncomfortable looking vulnerable around Michael. He'd been friends with him far longer than he had with Conner, and yet he felt safe around Conner in any form of weakness. But not Michael. Nick could detect some little hint of competition in Michael from time to time. It was nothing overt. Nothing spoken. Just a feeling that kept Nick from wanting Michael to see him wounded.

  But when Jessica and Krystal followed behind Michael into his office, he was glad he'd moved to the desk. He didn't want them to see him sprawled out and weak on the couch either. As always, Jessica looked calm and cool as she unbuttoned her coat. “You get shot…and still run right back to work. Typical Nick.” A half smile formed on her face, but Nick felt the barb even if it was meant to be lighthearted.

  Krystal gave him a quick hug, then pulled out her iPod, stuck in her earbuds, and left the office. Nick felt the burn of her dismissal. Obviously, their little talk about Lisa hadn't helped a bit. Pushing the disappointment aside, he forced himself to smile at Steven. “What did you guys do, inform the whole world I got nicked? Hate to see what all of you would do if I really got shot.”

  Steven shrugged with a smile.

  Jessica nodded at Michael. “Michael. Good to see you.”

  “Hi, Jessica.”

  The tension in the room was enough to give Nick a major headache. He eased back down in his chair and opened the desk drawer, pulling out his Excedrin.

  Steven held up his hand. “All right, folks. Thank you for coming, but visiting hours are over and the patient needs to get back to work.”

  “You can't be serious,” Jessica said. “He needs to rest.”

  Nick swallowed two more Excedrin, then looked at his ex-wife. “It's a flesh wound, Jess. It hurts, but it's not going to do much more than aggravate me.” If he didn't know better, he'd swear she was actually concerned about him.

  Wednesday, 5:10 p.m.

  Prodigal offices, Baltimore

  Steven watched while everyone slowly filed out. Nick was pale, and if you looked close enough, you could see the pain he was hiding bracketed around his mouth and eyes. But there was something else there, as well.

  Steven shut Nick's office door, and Nick moved over to the sofa.

  “What's going on? And I don't mean about getting shot,” Steven said.

  Nick set his can of Dew down on a side table and stretched out, crossing his feet at the ankles. “Am I that transparent?”

  “To me you are.” Steven sat down on the edge of the coffee table, shoving a stack of files out of his way. “So talk to me.”

  “I got a threat in the mail yesterday. Threatening Krystal if I don't mind my own business. And Richie made the same threat on the phone to me.”

  Steven leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “What are they threatening to do?”

  “Nothing specific. It was one of those ‘mind your own business and oh, how's your daughter?’ letters.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I'm going to keep Krys safe while I track down Richie and bring him in. I'm close to Richie, Steven. I can feel it. I'm closing in on Zeena, and word on the street about the laptop is growing louder. If I can get that girl, Richie won't be far behind.”

  Steven bowed his head and then tilted it up to look at his brother. “I have a better idea, Nick. Forget Richie and keep Krystal safe.”

  10

  Wednesday, 7:00 p.m.

  Carver Farm, Sykesville, Maryland

  Richie Carver didn't know how Cutter could be so calm and quiet. The old farmhouse was driving him crazy. It was too quiet, too isolated, too stark. He wanted the comfort of the condo—the bar that was never empty, the soft bed, the hot shower. And what he'd give for a decent meal.

  Taking cold showers and sleeping on dusty cots didn't seem to bother Cutter at all. He seemed more than content to listen to the crickets and the birds, and he didn't seem bothered by Richie's pacing from one end of the room to the other.

  Where was Jon?

  “You said your brother would take care of us, so relax.” Cutter lit a cigarette. “You're not accomplishing anything with all this stressing, dude.”

  Richie was more than a little impressed with Cutter Thorne. He was a good six foot six with the physique of a man who tuned his body as well as any other weapon in his arsenal. He moved with the grace and lightness of a cat, but even in movement, there was a stillness about him that put Richie on edge.

  Richie heard a car door slam, and jumped up and ran to the window. “Scott's here.”

 
; Standing up, Cutter pulled out his pistol. “Who is Scott?”

  “One of our men. Relax.” Richie opened the door. “Scott. Where's Jon?”

  Scott walked in and handed Richie a duffel bag. “He sent clothes and said to bring you back to the condo.” Then Scott noticed Cutter and pulled his gun. Cutter raised his own piece, and the two men eyed each other like two starved pit bulls.

  Richie reached up and pulled Scott's hand down. “This is Cutter. He's the one that helped me escape. I owe him.”

  Slowly, Scott holstered his pistol but didn't take his eyes off Cutter. “As soon as you're dressed, we're out of here. Your brother's waiting.”

  “Cutter is coming with us,” Richie stated.

  “Your brother didn't say anything about this guy.”

  Richie shook out a hooded sweatshirt from the duffel bag and pulled it on. “I did.”

  Scott didn't move. “No. Your brother didn't say nuthin to me about this guy.”

  Richie walked over and yanked the gun from Scott's holster and then jammed the barrel under Scott's chin. The man's eyes went wide.

  “You work for the Carver brothers. I'm telling you to get in that van and do what I say. If you can't do that, I'll kill you here and drive the van myself.”

  “Okay, Richie, okay. Sorry.”

  When Richie saw sweat beading on Scott's forehead, he lowered the gun.

  Richie grinned at Cutter. “Let's go.”

  Wednesday, 7:20 p.m.

  Carver Farm, Sykesville, Maryland

  As content as Cutter was in the Carvers’ old farmhouse, he was glad to be on his way to their condo. From what Richie had told him, the place was stocked with better amenities than the Plaza.

  Richie Carver was a piece of work, no doubt. No one had ever accused Cutter of being the most stable of men, but he was a brick compared to Richie. The man could go from nervous and tense, to jovial and goofy, to deadly in the blink of an eye. At first glance, you'd dismiss the man as a pawn of his older brother, but stick around long enough and you'd see just how wrong you were.

  Cutter resolved at that moment not to underestimate Richie. It might prove deadly.