Shepherd's Fall

by W. L. Dyson

  “You know where she is? How is she?” he asked.

  “She's safe for now. We're going to do everything we can to keep her that way. We have the location under surveillance. I assure you, we will get her out just as soon as we can.”

  “Why can't you just get her out now? Or maybe an hour ago?”

  “Because Carver has men guarding her. If we go in, he'll know we're there.”

  Nick could feel the anger radiating off Jessica and, combined with his own, knew it could erupt into assault with very little provocation. “I'm going to ask the two of you to step out of my office and shut the door.”

  “We will be in the lobby, but please don't try anything stupid, Mr. Shepherd,” Harrows informed him. “We will be keeping an eye on you.”

  “Just get out. Or I'll throw you out.”

  18

  Saturday, 11:30 a.m.

  Prodigal offices, Baltimore

  While the agents hovered, Jessica had fallen asleep on the sofa in Nick's office, so Conner, Nick, Steven, Marti, Annie, and Rafe had gravitated to the kitchen, where they could distance themselves from the ATF agents guarding the front door.

  “I don't see how they can force me to stay,” Annie stated with fire in her eyes. “I'm just an innocent bystander, right? They can't expect me to go charging off with guns blazing.”

  “No,” Rafe agreed. “They'd probably allow you to go home. You don't have to stay, Annie.”

  “It's not a matter of not wanting to stay,” she told him. “I'm just saying, I could go. And I could meet someone a block away with a car. You know. In case someone figures out how to sneak out of here.”

  Nick barely acknowledged the comment. He needed to work out a plan. But one overriding thought—that every minute Krystal was in Carver's hands was one minute too many—made his thoughts foggy and unorganized.

  Frustration buzzed through him, keeping him on his feet, pacing the small room. He kept arguing with himself.

  Let the ATF do their job.

  Are you crazy? Don't trust them with your daughter's life!

  “Nick, please sit down. You're making me dizzy.” Marti reached out and touched his arm as he passed her.

  He sat down at the small kitchen table and glanced up at the clock. Eleven thirty. If he was going to do this, he needed to get started. He pulled out his cell phone, and ignoring the questioning looks of everyone in the room, he dialed. “Luke. Sorry to wake you. I need a favor.”

  “Name it.”

  “Don't ask for details.”

  “No problem. Details I can get anytime. What do you need?”

  Nick glanced at the door. “I have a couple of Feds in my lobby. I need them, shall we say, otherwise occupied.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  Smiling, Nick explained, then hung up. Next, he pulled out the business card Benedict's men had given him and dialed. “I have the laptop and I'll turn it over to you. With conditions.”

  “I'm listening,” Benedict replied.

  Saturday, 12:10 p.m.

  Prodigal offices, Baltimore

  Jessica stared down at the coffee in her hand, not quite sure how it got there. She was going through the motions. She couldn't imagine feeling anything until her daughter was back. She reached over and set her coffee down on the table in Nick's office.

  “Hey.” Nick sat down on the sofa next to her. He stared at her, his hazel eyes full of pain. They mirrored her own. “How are you holding up?”

  Jessica stared down at her hands, clenched in her lap. “Numb. I'm just numb. I keep praying and trying to trust God, but it's not easy. So many kids die each year. What if our daughter ends up being one of them?”

  Nick stayed silent for a long moment. She felt a palpable tension between them that she couldn't deny. She wanted to curl up in his arms and find comfort, hope, peace. She wanted him to make it all better, but she knew from experience that she wasn't likely to find any of those things in his arms.

  He reached out and took her hand. He squeezed it. “I won't let that happen, Jess. I won't.”

  “How can you make that promise?”

  “I just can. Trust me.”

  Primed by fatigue, stress, and downright fear, she began to speak. She couldn't hide behind her emotional walls any longer. “Once again, I'm exhausted by how you expect to control everything. You expect that people are just supposed to line up behind you and do things the way you want.”

  “It's just the way I am, Jess.”

  “I know. And while your heart is in the right place, your methods have always left a lot to be desired. Steven, Marti, me, Krystal. We aren't always going to live our lives the way you see fit. We each have the right to do what we think is right for our lives.”

  Nick sank back in the sofa, stretching out his legs, but she could see the hint of temper in his eyes. “You wanted the divorce. I let you do what you thought was right for you.”

  “I never wanted a divorce, Nick. I wanted a husband. I wanted you to spend time with me. I wanted you to talk to me. I wanted to feel more important than everyone and everything else.”

  Nick looked over at her as if he'd never seen her before. “Why didn't you tell me that?”

  “I did. Several times. You weren't listening. I thought if I threatened divorce, it would force you to listen. The joke was on me.”

  Nick dropped his eyes and stared at the floor for a few minutes. Jessica didn't know whether she wanted to take the words back or not, but she was feeling so vulnerable and raw. Maybe it was time he knew how much he hurt the people who loved him. Then again, maybe it wouldn't make any difference at all.

  “Maybe I should have tried harder,” she admitted, “but you were always finding some excuse to be away or to cancel vacations and family outings. I lost count of the excuses. I finally just stopped making any plans at all that included you.”

  Nick leaned his head back and closed his eyes. No longer able to read his expression, she waited in silence.

  “You're right,” he said softly. “I always put work first. I counted on you and Krystal to be there waiting when I got home, but I couldn't count on a fugitive to sit around and wait for me to show up. That was my rationale, and it was wrong. I was wrong. There's always another day, another fugitive, another chase.” He looked over at her, and for the first time, she realized that this had cost him as much as it had cost her and their daughter.

  “So Krystal does everything she can to act out, thinking that being bad will make me pay attention to her.”

  “Oh yeah. And then some. She feels that neither of us love her. I'm afraid I'm as much to blame for that as you are. I didn't make any secret of how angry I was at you, and she took the brunt of that.”

  “Same here.”

  “So she rebels. She argues. She does whatever she can to make us react, because I guess any reaction is better than none at all.”

  Nick groaned. “Jenna tried to tell me the same thing, but I didn't realize how deep this went.”

  “It runs deep, Nick. And now she's in the hands of someone who may very well kill her.”

  “No.” Nick slapped his thighs and sat forward. “I'm going to get her back, safe and sound, and then I'm going to make sure she knows how much I love her, even if I have to take a month off from work to make sure she gets the message.”

  Jessica smiled, but deep in her traitorous heart, she wished he had included her in that effort. But what did she expect? She had left the marriage, divorced him, and then made sure he knew the black side of her temper every day since. She couldn't really blame him for not loving her anymore.

  “First, I need to bring her home,” Nick said. “Then I'll worry about the rest.” With another pat on her hand, he stood up.

  She reached out for his hand. “Nick.”

  “What?”

  She stared at him a moment and then shook her head. “Nothing.”

  He stepped back. “Okay. I've got to go get our daughter back.” And then he quickly left the office.


  Jess swung her feet up on the sofa and stretched out. Curling her hand under her cheek, she realized her face was wet. She wiped away the tears.

  Saturday, 12:30 p.m.

  Prodigal offices, Baltimore

  Nick stepped into the bathroom and locked the door. Bracing his hands on the sink, he bowed his head and let the tears fall. Within seconds, something broke and the quiet tears were joined by a heaving pain in his chest. He locked his elbows to keep from sinking to the floor, only to flinch when pain shot through his right shoulder.

  He could come up with a hundred things Jess had done to hurt him while they were married. A thousand things she had done to aggravate him. A million things she had done to annoy him. But he knew that if he added them all up, it wasn't enough to justify never being there for his wife except to wear the clothes she washed for him, sleep in the bed she made for him, use the shaving cream she bought for him, eat the meals she cooked for him. No wonder she'd thrown him out.

  He'd been so busy looking for excuses for why Krystal was the way she was when all he had to do was look in a mirror to see the cause for her rebellion. He was the one who had been ignoring his family and letting his daughter grow up thinking that her daddy didn't love her.

  What kind of man would do that?

  And no wonder God didn't answer his prayers anymore. He'd done the same thing with God. He'd just lived his life his way and expected God to be there to handle things he didn't want to deal with. Never listened to God. Never considered God's opinions. God, do this. God, do that.

  He could make a million excuses, and they'd all be good ones— his father had died, he took over the business, the company had financial problems, his mother was ill, he'd gone through a divorce, he had to move back into his parents’ home because he couldn't afford a place of his own.

  Excuses. Excuses for not being a good husband. Or a good father. Or a good son. He was too busy. Too stressed. Too consumed with doing things the way he expected them to be done.

  “Nick?” Conner's voice was followed by a series of hard raps on the door. “You okay?”

  Nick straightened and then turned on the cold water. “Fine. I'll be right out.”

  He washed his face, ran his fingers through his hair, and squared his shoulders. There was nothing he could do about his red eyes. It was what it was. He was beyond caring what anyone thought. He took a deep, cleansing breath. Regardless of past mistakes, regrets, and recriminations, his daughter was out there waiting for him to ride in on a white horse and save her. This time, he wasn't going to let her down.

  Yanking the door open, he strode out, passing Conner, who was still there waiting on him. “Grab me a Dew, will you?”

  When Nick stepped into his office, Marti was sitting at his desk, Jon's laptop open in front of her. The rest of his team was scattered around his office, talking, reading, and doing research on their own laptops. “What are you doing?”

  “Making an insurance policy for you.” She pointed to a flash drive sticking out the side. “I'm making a copy of everything on this thing. If Carver doesn't agree to let Krystal go, you make sure you tell him that I have this and if I don't hear from you in a reasonable amount of time, I'll give this to the Feds.”

  Nick smiled. “My little sister. The warrior.”

  “You have no idea,” she muttered, keeping her eyes on the laptop screen as if it were the most interesting thing she'd ever seen. “The problem is, the good stuff is encrypted and I can't break it.” She stood up. “I'll be back.”

  Nick eased a hip onto the corner of his desk and took the can of Mountain Dew Conner handed him. “Does everyone understand what's going on?”

  There were nods all around, except from Jessica, who just stared at him with a vacant expression that hit him hard once again. He took one last sweep of the room, not meeting her eyes. Two of the most important women in his life were in this building, and he wasn't sure he really knew either of them. If he made it through tonight, he was going to make sure all that changed.

  If he made it out alive. Nick glanced at his watch. “None of you are obligated to go with me. In fact, I'd prefer if you didn't. I got myself into this. I pushed Carver, and it's come back to slap me in the face.”

  Rafe made a big show of rolling his eyes. “Can we just get this part over with?”

  Conner leaned forward. “I need to speak my piece, Boss.”

  “Go for it.”

  “I'm not comfortable with you taking this deal from Benedict. I know you think you have to in order to get Krys back, but there has to be another way. You can't get in bed with these guys or you'll never be free of them.”

  “Do you trust me, Conn?”

  “Yeah.”

  Nick put his hand out and touched Conner's arm. “Then prove it. Trust me. I believe that I'm making the right decision. I've looked at every angle I can think of. This is my daughter's life at stake. I'm not going to mess it up.”

  “And you think Benedict is the right decision?”

  “I'm ninety-nine percent sure I have this worked out to the last detail.”

  Conner nodded. “Okay. We'll meet you at the parking garage at Camden Yards, but if you don't call by the time I think you should, I'll show up at Benedict's office with guns blazing.”

  Nick laughed. “Duly noted.”

  “Anybody home?” Michael O'Shea's voice boomed through the office from the reception area. Then he appeared in the doorway. “What are you doing here?”

  “Krystal's been taken by Carver,” Nick said, not missing the wince on Jessica's face.

  Michael tossed his jacket down over the arm of a chair. “I figured as much. Nick, I warned you—”

  “Shut up, O'Shea. This isn't the time.” Conner glared at Michael.

  Michael threw both hands in the air. “Sorry. I'm just upset.” He turned to Nick as he dropped down in a chair. “What's the plan?”

  “Keep your voice down. Those two men out there are with the ATF. They don't want me to leave the office.”

  “Why not?”

  “It's a long story.”

  Michael glanced from the doorway to Nick. “You doing something illegal?”

  “No. Just something they don't like. But right now, I'm more concerned with getting Krystal back.”

  Michael stepped forward. “Give Jon Carver whatever he wants. Tell him you'll take his money. That'll you'll agree to look the other way once in a while.” Michael slumped down. “I'm just afraid that if you don't take his money, he'll hurt Krys.”

  “Yeah, take the easy way out,” Marti said stiffly, reentering the room. “You were always good at that, weren't you?”

  “Marti?” Michael's jaw dropped as his eyes widened. “I…didn't know you were here.”

  She whirled, pointing her finger at him. “You don't see me. You don't talk to me. I pretend I don't see you. Got it?”

  “Oh, come on, Marti. That was what, fourteen, fifteen years ago? Don't you get over anything?”

  Marti picked up Conner's gun, slipped it out of the holster, and then pointed it at Michael, taking a step toward him.

  Michael dived out of the chair and hid behind the desk. “Marti! Are you nuts?”

  Shaking his head, Conner took his gun out of Marti's hands. “Play nice.”

  “I am.” Marti said with a smirk, then walked over and sat back down behind the desk. “If I hadn't, I'd have loaded the gun first.”

  “You haven't changed a bit,” Michael griped, red-faced as he stood up, brushing off his slacks.

  Nick hid his smile behind his hand. Marti and Michael had never gotten along. It would appear that Marti's absence hadn't changed any of those feelings. “Go home, Michael.” He looked over at Marti. “You almost done there?”

  “Yeah,” she said without looking up. “Yeah, I wanted to give one more try at breaking the encryption on Carver's files, but it's over my head.”

  Michael stood up. “You have Carver's laptop? And you're looking in it? Do you have a death w
ish?”

  Marti glanced up at him. “Did I hear a mouse squeak in here? You need to call an exterminator, Nick. Mice carry diseases.”

  “Cut it out, you two.” Nick stepped away from the laptop. “I don't have the patience to deal with this right now. It was amusing when you were teenagers. It's not now.”

  Michael slapped both hands down on the desk. “Nick, I'm serious. You are playing with fire here. If Carver finds out that you've gone through his personal information, there's no way he'll let you live.”

  “Oh, cool out, O'Shea.” Marti turned off the laptop and closed the lid. “All I did was read a few e-mails.”

  Ignoring her, Michael kept his attention on Nick. “You can't just give Carver that laptop and expect him to just let you and Krys walk out of there. Take the money, Nick.”

  Nick picked up his soda can and gulped from it. Lord, help me out here.

  Marti came out from behind the desk, picked up Annie's water bottle, then flung the water in Michael's face. “Go home and dry off, dude. You're dripping on the floor.”

  Michael came to his feet, sputtering. “What did you do that for?”

  “Because this is hard enough for Nick without you whining like a baby about the danger he and Krystal are in. Nick's a pro. He's faced more danger in one week than you have in your whole life. Now get out.”

  Nick set his can down and then looked his friend in the face. “Michael. I need you to leave now.”

  “But—”

  “Now.”

  “Look, Nick—”

  “Conner, please escort Michael to the front door and make sure he doesn't come back in.”

  Saturday, 12:40 p.m.

  Prodigal offices, Baltimore

  Marti locked the bathroom door, closing herself and Annie inside.

  Annie rubbed her arms. “Okay, why are we locking ourselves in the bathroom with a potted fern?”

  Marti laughed. “Because you're supposed to look like you've been living in a drain pipe for weeks.” She pointed to the dirt in the flowerpot. “Dirt. Rub your hands into it, girl. Get into the spirit of this. Then rub your hands down your jeans and across your shirt.” Marti picked up a handful and began to streak Annie's face.