‘Fuck you!’ shouted Dushku.
The third heavy, Gëzim Prifti, moved to the right.
Shepherd gritted his teeth. The Albanians clearly had no intention of backing down. They were all reaching inside their coats. Shepherd didn’t want to shoot until they were actually holding their weapons. In a war zone the rules were different, but London wasn’t a war zone, despite what was published in the more strident tabloids, and if he were to kill unarmed men he’d be letting himself in for a whole world of trouble.
Kriezis pulled a revolver from his coat and waved it over Harry’s head. ‘Drop your weapon or I’ll shoot the kid,’ he shouted.
Harry was staring fearfully at Shepherd. A damp patch spread around the crotch of his trousers. He’d wet himself.
Shepherd stared at Kriezis but his mind flashed back to Slovenia. The fear in Katra’s eyes, the hatred pouring out of Zivco Žagar, the finger tightening on the trigger. Shepherd gritted his teeth. There was no way he was going to let Harry die.
‘Drop your fucking gun or the kid is …’
Shepherd fired twice and both shots ripped through the man’s face, splattering blood and brain and fragments of skull across the wall behind him. For a second Kriezis remained upright and then he collapsed and his gun clattered onto the concrete floor.
Shepherd was already moving, dropping down and turning to the left. There were two men there so they were the major threat: Dushku and Shkodra. Dushku’s hand was emerging from his jacket. He was holding something but it wasn’t a gun. Shkodra’s hands were at his sides, he was staring in horror at the body on the floor.
Shepherd heard rustling to his right. He stepped back and turned, still keeping low to make himself as small a target as possible.
Prifti had a gun in his hand but his arm was shaking and when he saw Shepherd turn he panicked and the shot went low, hitting the ground close to Shepherd’s left foot and ricocheting off behind him.
Shepherd was holding his Glock with both hands and fired twice, a textbook double tap to Prifti’s chest. Prifti staggered back and fell to the floor. Shepherd had fired five shots which meant he only had two left.
He turned again and Dushku was moving towards him, a cut-throat razor in his right hand. Shepherd brought his gun to bear on Dushku’s throat and the heavy stopped, clearly realising that there was no way he could reach Shepherd before the trigger was pulled. Shkodra was putting his hands in the air. ‘Don’t shoot,’ he said.
Harry staggered over to Sharpe and Sharpe put his arms around the boy. Harry buried his face in Sharpe’s chest and sobbed.
Shepherd kept his gun trained on Dushku’s throat. The two men locked eyes. Dushku was still trying to work out if he could get to Shepherd, but then the fight went out of him and he folded the razor. He started to put it back in his jacket pocket but Shepherd shook his head. ‘On the floor,’ he said.
‘No,’ snarled Dushku. ‘It was my father’s razor.’
Shepherd lowered the Glock and shot the man in the leg. Dushku screamed in pain and threw the razor down. ‘Get down on the floor,’ said Shepherd. ‘Both of you.’
The two men did as they were told, dropping to their knees and then lowering themselves down. Shepherd fished out his phone with his left hand and called 999.
The police car stopped about a hundred yards down the road from the Dexter house. Shepherd and Sharpe were in the back, sitting either side of Harry. ‘Give us a minute, please,’ Shepherd said to the driver, a young constable with a rash of acne across the back of his neck. Sharpe’s Jaguar had been pretty much written off when it had crashed into the industrial unit, a fact that Sharpe had mentioned at least three times during the drive to Reading.
Sharpe and Shepherd climbed out and stood on the pavement. Harry joined them.
Shepherd patted the teenager on the shoulder. ‘Harry, are you okay?’ Even though the teenager nodded Shepherd wasn’t convinced. Harry was avoiding eye contact and had a worried look on his face.
Shepherd looked across at Sharpe, wondering how he felt about the state the boy was in. Sharpe shrugged.
‘Harry, if you want, I could go with you and explain to your mum and dad what’s happened,’ said Shepherd.
Harry shook his head fiercely. ‘No way,’ he said.
‘I think you’d be surprised,’ said Shepherd. ‘You’re their son, they’ll understand.’
‘I said no!’ hissed Harry. He looked over at Sharpe. ‘You said they’d never know. That’s what you said.’
‘And what I said, stands,’ said Sharpe.
‘Whatever you want to do, we’ll abide by your decision,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’m just saying that you’ve been through a lot today and you might feel better if you confided in your mum and dad. If my son did something wrong I would still support him, no matter what.’
Harry sniffed and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. ‘You think I did something wrong?’
‘No. That’s not what I meant. You were helping the police and if you tell your mum and dad that, they’ll be there for you.’
‘You don’t know my dad.’
‘No, but I am a dad myself. And trust me, dads love their kids, no matter what. Mums probably even more.’
Harry shook his head. ‘I don’t want them to know.’
‘That’s fine,’ said Shepherd. ‘It’s totally your call. But if you do change your mind, remember what I said. They’ll support you. And if you ever want to talk to me, you can call me. Any time, day or night.’
Harry forced a smile. ‘Thank you,’ he said. He opened the car door and got out. He waved at Sharpe, shouldered his bag, and walked towards his house.
‘He’ll be okay,’ said Sharpe as they watched him walk away. ‘He’s a tough kid.’
‘I hope so,’ said Shepherd. ‘But he’s still got the phone so I’ll be able to keep an eye on him.’
‘An ear, you mean,’ said Sharpe with a grin.
‘That, too,’ said Shepherd. Harry turned into the driveway. He turned to look at their car, gave them a small wave, and disappeared from sight.
‘You’ll be his guardian angel, is that it?’ asked Sharpe.
‘Exactly.’
‘For how long?’
‘For as long as he needs me,’ said Shepherd.
Shepherd parked his BMW X5 in front of the garage and let himself into the house. He had to stop himself calling out Katra’s name. He flashed back to the last time he’d arrived home and his stomach churned at the memory of her rushing towards him and leaping into his arms. He closed the front door and walked down the hallway to the kitchen. He dropped his holdall by the table and took a bottle of soda water from the fridge and a handful of ice cubes from the freezer. He dropped the cubes into a glass and added half the soda water, then went through to the living room. He picked up a bottle of Jameson whiskey from the drinks cabinet and sat down on the sofa. He added a slug of whiskey to his glass and sipped it, then took out his phone. He took another long pull on his whiskey and accessed his voicemail. He sat back, put the phone on speaker, and pressed the button to listen to the first of Katra’s messages.
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Table of Contents
Contents
Also by Stephen Leather
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Dan ‘Spider’ Shepherd …
Short Range (The Spider Shepherd Thrillers Book 16) Page 35