Shepherd's Fall

by W. L. Dyson

  Not today.

  Wasn't the day already exhausting enough, without Krystal going in to her rebellious teen act? Swallowing the rebuke on the tip of his tongue, he tried to keep his voice neutral. “Aren't you supposed to be in school?”

  Krystal's smile vanished as she gave him a snotty tilt of her head. “There's no school today. Teachers’ conference. Mom's at work. She said I could spend the day here with you guys.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, your mother called and said that you've been skipping school.” He glanced down at his watch. “And the school day isn't over. Which means you're skipping now too.”

  His daughter's shoulders lifted in an exaggerated shrug. “She must have forgot that we have teachers’ conferences.”

  Good news—my daughter has stopped by to see me. Bad news—she's lying.

  Nick clenched his pen a little tighter. Just once it'd be nice if she weren't forcing him to come down on her for some misdeed. When was the last time they were able to just spend time together without the conflict?

  Lisa's funeral.

  And with that thought, the guilt swamped him again.

  Rafe leaned down, stared down in the direction of Krystal's feet, and then lifted one eyebrow with a frown. “Uh, Krys, is that a tattoo?”

  Nick stiffened as Krystal grinned and kicked her foot up and slammed it down on the coffee table, showing off a black band around her ankle. Nick jerked to his feet, the movement wiping the smile off Krystal's face.

  “A tattoo? What possessed you to do such a thing? You know I have already forbidden it. Does your mother know about this?”

  Her bottom lip thrust out as she returned his glare. “Mom said I could.”

  “After I already told you no. That's just great.”

  Krystal jumped to her feet. “I don't care. You're always telling me no. I can't ever do anything. Why don't you just stick me in some boring private school?”

  And he was ready to put that option on the table again. But this was neither the place nor the time, and it had already gone too far. He took a deep, calming breath. “Give me a minute and I'll take you to back to school.”

  Krystal burst into tears and started for the door.

  “Where do you think you're going?”

  “Back to school, if you really must know. I can take the bus, thanks very much.”

  He was tired of arguing with her. “Fine. Take the bus.” Then he stopped. The bus. Out on the streets where Richie would have easy access to her. “On second thought, I'm not okay with that. Steven, would you do me a favor and drive your niece to school?”

  Steven rolled his eyes. “Sure. No problem, Boss.”

  “I don't need him to take me,” Krystal said.

  “And yet he's going to anyway. Wow.”

  Krystal glared at him before slamming the door behind her. Rafe and Conner followed after her. “We'll keep an eye on her, Boss,” Rafe said.

  It hadn't escaped Nick's mind that Krystal reminded him of his little sister. He'd even be willing to admit that he projected some of his confusion over Marti onto his daughter. Krystal had barely been two years old when Marti up and disappeared. For a long time, Nick had mourned, thinking his baby sister was dead. But then their father's contacts had hit pay dirt in Nashville. A sighting. Then another confirmed sighting in Brownsville, Texas. Now he knew she was alive. So the search went on.

  “Well,” Steven interjected with a sharp laugh, “I think that went well, don't you?”

  Nick's temper refused to abate with his daughter's departure. “Are you going to take her or not?” He took another deep breath. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap. Thanks for being willing to take her.”

  Steven just nodded, his face betraying a lingering resentment.

  “Listen,” Nick said, “there's something else. I know you have these skips to find, but if you have any spare time at all, I'd appreciate whatever effort you can put into helping me track down leads on Marti.” He paused. “It's just that finding her is becoming more urgent than ever.”

  Steven gestured a salute. “Yes sir. I'll get right on it as soon as I get back from driving your daughter to school.” He snatched up the skip papers and stalked out of the office.

  A moment later, Nick lifted his head to see Jenna standing in the doorway, her hands on her hips, her head tilted. “What?”

  “She's just trying to get your attention.”

  “Oh, well, she's certainly got it.” Nick reached for his slice of pizza and took a bite. It was cold. He tossed it down on his desk. “A tattoo. Unbelievable.”

  “I wouldn't be surprised if Jessica was just as furious to find out that you'd supposedly allowed Krystal to get a tattoo.”

  “I never—”

  Jenna threw her hand up, cutting Nick off. “Of course you didn't, but Krystal has, like most children from broken homes, learned how to play one parent against the other. If you and Jessica could put aside your own agendas long enough to discuss your daughter, you might find that Krystal is far smarter than you give her credit for.”

  Leaning back in his chair, Nick reached for a napkin and started wiping his fingers. “You're probably right.” But he didn't want to talk about Krystal. That only led to thinking about Lisa. “So. How's the dating scene these days?”

  Jenna folded her arms across her chest and lowered her chin. “Not yet, Nick.”

  “Jenna, it's been six years. Don't you think it's time? You told me you'd start dating again when Tim went off to college. Speaking of…Rafe is interested, you know.”

  She snickered. “Rafe flirts with any woman below the age of seventy. That's not what I'm looking for.”

  “If you and he got serious, he wouldn't flirt. You know that.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. But I'm not looking for a man that will change because I agree to go out with him. Either he is what I want or he's not.”

  “Maybe you're just scared, Jenna.”

  “Scared?” She snickered again, but it sounded hollow. “I am not scared.” She sank down in the chair. “Okay, maybe a little. But Rafe is going to push me for more than I can give. A man like him? Women always panting after him? I'm not like that, Nick. I take my faith seriously, and having a casual fling with a man is not on my list of things to consider.”

  “Rafe takes his faith seriously too.”

  “I'm sure he does. But I'm just not interested in falling for a heartthrob. You think it's easy for me? Working day in and day out with all of you? I am a woman, you know, and I've been alone a long time.”

  He grinned at her, pretending to curl the ends of an imaginary mustache. “Oh yeah? Want some candy?”

  Jenna laughed. “Don't flatter yourself. I was talking about Steven. He just rocks my boat.”

  Nick groaned as he tossed a paper clip at her. “That hurt.” Then he leaned back and met Jenna's eyes, held them for a moment. “For what it's worth, you're going to have to risk something if you're ever going to find love again.”

  The smile was more of a smirk when she lifted an eyebrow and stood up. “Believe that yourself and then we'll talk.”

  As the door closed behind her, the phone rang. He pushed Jenna's targeted words aside. “Prodigal Recovery.”

  “Nick?” It was Petey. “Whatja doin?”

  “Just tracking down some leads. You got something for me?”

  “Yeah. I was down at Jiffy's Bar talking to Bobby Wheeler. Anyway, I saw a girl come in. I swear it's that woman you're looking for. Zeena Bantham. So I followed her. She eventually went into this apartment. I'm sitting out in the parking lot watching.”

  Nick stood up, tucking the phone under his chin as he pulled open his top drawer and pulled out his holstered gun. “Hold on, Petey. Give Conner the address, and I'm on my way.” He pushed a button on the phone. “Conner? I have Petey on line two. He's got Zeena cornered. Get the address from him and then grab your gear. I'll meet you out front.”

  Nick picked up his Kevlar vest and left his office. Then he stopped, remem
bered his detour that morning, and looked around the reception area. “Where's the dog?”

  Jenna looked up. “Steven took him to a groomer a few hours ago and dropped him off.”

  “Why? It's a stray. We aren't keeping it. I just didn't want it left out there in the rain.”

  Jenna tucked a stack of papers into a file folder and tossed them onto a stack to be filed. “I think Steven's already attached. Anyway, the dog stank.”

  Tuesday, 1:45 p.m.

  The Stark Lily, Park Heights, Baltimore

  Jon Carver's office was tucked away above the offices and rest rooms of the Stark Lily. The walls were nearly soundproof, so the music could be rattling the windows half a block away and Jon wouldn't be able to hear a thing. The office was decorated more like the corner office of a corporate CEO, but then, Jon was the head of his own empire, so why not? Plush carpets, expensive paintings, polished cherry desk, matching cabinets and shelves that held a wet bar and safe, and a flat screen mounted on the far wall.

  Jon tapped his cigar on the edge of a crystal ashtray and spun it slowly as he listened to a business associate on the other end of the line. He braced the phone on his shoulder and reached down to pull open a desk drawer and retrieve his gold-plated pen.

  “Ben, Ben, Ben. I promise you, you're going to be thrilled with this shipment. First-rate equipment.” The equipment better be first rate. He'd paid enough to those supply officers to get the newest pistols and rifles the army had available. It was worth it, of course. For every dollar he spent in bribes and payoffs, he made a hundred with this deal. Not bad for a day's work.

  Bored with his buyer, he picked up the remote and turned on the television, keeping the sound off. He picked up his cigar and took a puff. “Thursday night at midnight. Yeah, yeah.”

  But when he saw his brother's face flash across the TV screen, he nearly dropped the phone. Grabbing the remote, he turned up the sound. “Ben, something just came up. I'll call you back.”

  He hung up the phone and listened to the reporter give details on the morning's prison escape. He shouldn't have been surprised that it was all over the news. It wasn't that often that two killers successfully escaped and disappeared.

  Richie had called him at five that morning to tell him that he was out and hiding with another inmate up at the farm. Jon had a million questions, but as usual, Richie had no answers. Of course, Richie expected to just come waltzing back into the club as if nothing had happened. But it wasn't going to be that easy for him. More times than he could count, Jon regretted promising his mother that he'd look out for his younger brother.

  He shook his head.

  He had just sold one of the biggest shipments he'd ever brokered, and now Richie's escape would have every cop and Fed knocking on Jon's door. Perfect.

  On top of that, his laptop with all his recent shipment dates, points of origin, and sales values had been stolen. He needed to get that back before it fell into the wrong hands. The wrong hands being anyone except his own.

  It seemed that God wasn't exactly on his side these days.

  But if God was going to play dirty, so would he.

  Just then another thought hit him. He massaged his temples. With Richie on the run, that bounty hunter Nick Shepherd would be all over this like a Rottweiler on a ham bone. Jon was going to have to try even harder to distract the good Mr. Shepherd and his team until those guns were safely in the hands of his buyer and the money was deposited in his offshore account. So far, every effort he'd made to bribe Shepherd had failed, but no one was totally incorruptible.

  Tuesday, 2:15 p.m.

  Prodigal SUV, en route to northern Baltimore

  After piling into Nick's vehicle, Conner read over Zeena's bail skip information one more time.

  “Zeena Bantham. Single, thirty-four, five foot six, red hair, green eyes, one hundred and four pounds. Priors include six for prostitution, two for possession of a controlled substance, and two unpaid parking tickets. Four DWIs. This last arrest was for assault with a deadly weapon.” Conner turned the sheet to look at the one below it. “She attacked her john with a knife.” He dropped the sheet and went back to her record. “Driver's license revoked in '01. Currently on probation for prostitution and possession. Failure to appear on the twenty-second on the assault charge. Failure to report to parole officer on the twenty-fourth.”

  Nick navigated the SUV off 695 and into a residential neighborhood. He was a little surprised at the area. Not the usual home base for a street girl.

  He made a left off Reisterstown Road onto a narrow side street, and Conner pointed to a red brick, three-story apartment building. “That's it right there: 509. And there's Petey.”

  Nick spotted Petey's blue Camry sitting near the entrance of the parking lot and pulled in, parking next to it. He, Rafe, and Conner climbed out of the SUV and opened the rear hatch. Nick shrugged out of his jacket and grabbed his Kevlar vest. “What do we have, Petey?”

  Petey danced from one foot to the other, his eyes wide with excitement as he held out his hand. Nick pulled out the fifty and put it in Petey's hand. It disappeared faster than a fifty at the grocery store. “She hasn't come back out yet. I talked to this lady that came out a few minutes ago, and she said the broad is a tenant. Apartment 2-E, though she said the broad goes by a different name.”

  Conner folded his arms across his chest and looked at the cars in the parking lot. “Ford, Chevrolet, Saturn, Volkswagen. Nothing more than nine or ten years old. Not typical of a tweeker's usual economic stratum.”

  Turning back to Petey, Nick asked, “And the lady said she was a tenant?”

  “Sure did. Yep. Said she'd been here about two years.”

  “Odd.” Nick mused. “Okay, Petey. Thanks.”

  Petey jumped into his car and sped off. Probably heading straight to the nearest bar to spend the money.

  “Rafe, check the back. Make sure there's only one door in and out.”

  Rafe nodded and jogged off behind the building.

  Nick zipped up his jacket, dropped the hatch, and headed across the parking lot to the front of the building. Inside the lobby, he checked the mailboxes to confirm the apartment number.

  “Half of these have no names.” Conner cracked a smile. “No one likes to make our job easy, do they?”

  “It isn't personal, I'm sure.” Nick replied dryly as they headed up the stairs. Conner already had his gun out, in hand, and hanging at his side.

  On the second floor, they cautiously made their way down to apartment 2-E. Without a word from Nick, Conner slipped past him to take a position on the other side of the door. A slight noise had Nick looking over his shoulder. Rafe joined them and whispered, “Covered.”

  Easing his gun out, Nick nodded and then knocked twice on the apartment door. Immediately, a woman's voice, low and soft, responded. “Just a minute!”

  Conner stepped back behind Nick.

  The door swung open to reveal a redhead wrapped in a flowered bathrobe. “You made good time,” she said, holding out her hand.

  The woman in their picture had shoulder-length hair, and the woman in the doorway had spiky short hair, but other than that, there was no doubt that this was Zeena. Thin and gaunt to the point of skeletal, she had dark circles under her bloodshot eyes, her skin was pale, and she was sniffling.

  Suddenly her green eyes opened wide as Nick and Conner stepped forward, crowding her back into the apartment. Conner stopped just inside the doorway, gun held with both hands, pointed at her face, while Rafe swept the apartment, covering Nick in case anyone else was there. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not your next john.”

  “What?”

  Nick grabbed her right wrist and quickly turned her around as he reholstered his gun and pulled out his handcuffs. “Zeena Bantham, you are under arrest for failure to appear.”

  “Failure? What? Wait! I'm not Zeena! I'm Annie. Annie McNamara. You're making a mistake!”

  Nick snapped the cuffs. “Nice try, lady. Wanna know how many t
imes I've heard that one?”

  She turned and stared up at him, tears forming in defiant eyes. “I'm serious! You're obviously looking for my twin sister. Let me show you my ID. I have ID to prove I'm who I say I am.”

  Laughing, Nick looked over at Conner. “You ever hear that one before?”

  “A million times, more or less. But who's counting?”

  “Lady, you were seen at the bar a couple hours ago. And it's the same one Zeena works out of on occasion. What a coincidence.”

  “I went there looking for my sister. I heard she sometimes hangs out there. That's all. I'm trying to find her.”

  Conner held a picture in front of her. “Funny. You look exactly like the woman in this picture. Coincidence? I think not.”

  The woman took a deep breath. “Look in my purse. Everything is there. I am not Zeena Bantham. Believe me.”

  Conner looked over at Nick for direction. Nick nodded. “Check it out.”

  Opening the black leather hobo bag on the table, Conner pulled out a wallet and flipped it wide. “Ann Marie McNamara.” He looked over at Nick with a frown. “Same birth date as our girl.” Then he went back to flipping through the social security card, credit cards, library card, and work identification. “She's a chef at LaRose Catering. And here's what looks like an old picture of her and a twin.” Conner held it up. “Looks like she's telling the truth.”

  Nick took a second to process and then unlocked the handcuffs. “So if I call this LaRose Catering, they'll verify you are who you say you are?”

  “They'll tell you I'm out on medical leave, but yes, they will confirm who I am.” She rubbed her wrists, and he looked away when he saw a tear dribble down out of the corner of her eye. “Why are you looking for my sister?”

  “She jumped bail, Ms. McNamara,” Conner replied as he stuffed her wallet back into her purse. “Sorry for the mistake, but we didn't know she had a twin.”

  “That doesn't surprise me,” she said, clutching her robe at her throat as if just realizing she was standing in front of three men in her pajamas and robe.