by Dez Burke
“I’m a little bit busy here, Jan,” Dr. Kendra Shaw replied. She grimaced as the hawk she was holding tried to dig its sharp talons into her hand. “Squeeze in here. I could use another set of hands to help hold Malone while I examine him. He’s looking for any opportunity to shred my fingers if I let him.”
Jan moved quickly to the veterinarian’s side and held the hawk’s feet firmly while Dr. Shaw examined his wings.
“The caller sounded panicked,” Jan continued. “He claims he has a bald eagle corralled in his shed with a suspected gunshot wound to his wing. He wanted to know if you can come pick it up.”
“A bald eagle?” Dr. Shaw replied. “That’s unusual for North Georgia. How much do you want to bet it’s really a vulture? He can’t bring it here himself?”
Jan shook her head. “No. He said it’s flopping around and he doesn’t want to risk injuring it more. He’s on hold since he insisted on speaking with you directly.”
Dr. Shaw let out a tired sigh. “They always do.” She carefully turned the hawk over and placed him back into his carrier. “There you go, boy. Jan, you can take him back out to the raptor aviary,” she said before washing her hands and picking up the phone.
****
Never in her life had veterinarian Kendra Shaw been able to turn away from an animal in need. This time wasn’t any different. After the phone call, she’d dropped everything, rearranged her schedule for the afternoon, and jumped into her truck to go pick up the eagle.
Usually, people brought the injured wild animals and birds into the Shaw Wildlife Center themselves. Occasionally, she had to go out and get them. Most of the time the pickups were animals people were afraid to touch for fear of rabies, like raccoons, skunks, or foxes. Every once in a while, she’d receive an oddball call about a baby black bear or orphaned coyote pup.
A bald eagle wasn’t something she treated often, so she didn’t hesitate about offering to drive over herself for this one. She tried to think back. It had been at least a couple of years since she’d had an injured eagle come in for rehab. She hoped this one wasn’t hurt too badly. There would be hell to pay if she found out who shot him. Not to mention probable jail time and a huge fine as well. The phone number of the U.S. Fish and Wildlife was on her speed dial and she would be in contact with them the minute she returned to the clinic.
She downshifted the gears in the truck as the gravel road going up the side of the mountain grew steeper. Light sleet pelted the windshield. According to the weather report she had checked before heading out, a winter storm was due to blow in later.
She wasn’t concerned. If things went well and the eagle was cooperative, she would have plenty of time to get him safely into the heated carrier in the bed of the truck and head back to town before the roads became slick.
In any case, she hoped the cabin wasn’t too much further up the mountain. The male caller had given her very specific directions on how to get there, but she hadn’t expected it to be so far out in the middle of nowhere.
It had been at least ten miles since she’d seen another house. The gravel road had first turned to dirt then gradually narrowed to one lane barely big enough for her truck. Like most of the mountain roads in rural north Georgia, there weren’t any guardrails preventing cars from sliding off the side of the road with a single wrong move.
After carefully maneuvering the truck around a couple more tight switch-backs, she spotted the rustic log cabin tucked into a small clearing. She pulled up in front of the house and leaned over to grab her medical bag. Before getting out, she took a quick glance around the premises. She didn’t see a shed. Surely she didn’t miss it on the way up?
The oak front door swung open before she made it to the top step of the porch. A tall, burly man with a scraggly beard in a black leather jacket stepped outside to greet her.
“Thank you for coming in such a hurry, Dr. Shaw,” he said, not meeting her eyes. “I appreciate it. Come on inside.”
“Where’s the eagle?” she asked, suddenly feeling uneasy. It occurred to her that in her haste to rescue yet another animal, she had agreed to meet a strange man in an isolated cabin. Miles and miles from anyone. Smart move, Kendra, she berated herself. “Is he still alive?” she asked.
“Yeah, he’s okay. Let’s go in by the fire and warm up a minute. I’ll tell you how I found him,” the man replied, motioning for her to walk through the door in front of him.
Kendra smiled politely and tried not to show her irritation or unease. As a general rule, the Good Samaritans who found injured animals always wanted to tell her the whole story about the animal before they handed it over. They seemed to feel the need to tell her the tiniest details of everything they’d done for the animal so far as well as all the research they’d found on the Internet. When every minute counted to save an animal’s life, it could be a tad bit annoying at times. She always tried her best to be patient though, knowing their hearts were in the right place.
“It’s probably better if you take me straight to him,” she said firmly. “There’s a storm blowing in and the sooner I can safely transport him back to my clinic, the sooner I can take care of his injuries and hopefully save his wing. You can call me later to check on him if you like. I’ll give you my cell phone number. I don’t mind if you do.”
“Alright,” he said, stepping inside and shutting the door behind them. “Let me get my gloves.”
Kendra took two steps inside the small cabin and stopped dead in her tracks. “What the hell is going on here?”
CHAPTER TWO
It took her only a heartbeat to register the fact that she’d been lied to. A group of men in black leather boots and jackets stood by a small couch pulled close to the fireplace. One of the men she recognized as Tom Brewer, a member of the Steel Infidels, a well-known motorcycle gang in town rumored to be involved in several illegal activities.
A few months back he’d brought her an abused pit bull that he’d snatched from a man’s backyard. The poor dog had been chained up in the hot sun for days without adequate food or water.
Kendra hadn’t asked any questions at the time and had been grateful to Tom for bringing the dog in. It had taken a while, but eventually she’d been able to nurse the dog back to health and had even found a nice home for him with a couple of kids.
Later she’d read in the town’s newspaper that someone had beaten the hell out of the dog’s owner in what the newspaper had called a “random act of violence.” She’d suspected Tom Brewer and the Steel Infidels had been behind it, and to be honest, she was glad. The man deserved much worse in her opinion. No punishment was bad enough for an abuser of innocent animals.
A closer look at the group revealed another man wearing nothing but jeans and steel-toed boots sprawled out on the couch. From what she could see, the bare-chested man was positively lethal when it came to the looks department...and seriously injured.
He was a mass of hard-packed muscle and looked to be in his late twenties with a dark tan and jet black hair. Blood spilled from a wound in his left arm, dripping through the makeshift tourniquet and onto the wood floor. A large black tattoo with the motorcycle gang’s emblem wrapped across his back and upper shoulders.
Kendra’s mind raced as she tried to get a handle on the situation. She couldn’t possibly imagine what had transpired in the cabin and didn’t want to know. Getting tangled up with the Steel Infidels was something only a fool would do. And nobody had ever called Dr. Kendra Shaw stupid.
“Well gentlemen, I guess I can assume there’s not an injured eagle in here after all,” she said before turning and heading back towards the front door.
Damn! Too late.
The heavyset man who had let her in was now blocking her exit.
Kendra drew in a deep calming breath before whirling around. “Okay, somebody had better tell me what is going on here. Who called me?”
Tom Brewer cleared his throat. “I made the call, Dr. Shaw. I’m sorry for lying to you like that to get you up here. W
e didn’t know what to do and we needed help. Fast.” He waved a hand toward the injured man. “Flint took a bullet in the arm. We didn’t know who else to call.” He shrugged helplessly and looked away.
Kendra’s eyebrows shot up. “How about 911? That’s always a good first choice. Jesus Christ, Tom! I’m a vet, not a doctor! You need to take him to Union General right now.”
She hurried to the injured man’s side. Not only was his skin unnaturally pale underneath his tan, his breath was also shallow and erratic.
“When did this happen?” she asked.
“An hour or so ago,” Tom answered. “We were on a run to pick up some supplies over in Towns County. When we came back through the valley, an ambush was waiting for us. They opened fire and caught Flint in the arm.”
Kendra held up her hand to stop him from talking. She had enough sense to know the less she knew about the details, the better. Getting involved in the Steel Infidel’s business was a very bad idea.
She turned back to the injured man and quickly assessed his injury the best she could. “The first thing we need to do is stop the bleeding and clean the wound to prevent infection. Then we’ll need to load him into my truck. Unless you guys have a vehicle parked somewhere that I didn’t see?”
Tom shook his head. “No ma’am, we all rode our motorcycles up here. Even Flint.”
Kendra couldn’t believe the injured man rode all the way from Towns County and up the mountain on a motorcycle with a bleeding gunshot wound in his arm. He obviously must have a high tolerance for pain. Or maybe he was drugged up. Probably high as a kite on something. That would explain it. Or it could be attributed to an intense flood of adrenaline hitting him when the shots were fired. She’d heard of cases where people didn’t realize they had been shot until much later due to the ability of adrenaline to mask pain.
A tall man with dark brown hair moved to the front of the group and knelt beside her. One glance at his worried face told her he must be related to the injured man. The resemblance was uncanny though this man was quite a bit older. She guessed him to be around forty because of the few grey hairs showing around his temples.
“I’m Jesse,” he said, reaching out to shake her hand. “Flint’s brother. What do you need to stop the bleeding?”
“Some clean towels or dishcloths if you have them.” She quickly removed the bandage around Flint’s arm. She knew the men probably didn’t realize the tight tourniquet they had applied would begin to cause irreversible tissue damage in another hour. Then again, bleeding to death was worse.
She frowned when she saw the seriousness of the wound. “The bullet is still in there and it looks really bad. I’ll wrap it up as best as I can to stop the bleeding then we need to hurry. Someone should call the hospital to let them know we’re coming in with him.”
Jesse laid a firm hand on her arm. “That’s going to be a problem, Dr. Shaw,” he replied quietly. “Flint can’t go to the hospital. You’re going to have to take the bullet out and stitch him up here. That’s why we called you.”
Kendra leaned back on her heels and blinked at him in confusion. “What are you talking about? Look, buddy,” she replied. “I don’t have to do anything. I don’t know who the hell you and your buddies think you are, but you can’t trick people then expect them to do whatever you tell them to. What do you mean he’s not going to the hospital? Are you crazy? He’s been shot! For the last time, I’m not a medical doctor! Do you want him to lose the use of his arm? He’s lucky the bullet didn’t nick a major artery or he’d already be dead. Honestly, I’m not qualified to treat him. That is the God’s honest truth.”
Flint groaned in pain and struggled to sit up before slipping back into unconsciousness. Kendra pushed her fingers through her long black hair and exhaled a breath. Being asked, or in this case, probably being forced to treat a person wasn’t a situation she’d ever been faced with before. As far as she was concerned, it wasn’t worth losing her veterinarian’s license over. The law was the law. Period. She wasn’t licensed to treat people. Legally, she shouldn’t touch him. If something went wrong, he could sue her. And rightly so.
“For God’s sake!” she said, pointing to Flint. “Take a good look at him. With friends like you, this guy doesn’t need enemies.” She glared at Jesse. “Or family.”
“Haven’t you ever treated an animal with a gunshot wound before?” Jesse asked. “Surely you must have. Plenty of times.”
Kendra sighed. “Of course I have. But it was under anesthesia with IV fluids and monitors going to keep the animal stable. It’s obvious your brother is in terrible pain. Explain to me why you aren’t willing to take him to the hospital? Is it because of insurance? Because if it is, they still have to treat him in an emergency even if he doesn’t have any. This is crazy. I’m calling an ambulance myself.” She pulled her cell phone out of her jacket pocket and started dialing.
Jesse ripped the phone from her hands and turned it off before sliding it into the inside pocket of his leather jacket. “Sorry. Can’t let you do that. We didn’t want to involve you in the details, but it looks like there’s no other way to make you understand our position here. A rival motorcycle club, the Liberators, have put a hit out on Flint. Six months ago, they murdered one of our crew in a shootout over in Tennessee. So they mean business. They’ll have every hospital for miles around staked out watching for us to bring him in.” He shook his head. “It’s not safe. The next time Flint might not be so lucky. We can’t take a chance. Not with my brother.”
Kendra wondered if he might be telling the truth. She’d heard rumors of gang activity going on in the area but hadn’t ever paid much attention to the gossip. Occasionally, in the summer, she would see a group of motorcycles riding down Bardsville’s main street. As far as she knew, they weren’t doing anything other than making a lot of obnoxious noise.
She stood up and dusted off the seat of her pants. “I don’t like this. I don’t appreciate being lured here under false pretenses and I don’t like being put in this kind of position. I’m not licensed to treat people and could lose my veterinarian’s license if I lay a hand on him. Besides, don’t you realize doctors are required to report gunshot wounds to the police department?”
“That’s only for doctors, right? Not vets?” Jesse replied. “Since you’re not a medical doctor, it doesn’t apply to you.”
He had a valid point. Dammit.
Flint moaned again. The undeniable pain in his voice pushed Kendra into a quick decision.
“If I do this, it has to stay between us,” she said. “Not a word to anybody. Not another soul. And you all owe me. Big time. Do you understand?” She looked around the room, slowly making eye contact with each man to let them know she wouldn’t be intimidated. Leather jackets and beards didn’t scare her. After glancing at Jesse for guidance, they all nodded.
“Please,” Jesse pleaded quietly. “I’m begging you to help him. We’ll be in your debt if you do.”
“Alright, I’ll help him,” she snapped irritably. “But give me back my phone. I have other patients, you know. The clinic might need to get in touch with me. And don’t worry, I promise not to call 911. Not unless he takes a turn for the worse. Then all bets are off. I’m not going to let a man die on me because of some stupid gang war.”
Jesse reluctantly pulled the phone from his jacket and handed it back to her. “Tell us what to do,” he said.
“First, we need to get his pain level under control before I try to clean the wound.” She rummaged through her medical bag and found only animal medication. Not even a bottle of ibuprofen. “He needs something stronger than what I have. These medications aren’t approved for human use.”
“We might be able to help you with that.” Jesse motioned to the big man who was still guarding the front door. “Get the stuff, Rocco,” he ordered. Rocco hurried out of the room and came back a minute later with two large grocery bags. He dumped the contents of both bags onto the coffee table.
“Good heavens!” Ken
dra exclaimed as bottles of prescription vials rolled around the table. She picked them up and read the labels: codeine, hydrocodone, morphine, Percocet, Vicodin, Oxycotin, Ativan, Xanax, Valium. Upon closer inspection, she noticed the labels included names of people who obviously weren’t standing in the room. She recognized one name, Rosa Smith, a little old lady who called her a couple of times a year to come out and check her horse’s hoofs.
“Where did you get these?” Kendra demanded, knowing the answer before she asked. The black market for painkillers wasn’t exactly a big secret.
Jesse had the decency to clear his throat and look away before answering. “Some of the elderly people on fixed incomes in the community need cash, so we buy their unused medications.” He shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal. “They would just flush them down the toilet or throw them away anyway. It’s a win-win situation. For everybody.”
“You buy them to resell on the black market,” Kendra stated. She continued cleaning Flint’s wound while she talked. “To junkies? To people hooked on painkillers?” The thought was horrifying.
“No, not necessarily,” Jesse answered. “Quite frequently it seems we have a need for them ourselves.”
Kendra let out a short humorless laugh and rolled her eyes. “I can well imagine.” She chose the strongest painkiller in the pile and shook out three pills. “Can someone get a glass of water? I need to get these pills in him before I try to remove the bullet and stitch him up. It’s going to hurt like hell and he’ll need something strong to take the edge off.”
Kendra leaned over and placed the back of her hand against Flint’s forehead. She tried and failed to ignore the faint whiff of cologne that held a sexy hint of heat and leather.
“His name is Flint?” she asked for clarification.
Tom nodded.
“Flint! Wake up.” She shook him gently, attempting to bring him to long enough to swallow the pills. “Come on buddy! You need to open your eyes so I can give you something for the pain. Then I’ll knock you out again the best I can.”