Blood Lines (15 page)

>> Spider's Tattoo Shop

>> Doggett Street

>> Charlotte, North Carolina

>> 2043 Hours

Shel struggled to focus through his swirling senses as he stood unsteadily on his feet. Bobby Lee was in front of him, his back to Shel, hugged in tight to his hostage.

Chest straining as his empty lungs tried to kick into action again, Shel ignored the burning pain in his right shoulder and reached for the SOCOM .45 holstered at the small of his back. His fingers found the grip, but the pistol felt alien to him and his hand felt too big and numb.

It's just shock,
he told himself.
You've been here before. Just work through it.
He was dimly aware of the action out in the parking lot, the shouting voices, and the traffic beyond.

Bobby Lee started turning. His pistol dropped away from his hostage, and he shoved it forward to track toward Shel.

Shel tried to bring his right arm up, but it wouldn't work properly. Pain arced through his shoulder and chest. He gave up and managed the SOCOM in one big hand. Ruby laser sights danced over his body and lit up his left eye, but he ignored them and hoped the FBI sharpshooters held their fire.

Either way, Shel had decided Bobby Lee was leaving the picture. The young man was too unstable to deal with and more people were going to get hurt—beginning with the woman he was holding.

Bobby Lee's mouth moved. Shel couldn't hear the words. His ears still rang from the previous gunfire, and the pain had detached his brain to a degree, leaving only the part of him that focused solely on survival. But that part was Marine-trained, the best military training in the world.

Despite the danger, despite the fact that he'd already been shot, despite the fact that he might get shot again by Bobby Lee or the FBI, Shel held his fire until he had his target cleanly in his sights.

Bobby Lee's pistol had almost gotten all the way around toward Shel. The barrel belched a muzzle flash that stood out bright and hard in the tattoo shop, but the bullet went wide. Shel centered his sights at the bottom of Bobby Lee's chin just over the woman's shoulder and squeezed the trigger. The pistol bucked against his palm and he rode the recoil slightly up. He fired again and he knew the second shot was a few inches higher than the first.

Without a sound, Bobby Lee fell backward. He dragged the woman down with him, or her legs gave way out of fright. Shel wasn't sure which. He was just as surprised when the FBI didn't open fire on him.

>> 2044 Hours

Grimly Shel marshaled his reserves and went forward. His balance wasn't too good, and he knew he wasn't very strong. But he had to secure the weapon.

Max got there first. The Labrador bunched and sprang into action. Before Shel could take another step, Max seized the pistol in his teeth and tore it away. He flung it to one side and stood guard over Bobby Lee.

One look at the young man's face told Shel there was no need to guard, but the dog had been Marine-trained too, and Shel wasn't going to break that. In fact, Shel wasn't certain he was going to stand up much longer. But he did.

“You okay?” Shel asked the young woman.

Her face was covered with Bobby Lee's blood, and she was seriously freaked. She couldn't answer.

“It's going to be all right, ma'am,” Shel said. “You're going to be all right now.”

“Special Agent McHenry,” the loudhailer announced, “this is Special Agent Urlacher of the FBI. Put down your weapon. We're coming in.”

Shel turned and put the pistol on the counter. He reached for the woman's hand, took it in his, and gently pulled her to her feet.

“Come on now,” he said. “Let's get you away from that.”

She started to look back at the body.

Shel caught her chin in his hand and gazed into her eyes. “That's not something you want to do,” he told her gently. “Just let this part of everything go.”

The woman nodded; then she wrapped her arms around him and wept uncontrollably. “I thought he was going to kill me.”

“Yes, ma'am. But that didn't happen, did it? You came through this just fine.” Shel stroked her hair and patted her back like he would for one of Don's kids. Bad situations could make children fearful of everyone, and it took a gentle hand to bring back courage and confidence.

She looked up at him. Tears had tracked through the blood, but she'd smeared a lot of it on Shel's shirt. “He was going to kill me, wasn't he?”

Shel thought about lying to spare her from those thoughts, but he knew she'd see the truth in him. He'd never learned to lie very well except while he was undercover.

“Yes, ma'am. I believe he was,” Shel said.

FBI agents rushed the door.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“You're welcome.” Shel held her for just a moment longer; then the FBI agents invaded the room.

Two of the agents advanced on Shel. Max barked at them furiously and bared his gleaming white teeth.

One of the agents pointed his pistol at Max.

“Mister,” Shel said in a cold voice, “if you hurt that dog, I'm going to put you in the hospital.”

“Call the mutt off,” an older agent ordered. “I talked to your commander. Coburn. We'll get this sorted out in a little while, but until then I'm taking you into custody.”

“That's fine,” Shel said. “But the dog goes with me. He's not going to allow us to get separated.”

The agent nodded.

Shel stood still and endured the pain as one of the FBI agents secured his hands behind his back with disposable cuffs.

“Get him to a medical unit before he bleeds out,” the older agent said. He glanced back at Bobby Lee Gant lying on the floor and cursed fluently enough to impress Shel, who'd been around Navy men most of his life. “This is a total mess.” Then he cursed some more.

>> 2056 Hours

Light-headed and hurting, Shel sat on the bumper of the ambulance while the emergency medical technicians worked on him. They cut the disposable cuffs, freeing his hands, then cut off his shirt and unfastened the Velcro straps of the Kevlar vest. One of the two bullets embedded in the vest dropped to the parking lot pavement.

The EMTs kept working on him and ignored it.

“Hey,” Shel said. He had to struggle for the words, and he didn't understand that. He'd been shot before.

“I got no exit wound,” the lanky black EMT said as he searched Shel's massive shoulder. “Bullet's still inside.”

“Don't worry about that,” the blonde EMT said as she examined the massive bruises already forming across Shel's chest. “The OR can take care of that. Let's just get him stable.”

“Can't get him to stop bleeding.” The first EMT threw another bloody compress into a bucket at his feet. He tore open a package to get a fresh one. “I think we've got a bleeder inside him somewhere.” He glanced at Shel. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I just got shot,” Shel said. “I need that bullet that fell off the vest.” He tried to lean forward, then discovered he was so woozy he almost fell over.

The EMTs braced him and shoved him back against the ambulance. But that only got Max excited and he started growling.

“I've got to have that bullet,” Shel insisted. “It's evidence.” The habits he'd learned while serving with NCIS were ingrained, and he'd always been one for training.

“Lie still,” the blonde ordered. “Tony, get that bleeding stopped.”

“I'm trying. I told you that.”

Max barked more loudly and bumped up against Shel's legs.

“He's bleeding too much.”

“I know that. That's what I've been trying to tell you.”

Shel tried to speak, to remind them about the bullet; then he thought maybe he should tell them that he really wasn't feeling very good. Before he could say anything, though, he blacked out.

>> 2057 Hours

Hands cuffed behind him, Remy sat in the back of the unmarked sedan and watched as the FBI agents secured the tattoo parlor. They were good at what they did. He had to admit that.

Still, knowing that didn't make him feel any better about being on the wrong side of the wire mesh in the vehicle. Too many old memories sat there with him. He kept remembering his brother, and remembering how Marcel had died in his arms.

“I forgive you, Remy. So does God. Find peace in your life. Just ask God to help you.”

The door opened and tore Remy from those dark thoughts. One of the FBI agents stood in the doorway and reached for Remy.

“Come with us,” the agent said. “We got a problem.”

Remy allowed himself to be pulled from the back of the car. “What problem?”

“Your partner.” The agent shoved Remy toward the ambulance where other agents had taken Shel. “He went down and now the dog won't let anyone near him. The EMTs say if they don't get to him quick, your buddy's gonna die.”

Max's warning growl hung in the air. Remy heard it then. The car had muffled the noise. He quickened his steps.

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>> Spider's Tattoo Shop

>> Doggett Street

>> Charlotte, North Carolina

>> 2058 Hours

Shel lay sprawled on the parking lot. His color was bad. His normally tan complexion had turned the color of whey. Blood pooled across the pavement from his injured shoulder.

Max stood braced over him. His fangs were bared as he growled at everyone around him.

“If you can't get that dog to calm down so the EMT can work on your buddy,” the FBI agent told Remy, “we're gonna have to shoot him.”

“No.” Remy looked at Max and tried to focus on the fact that he could still see Shel's chest rising and falling. But the motion was too slow and too shallow. “You can't shoot the dog.”

“We can't let that man die either.”

“Free my hands,” Remy said. He turned his back toward the agent.

“You're in custody.”

Remy cursed. “Have you got concrete between your ears? Free my hands. If I'm not free, that dog isn't going to listen to me. Do it
now
.”