“Murder! I didn’t murder anyone!” the man protested. “Hey, I wasn’t here when Jake Ferguson was killed!”
“Who knows what laws we can make stick?” Shepherd asked. “Good prosecutor, a jury tired of drugs killing people—”
“I didn’t kill anyone!” he protested again. “No one is dead—”
“Yeah, people are dead and dying from that stuff you sold,” Chase told him.
“I didn’t sell it! The king sold it. I mean, maybe someone got carried away. Look, I don’t make the stuff. I don’t package the stuff. I’m a messenger, that’s all. I’m told to get drop-offs, nothing else. I didn’t kill anyone, I didn’t. Wait! Not only did I not kill anyone—I didn’t do a damned thing. There’s no money on me, nothing—you need to let me go this instant. Brutality! Oh, hell, yeah, I am going to have a field day with you in court!”
“We’ll see,” Shepherd said. “Chase, you can—”
“You idiots! I’ll be out on bail in an hour. And when I’m out, you’re going to be so sorry! You’re going to wish for death before you get to that sweet peace—”
“He’s threatening us now,” Shepherd said. “I’m pretty sure that death threats are illegal in themselves. Man, we’ve got him on so much!”
“You have nothing!”
“Enough to see that a jury puts you away forever and ever. Then again, this is Louisiana, and if it weren’t, we’re federal, and sometimes—” Shepherd said.
“You’re threatening me! Wait until I talk to my lawyer!”
“You’ll get a lawyer,” Shepherd promised.
“Yeah, you will,” Chase said, but he took the man by the shoulders, spinning him around to stare at him and demand, “Who did you pass it off to?”
A shot suddenly rang out. It missed the man by about half an inch.
Chase threw himself on the suspect, bringing them both down flat. Shepherd and his companion were already down, weapons drawn, and Shepherd was speaking into his body mic.
“Shots fired! Sniper in the rear-stage parking!”
Chase dragged the culprit behind a dumpster along with Shepherd and his partner.
“Your king will be happy to kill you! If it was me, I’d be throwing myself on the mercy—and safety—of law enforcement!” Chase told him.
“No, no, they were aiming at you!”
“Were they?” Chase asked. “You know that isn’t true. You failed. You’re a liability now. Better off dead to those who pay you. Who the hell did you give the packet to?” he demanded again. “Hey, we’ll fight for your life, but...”
The lackey must have known that his so-called king killed anyone who failed him, because he suddenly started shaking.
“You don’t understand—”
“Oh,” Shepherd said, “with your crowd, failure is death. So maybe you want to join a new crowd. We can keep you safe.”
“He has a long reach. Even in prison.”
“Solitary confinement. You can live. Maybe one day, the king and his royalty will be gone, and you can have a life again,” Shepherd’s partner said quietly.
“All right, all right!”
He told them who he had given the packet to.
And Chase was stunned. He might have known. He might have suspected.
But still...
“I’ve got to get back in!” he said.
“We’ll cover you,” Shepherd assured him.
Chase leaped to his feet, diving for the door. It was still wedged open, and he ripped it the rest of the way, sliding behind its protection as quickly as he could.
A shot rang out.
But as Shepherd and his partner returned fire, the door closed behind Chase.
He was in.
He had to get back to Skylar.
“SKYLAR!”
She heard her name being anxiously called just seconds after Chase left.
“Skylar, Skylar Ferguson! It’s Special Agent Brent Masters. Wellington sent me to get you out of here. I can show you my credentials.”
“Chase said to wait for him!”
