In the narrow alley, the shot seemed to echo and reecho, and Olivia heard Carl make a strangled sound—like he wasn’t expecting so much noise.

Olivia wasn’t sure what her boss had intended, but the weapon was aimed low, and it looked like the bullet struck Luke in the leg, not in the central part of his body. Thank God.

Carl stared in horror as he realized that he’d actually shot a man.

Luke looked equally shocked as the leg crumpled under him and he sat down heavily in the alley.

Olivia cried out, aghast, as Luke leaned back against the wall, breathing hard, his face pale. His pants leg was bloody, but not sopping, so she had to assume Carl hadn’t hit an artery.

She wanted to run to Luke, but Carl was still holding the gun.

“Oh Lord,” she gasped. “Carl, are you crazy?”

A moment earlier, he’d looked stunned. Suddenly he whipped around toward her, and she was sure she was going to get shot, too. “Shut up.”

She clamped her lips together as he glanced up and down the street to see if anybody had observed the impromptu drama.

Nobody shouted or came running, and Olivia figured that the few people who were in the shopping area this early were minding their own business. Or maybe they thought a car had backfired.

Carl turned again, advancing on Luke, who grimaced as he scooted backwards on his bottom. But even the warrior wasn’t going to get away from Carl with a bullet in his leg.

“Give me the box,” the round little man snarled.

Olivia’s heart raced as she tried to figure out what to do—and quickly. As she looked wildly around, she saw a thick stick lying on the sidewalk. Snatching it up, she moved in on Carl and poked the stick against his back.

“Drop the gun or I’ll shoot,” she said in a deadly calm voice.

He gasped and started to turn.

“Drop the gun,” she ordered, or I’ll shoot you in the back, so help me God.”

The gun clattered to the sidewalk.

“Kick it to Luke,” she said, praying that Luke was in shape to grab it.

Carl kicked the gun across the pavement. It stopped a few feet from Luke, and he leaned over, groaning as he picked it up and held it in a two-handed grip.

Now what?

They’d disarmed Carl, but Luke was still wounded. He needed medical attention. And they needed to figure out what to do with Carl.

She dropped the stick and walked toward Luke, making a big circle around the importer.

Kneeling down beside Luke, she looked at his pants leg. It was bloody but still not sopping. Thank the Lord.

She spared her boss a scathing look. “You bastard.”

He stood on the sidewalk, his lower lip trembling. Probably he just realized he could have killed Luke. And then he'd really be in trouble.

They had to get away from him. But how? Maybe they could borrow his car.

While she was trying to figure out what to do, an SUV pulled up at the entrance to the alley and two men jumped out.

The Poisoned Ones!

Olivia’s head jerked up. Then she breathed out a sigh when she saw it wasn’t the bad guys.

oOo

“It’s Decorah Security,” Luke said, his voice weak. “Frank Decorah and Brand Marshall.”

“What happened?” Frank asked.

“My boss, Carl Peterbalm, shot Luke,” Olivia answered.

Frank swore, then looked from Olivia to Luke and back again. “I guess we can’t call the cops.”

“Right,” Luke agreed.

Brand jerked his head toward Peterbalm. “What do we do with him?”

“If we leave him, there’s no guarantee that he won’t go to the police and tell them we robbed him,” Luke answered. “And no proof that he shot me, because I’m not going to be here.”

“Then I guess we’d better take him with us,” Frank decided.

“Who the hell are you?” Carl demanded.

“The cavalry.” Frank took a step toward him.

Carl held up a hand as though he could push the Decorah chief away. “Now wait a minute. Leave me alone!”

Frank calmly shot Carl with an odd looking gun, and he wavered on his feet, then sank to the pavement.

“What did he do to him?” Olivia gasped.

“Shot him with a tranq gun. The anesthetic has an amnesiac effect.”

“And then what?”

“We'll hold him until we can figure it out,” Brand answered.

“Is that legal?”

“No. But neither is shooting someone, or importing stolen goods,” Frank said. He turned to Olivia, “By the way, I’m Luke’s boss, Frank Decorah. And this is one of my agents, Brand Marshall.”

“And Luke is still bleeding on the sidewalk,” Olivia said.

“Right. I’m going to cut his pants leg so I can see the wound,” Brand said.

“Okay.”

Frank looked at Olivia, “Keep watch.”

She moved to the front of the alley while Brand ran back to the car and pulled a first aid kit from the floor of the backseat. Then he hurried to Luke again.

Olivia moved to the end of the alley where she could see the sidewalk and the action in the alley

. oOo

Luke rested his head against the wall as Brand pulled out a penknife, opened it and cut away the bloody fabric. Luke felt perspiration bloom on his forehead. He groaned as Brand moved his leg.

“Sorry,” his friend muttered as he uncovered the injured area, which was in Luke’s calf. Blood still oozed from a visible hole. “I think it’s a flesh wound. But I’m not a doctor.”

“Okay.”

Luke winced as Brand pressed gauze squares to the wound. “Sorry,” he muttered, again.

“Do what you have to,” Luke answered.

Brand nodded and used a stretch bandage to hold the gauze in place. When he finished, he sat back on his heels. “Do you think you can you walk?”

“I hope so.”

oOo

“Give me the box,” Olivia said.

When he handed over the precious object without hesitation, her heart squeezed. He was showing his absolute trust in her.

“Thank you,” she whispered as she cradled the box against her middle.

He gave her a small nod. Then the guy named Brand helped him up, and his face went white. She moved to Luke’s other side, lending him more support as he hobbled to the SUV.

When they reached the vehicle, she stood back while the younger man eased Luke into the front seat, where he flopped down and sat with his head thrown back against the headrest.

“You can recline the seat.”

When Luke didn’t move, she adjusted the seat to make him more comfortable.

Olivia knew he had to be in shock. She wanted to sit beside him. But since Frank was driving, she slid into the back and reached over the seat, resting her hand on Luke’s shoulder as Frank climbed in and started the engine.

Carl was already in the far back area.

As they drove away, she looked up and down the street one more time. But it still appeared that nobody had been paying a lot of attention to the drama in the alley. Well, that was modern urban life.

“We have to get Luke to a doctor,” she said.

“We will.”

”Not a hospital!” Luke ordered.

“No.  We sometimes work with the Light Street Detective Agency when we’re in Baltimore. They have a facility we can use.”  He pulled to the curb and made a phone call. Olivia could hear him giving a brief description of what had happened, then listening to whoever was on the other end.

When he clicked off, he turned to Luke, “All set.”

“I do not know this Light Street Agency,” Luke said, his voice taking on a tone Olivia had come to recognize.  Zabastian was being stubborn. But Luke must have told him it was okay, because after a few moments, he flopped back into the seat.

They drove through downtown and then into the Fells Point area. Frank took an alley to the back of a two-story red brick building that looked much like the others on the block. 

A man and a woman came out, conferred with Frank, then helped Luke into the building. 

Olivia followed behind into a room that looked like it was part kitchen and part hospital emergency room. They transferred Luke to an exam table.

“Who are you, exactly?” Luke demanded.

“I’m Doctor Miguel Valero,” the man answered.  “And this is Nurse Rosa Sanchez.” Repeating Frank’s assurance, he said, “We sometimes work with Decorah Security. We’re going to take good care of you.”

Zabastian must have sunk into the background as Luke introduced himself.  “Luke Garner. Sorry we’re meeting under these circumstances,” he said, obviously struggling to keep his voice steady.

“Yes,” the physician answered.

Olivia had heard of the doctor. She knew he was active in the Latin American community. But she had no idea that this place existed.

Luke looked around. “If this isn’t a hospital, what is it?”

“A facility where we do community medicine. But we also handle emergencies—when it makes sense not to get the cops involved.”

Olivia took in the room. The equipment must have cost millions of dollars. And it was a secret.

The doctor straightened from examining Luke. “You have a bullet in your leg,” Dr. Valero said. “I’m going to put you out while I remove it.”

“No!” Luke sat up and tried to climb off the table. But it was Zabastian who spoke.  “I do not know you. You cannot render me unconscious.” 

The words were forceful, but the man’s strength had ebbed. The doctor and nurse pressed him back. “We have to remove the bullet,” Dr. Valero said.

“I understand that,” Luke acknowledged in a gritty voice. “But I must keep the box in my sight.”

Olivia hurried to his side and clasped his hand. “I’ll hold it for you. You can trust me to do that.”

He swung his head toward her. “I trust you. But I do not know these other people.”

“I vouch for them,” Frank said.

Luke’s face was hard.

Olivia took Frank’s arm and moved him to the side of the room.  “Luke trusts you, but the guardian of the box is. . . obsessive about his obligations.”

“Yes, Beth told me about that,” Frank said.

She caught her breath.  “You talked to Beth?”

“Yes, when we were trying to find you.”

“So you understand that Luke is . . . acting kind of weird.” 

 “Yes.”

Frank walked to Luke’s side, “We’ll give you whatever you need.”

“Thank you.”

Turning to the doctor, Frank said, “He must stay awake. Can you give him something for the pain?”

“I can give him something, but if he’s awake, it’s going to hurt.”

“Do it,” Luke muttered.

The doctor looked resigned as he started an IV line in Luke's arm.

“Olivia must stay here—with the box,” Luke said.

“This isn’t the operating room,” the doctor said, his voice stern. “If she comes in there with us, she must put on a gown and mask—just like the staff.”

Luke considered the pronouncement, and she was afraid for a moment that he was going to leap off the table and start knocking heads together. But finally he answered with a tight nod. He didn’t look happy about letting the box out of his sight in this environment, even for a few minutes, but the doctor had made it clear that Olivia couldn’t stay with him every minute.

She went with the doctor into a scrub room.

“I guess you get some unusual cases,” she said.

“Yes.”

She cleared her throat. “Don’t you have to report a gunshot wound?”

“Technically. But in this facility, we have often bent the rules.”

“Okay.”

When Valero didn’t say anymore, she donned a gown and mask and waited for the doctor to scrub his hands and put on gloves. Then they both stepped into a small operating room.

Luke had his eyes fixed on the door. As soon as he saw her with the box, he seemed to relax.

She hurried to his side and reached for his hand, holding tight as the doctor walked to the other end of the table. A drape made it impossible for her to see what was happening down there, and she was grateful for that because she didn’t want to watch the bullet being dug out.

But she saw the pain on Luke’s face as Valero worked.

Luke stayed absolutely silent, but the way he gripped her hand told her that the procedure hurt.

It seemed to take centuries, but finally she heard the doctor make a satisfied sound. Coming around to Luke’s other side, he held up the bullet in his gloved hand. “Here it is.”

“Thank you,” Olivia murmured, and Luke echoed the sentiment. His brow was covered with sweat, and his skin was gray, but the bullet was out.

“It’s going to take time for that to heal,” the doctor said.

“I can speed the process—with healing techniques I have learned,” the patient said, and she knew it was Zabastian talking.

The doctor answered with a little shrug.

He and the nurse transferred Luke to a gurney again and wheeled him into a smaller room. She stayed by his side, still clutching the box.

Finally, Luke was settled into a hospital bed. He lay still and pale against the pillow, with his eyes closed. When she sat down in the chair beside him, his eyes blinked open again and focused on her.

Frank came in and asked, “How do you feel?”

 “Not so bad.”

“Oh sure,” Olivia muttered.

“Thank you for staying with me.”

“I’ll do what you need me to do.”

When she pressed her hand over Luke’s, he turned the hand over and knitted his fingers with hers. “Help me stay awake.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Help me.”

“Okay.”

“Tell me about your life.”

“What do you want to know?”

“I want to hear more about where you grew up,” he whispered. “You said in Catonsville?”

“Yes. In an old house with a big yard. We didn’t have a lot of money, but we had a lot of love. And all the neighborhood kids were always at my house. Sometimes we’d have six or seven of them for lunch. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and canned soup.”

“What did you play?” he murmured, and she wondered how long he could stay awake.

“We’d make forts on the porch, with a couple of sheets over two card tables. And in hot weather, we had a lemonade stand. And a wading pool in the backyard. We’d move it to a place in the yard where the ground had sunk in a little, so we’d have a deep spot in the pool.”

“Um.”

“And we’d squirt each other with the hose.”

He made a barely audible sound. “What did you do in winter?”

“School.”

“For fun.”

“My mom taught me to bake cookies.”

She thought Luke was going to sleep, but he asked, “What kind?”

“Chocolate chips were my favorites. I also liked molasses.”

“You don’t like oatmeal raisin?”

“They’re good too.”

She wanted to ask questions about his childhood, but she knew he was in no shape to keep up his end of the conversation.

He murmured, “Christmas?”

“We’d go out in the country and cut down our own tree. And it was always so big we had to move the furniture around the living room. Then Dad would get the decorations from the attic. We made a lot of them ourselves—some from bread-dough clay.”

“What’s that?”

“A formula with a lot of salt. You can’t eat it. But when you bake it, it gets hard. Then you can paint the surface.”

“Um.”

“We made some ornaments out of real eggs. Mom would make a hole in each end and blow out the insides. After they dried, we’d glue on lace and paint on a base coat, then rub them with gold polish. And we'd put gold cord through one of the holes.”

“Um.”

“We made other ornaments out of felt for the lower branches, so the cats couldn’t break them or tear them up.”

“It sounds like a good family time.”

“Yes.”

“And what do you want for the future?” he whispered, his voice barely above a whisper.

She went rigid. Was he asking about them? Or the personal plans she’d made? And how much did she dare to say?

“I want my own business. I want to be my own boss. I’d do that if I could afford it.”

“What . . . kind of business?”

“Antiques. I know the field. That’s one of the reasons Carl Peterbalm hired me.”

“And he wants . . . to get into your pants,” Luke muttered. Apparently the medicine had undermined his ability to censor his speech.

She laughed. “Yes. But he didn’t even get close.” Without elaborating, she went back to her own plans. “But I’d need a shop and also inventory.”

She got caught up in talking about what she’d been dreaming of for years—until Luke made a sharp noise, and her gaze flew to him. Then she saw he was snoring.

“So much for fascinating you with my daydreams,” she said in a low voice, then looked up to see Dr. Valero in the doorway.

“He wanted to stay awake,” she whispered.

“He needs to sleep.” The doctor gave her a considering look. “And so do you.”

She looked from the doctor to Luke. “What did you give him?” she asked.

“A minimal dose of painkiller. To help him rest so his body can heal.”

He’d told her to rest too. But she said, “I promised to guard the box.”

“You can keep it with you. Nobody’s getting into the building to steal it.”

She nodded. “I understand. But Luke will be anxious if the box and I are missing.”

“We’ll pull a bed up beside his. You can sleep there.”

“Thanks.”

Olivia gently untangled her hand from Luke’s. She intended to stay awake. But as soon as she slipped off her shoes and lay down on the bed the staff had wheeled in, fatigue washed over her.

The world went away—until she awoke with a start, disoriented and frightened.

Her head swung to the side, and she saw that Luke had made a strangled sound as he woke suddenly.

“It’s okay. I’m here,” she said as she scrambled off her bed and leaned over him.

“The box?”

“Right here.” She picked it up from the bedside table and showed it to him. “Frank Decorah said you could trust these people.”

He sighed and settled back in the bed. His face was haggard and unshaven, but he looked like he was feeling better.

Moments later, the door opened, and Dr. Valero came in.

“How long was I asleep?” Luke demanded.

“Eight hours.”

He sucked in a sharp breath. “Too long.”

“You needed to heal. Twice that long would have been better.”

When Luke started to protest again, the doctor kept speaking. “How are you feeling?”

Luke took a breath as he considered the question. When he flexed his leg, he looked pleased. “It’s . . . not so bad.”

The doctor unwrapped the bandage, inspected the wound and looked shocked. “It looks like you got this several days ago.”

“I heal quickly,” Luke said. After the doctor cranked up his bed, Luke inspected the room. “Is there a bathroom anywhere around?”

“Yes.” Dr. Valero pointed to a door at the side of the room. “Right over there.”

He and Nurse Sanchez helped Luke ease off the bed. Olivia held her breath as she watched him stand with the help of a cane the doctor had provided. It had four short legs at the bottom, which gave it stability.

Luke was still shaky, but she was shocked when she saw him put weight on the leg. Giving her a look of triumph, he started toward the bathroom.

Frank, who had appeared in the doorway, cleared his throat. “Maybe you want to slip out and clean up,” he said to her.

“Do I look like I need it?”

“It’s been a long night. I can keep the box while you take a little time for yourself.”

Olivia considered the offer. Frank had gone to a lot of trouble to monitor the situation.

“I’ll take good care of it.”

Olivia handed over the box. Frank made an appreciative sound as he took it in his hands and turned it, looking at the carvings. She wished she knew as much about the object as he obviously did.

“Go take your shower.” He pointed to a ladies’ room down the hall. “And you’ll find some changes of clothing there.”

The “ladies’ room” was actually built like a luxury bathroom in a private residence—with a marble counter, an enormous shower, and a separate soaking tub. Not only were there a variety of toilet articles, she also saw several outfits in the walk-in closet. She would have liked to pamper herself. But she stayed only a minimal amount of time to make herself presentable.

When she stepped into the hall again, dressed in slacks and a comfortable knit top, Beth was sitting in a nearby chair.

“How did you get here?” she asked.

“The Decorah people brought me.”

“I’m glad.”

The two friends hugged.

“Frank was tracing your phone calls. He and Brand came to my house. We talked. . . about the warrior.”

“You told him?”

“Yes. I thought he needed to understand what was going on.”

“Right.”

Beth changed the subject. “How are you?”

“Pretty good—thanks to Frank.” She looked around. “Where is he—and the box?”

“Down the hall in the lounge with Luke.”

Beth gestured to the left, and they both hurried to a comfortable sitting room where Luke was lying on a hospital bed, although he’d dressed in a tee shirt and loose fitting sweatpants. The box was on the table beside him, and his hands were wrapped around a mug.

He looked up with a feeling of relief when he spotted her.

“I’m sorry I was gone so long,” she said.

“That’s fine.”

“What are you drinking?”

“Chicken soup,” the doctor explained. “It’s part of the healing process,” he added with a grin.

Frank was also eating—sandwiches from a plate on a side table.

Olivia’s stomach rumbled, and she flushed.

“Help yourself,” Frank said.

“Thanks.”

Olivia took a tuna salad sandwich and sat down next to Luke’s bed.

When Brand came in, she asked, “Where’s Carl Peterbalm?”

“In another part of this building—sleeping comfortably.”

Luke looked up from his meal and focused on Frank. To Olivia’s surprise, when he spoke, his voice was hard. “Something you haven’t explained. Why were you monitoring the shipment of antiques?”

“Because I know that what the Moon Priests do is vitally important.”

Luke stayed focused on the man who had brought him to this private clinic. “How do you know?”

Frank’s tone was steady. “I have sources of information that must remain confidential. If I could share them with you, I would. But I’m duty bound to keep them private.”

“Sending me to Peterbalm’s could have gotten me killed,” Luke said.

“I realize that now,” Frank said. “I’m sorry. I knew the box had been stolen, and I wanted to recover it. I didn’t know that men were prepared to do anything to get their hands on it.”

“And if you hadn’t sent Luke to my office, I’d probably be dead,” Olivia interjected.

For long moments, none of them spoke as they all absorbed the reality of the past few days.

Finally, Frank looked at Olivia. “There’s something else I’d better tell you.”

“Something else bad?”

“The guys who were after the box broke into your apartment and made pretty much of a mess.”

Olivia groaned.

“We’ve had a crew putting it back together.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Right. But we didn’t want you to come home to a mess—or a shattered sliding glass door. If you find some things broken or missing, you’ll know why.”

Olivia nodded. “Thank you.”

Frank shifted his gaze to Luke. “Can you tell me about the warrior?”