I Am The Sheepdog: An Alex Shepherd Novel Read online

  I AM THE SHEEPDOG

  * * *

  AN ALEX SHEPHERD NOVEL

  C.W. LEMOINE

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental. The views in this book do not represent those of the United States Air Force Reserve or United States Navy Reserve. All units, descriptions, and details related to the military are used solely to enhance the realism and credibility of the story.

  Cover artwork by Spark Creative Partners.

  Edited by Beverly Foster.

  Copyright © 2018 C.W. LEMOINE

  All rights reserved.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  I Am The Sheepdog (Alex Shepherd, #2)

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Acknowledgments

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  Also By C.W. Lemoine

  THE ALEX SHEPHERD SERIES:

  ABSOLUTE VENGEANCE: THE ALEX SHEPHERD STORY (BOOK 1)

  THE HELIOS CONSPIRACY (SPECTRE SERIES BOOK 7)

  I AM THE SHEEPDOG. (ALEX SHEPHERD BOOK 2)

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  "The sheep pretend the wolf will never come, but the sheepdog lives for that day."

  — LTC (Ret.) Dave Grossman

  Prologue

  ALEX SHEPHERD DIED in Raqqa, Syria, during the assault on an ISIS stronghold by the Kurdish YPG unit known as the Lions of Rojava. He was killed by a suicide bomber that stormed his position after he had killed nearly a dozen fighters. It was the end of a very tragic story – one of loss and of absolute vengeance.

  His death received little fanfare in the American media. It was simply a footnote to a story they had covered nearly a year earlier – the story of a decorated Sheriff’s Deputy and SWAT sniper whose family had been killed by radical Islamic terrorists in a quiet Louisiana suburb. It was the story of a man who had traveled halfway around the world to take up arms and fight the evil that had taken everything from him. The famed Alex Shepherd had died unceremoniously on the battlefield after becoming the deadliest sniper in the war against ISIS.

  At least, that was the story expert computer analyst Julio “Coolio” Meeks had manufactured. The real end to Alex Shepherd was far more complicated. It involved secret paramilitary organizations, billionaires determined to destroy the United States, and a group of highly trained operators trying to stop them.

  That group was called Odin, and I had a front row seat to its downfall. Although, to be honest, I am still not quite clear on what happened, or what their end goal was. I just know that after they recruited me, some of them tried to kill me. I’m not okay with that.

  From my perspective, Odin was an elite group of operators run by a group of eccentric billionaires. The operators were some of the best people I had ever worked with – professional, competent, and honorable. They had saved me from certain death and mutilation by an ISIS propaganda minister in the Syrian desert. I owed them my life.

  That’s partly why I stayed with them. They had given me a second chance after I was consumed by rage and sorrow over the death of my family. They had given me purpose and a sense of belonging that I had been missing since that fateful August day. Whatever was happening, they needed me and I wanted to see it through.

  It was a wild ride, but I did see it through. We took down a Russian Bratva boss with the help of the CIA near Moscow and destroyed a supercomputer that could have been used to destroy the Western world. It was a big accomplishment, but at the end of the mission, I was done.

  The life of a high speed, low drag, secret operator is exciting and rewarding, but it just wasn’t for me. The rage and the thirst for vengeance were all out of my system. I was tired of killing and ready to try to move on with my life. I felt like God was giving me a second chance.

  So, when we landed back in the States, I called it quits. I thanked the boss for his hospitality and for saving my life. I said goodbye to my new friends and wished them the best. Their mission was important. It just wasn’t for me. They all seemed to understand.

  As a parting gift, Coolio created a new identity for me. To the rest of the world, I was no longer Alex Shepherd. I became Troy Wilson and moved down to Fredericksburg, Texas, where I became a School Resource Officer with the local sheriff’s office.

  Going back into law enforcement and working in a school was hard at first. The school buses, the laughing and playing kids, and the young teachers were all reminders of everything I had lost. Every little girl was Chloe and every female teacher was Lindsey.

  But that was partly why I chose that job. In spite of everything that had happened, I still felt responsible for the deaths of my wife and daughter. My job as a Deputy in St. Tammany Parish had been to protect them and the other innocent children on that school bus. Despite my best efforts, I had failed.

  So, I thought it was a fitting penance to go back into the school system, doing the only job I had ever known, to protect the innocent on a daily basis. I thought it would be therapeutic and a way to make up for my failures. Besides, law enforcement was the only job I was good at, but I didn’t have the desire to go back out on the streets again. It seemed like a good place to start over and build a new life.

  And for the first six months or so on the job, that’s exactly what I did. With my new K-9 partner Kruger, I kept the students and faculty of
Fredericksburg High School safe. It felt like I had finally started a new chapter of my life and emerged from the darkness a new, and better, man.

  The story should have ended there. I wish the story had ended there. But I lost any chance of a normal life when I lost my girls. From then on, the darkness seemed to follow me. And, although Alex Shepherd was supposed to be dead and gone, his story continued.

  This new chapter was different, though. I had moved past the hopelessness, despair, and sadness. I had already proven to myself that I could walk through the gates of hell and come out on the other side. And, along the way, I had acquired a new set of skills from my new friends.

  Trouble seemed to once again be seeking me out. It was taunting me, telling me I wasn’t strong enough to go through it again. Only this time, I wasn’t just strong enough. I was ready. I was angry. I was the storm.

  Here we go again...

  Chapter One

  “DEPUTY WILSON? TROY? Hello?” I felt a hand on my shoulder and instinctively spun around, coming face to face with Vice Principal Cindy Lawrence.

  Startled by my reaction, Kruger stood and growled instinctively, causing Ms. Lawrence to jump back. “Oh my goodness!” she yelped.

  “Sorry,” I said. Kruger once again sat next to me, satisfied there was no threat. We had been standing near the entrance of the school’s administrative offices as students and teachers entered for the first day of the new school year.

  “Geez, that’s a scary growl. What kind of dog is that?” she asked.

  “Kruger?” I asked as I squatted down to pet my K-9 partner. “A Belgian Malinois. Total sweetheart.”

  “I guess. Are you OK?” she asked. For a Vice Principal, she was fairly attractive – mid forties, long brown hair, and fit. She was wearing a conservative gray dress that just barely silhouetted her figure. “You looked like you were a million miles away.”

  “I’m fine,” I lied as I stood.

  “Okay, well if you need anything, just let me know. The first day of a new school year is always hectic,” she replied. She smiled and then walked away to greet a group of incoming students.

  She was right. I had been a million miles away. I couldn’t help but think about everything I had lost nearly a year ago to the day. Although the kids of Fredericksburg High School were much older than the ones that had been killed in the school bus massacre in Slidell, Louisiana, the sights and sounds were still haunting me.

  I had been working as a School Resource Officer since the end of May, but it was my first day with full classes. I had spent most of the summer doing training with Kruger and working part time with the school as they held summer classes. It seemed like a nice public school in an upper-middle class area, much like St. Tammany Parish where I had previously worked.

  As I stood there trying to shake off the past, a young teenager approached us. He was wearing thick glasses and was sporting the biggest afro I had ever seen. His backpack had a thin blue line bracelet attached to one of the straps. He walked up and stopped a foot in front of Kruger.

  “Beautiful dog, man. Can I pet him?”

  I resisted the urge to point out the DO NOT PET in big bold letters on Kruger’s vest with a smartass comment, or the biology lesson involved with pointing out that Kruger was actually a female.

  “Sure, kid, you can pet her,” I said. “What’s your name?”

  “Marcus,” he said with a smile as he squatted down to gently pet Kruger. “What’s her name?”

  “Kruger.”

  “Kruger? Like Freddy Kruger? That doesn’t sound like a girl’s name,” Marcus said, still focused on petting her.

  “Long story. So what grade are you starting today?”

  “Ninth,” Marcus said as he stood to face me. “But I skipped two grades.”

  “Smart kid,” I said and then nodded to the bracelet. “Cop family?”

  Marcus frowned and looked down. “My dad was killed in the line of duty two years ago.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, buddy.” Kruger sensed the boy’s sadness and instinctively nudged his hand for him to keep petting her.

  “What about you? Where are you from? Deputy Wilson, is it?”

  “Louisiana.”

  “Not the talking type, huh?” Marcus asked. “That’s ok, Deputy Todd wasn’t much of a talker either. He was a lot older though. I guess he retired.”

  “I never met him,” I said.

  “They didn’t give him a dog though. I don’t even think he had a gun.”

  “It’s a new program,” I replied. “The dog. Not the gun.”

  Marcus pointed to the gun in my holster. “Have you ever had to use it?”

  I hesitated for a moment and then said, “Sure. I go to the range every week.”

  Marcus shook his head. “No, I mean to shoot somebody!”

  “I think it’s time for you to go to class,” I said as I turned and ushered him toward the door.

  “Aww! Come on!” Marcus protested. “Please! I won’t tell anyone.”

  “Go to class,” I said.

  “Okay,” Marcus said finally. “But you’ll have to tell me the story later, Dee Dubya.”

  “Dee Dubya?”

  “Deputy Todd was Dee-Tee, so you’re Dee Dubya,” Marcus said as he continued into the school.

  “Dee Dubya,” I said to myself as the door closed behind him.

  The bell rang and the remaining students hurried into the school. I gave Kruger a scratch behind the ears and we walked out to the parking lot. We did a walk through, checking for suspicious vehicles or people, and then went to the nearby football practice field for a quick game of fetch.

  As Kruger retrieved the ball for the twentieth time, I suddenly saw a female teacher running toward me, waving frantically trying to get my attention. I stuffed the ball into my cargo pants pocket and hooked the leash to Kruger’s harness once more. As the teacher grew near, I realized it was Miss Jennifer Jenkins, a young teacher barely five feet tall with blonde hair and blue eyes.

  “Deputy Wilson!” she yelled.

  I started toward her in a jog. “What is it?” I asked.

  “You have to come quickly! He’s got a gun!” she yelled.

  “Who’s got a gun?” I asked as Kruger and I ran with her toward the school.

  “Lee Davis. He’s a tenth grader in my class,” she said.

  “Where?” I asked. My adrenaline surged as I considered the possibility of an active shooter scenario in the school. What the hell was I thinking, leaving to go play fetch. Goddammit!

  “Principal Reese’s office. He confiscated it,” she said, struggling to keep up with me. I had just started to key up the radio and call for backup when she said that.

  I removed my hand from my collar mic and slowed to a walk as I realized it wasn’t an active shooter situation. “Wait, what?”

  “Principal Reese took the gun from him,” Jenkins said as she caught up and tried to catch her breath.

  I stopped and turned to the young teacher. “He disarmed him?” I asked.

  “No, it was in his backpack. I saw it and called the principal in.”

  “What kind of gun is it?” I asked suspiciously.

  “A super soaker, I think,” she said.

  “Holy shit, lady!” I said. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “Excuse me!” she replied. “Watch your language, sir.”

  I didn’t know what to say. A water gun?

  “Principal Reese is waiting for us,” Jenkins added.

  “Yeah, we’re going to have a little chat,” I said.

  I turned with Kruger and walked into the administration area of the front offices. I unhooked the leash from Kruger’s harness and had her lie down on her bed behind the desk in my office, and then closed the door. Jenkins followed as I walked into Principal Reese’s office without knocking. She stopped in the doorway as I entered.

  “Deputy Wilson,” Principal Reese said with a look of surprise. Seated across from him were Vice Principal Lawrence and
the offending student. I immediately saw the neon green and orange water gun sitting on Reese’s desk.

  “We just called young Mr. Davis’s parents,” Reese said. “As you can see, he brought illegal contraband into the school.”

  I said nothing as I walked over and picked up the gun, confirming that it was, in fact, a water gun. “Is this a joke?”

  “It is actually quite serious,” Vice Principal Lawrence said. I turned to her. The kid was crying. “That’s why we needed you here so urgently.”

  “For what?” I asked.

  “To determine whether charges are warranted,” Principal Reese said matter-of-factly.

  “Charges?” I asked. I didn’t know whether to laugh or call this guy a moron.

  “Deputy, this school has a zero tolerance policy for any guns on school grounds,” Reese said, unfazed by my attitude.

  I pointed the water gun at the trash can in the corner of the room and squeezed the trigger. A short burst of water hit the inner liner. “For a water gun?”

  “Yes, Deputy Wilson, that’s correct,” Vice Principal Lawrence answered.

  I looked at the kid, still sobbing as he feared what would happen next. “Lee, is it?” I asked.

  He nodded without looking up at me.

  “Is this your squirt gun?” I asked.

  “Yes, sir,” he said, still staring at the floor.

  “Did you bring it to school today?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Why?”

  He looked up nervously at me and then at Principal Reese. I could tell they had already been through this line of questioning before. “Go ahead, you can tell me,” I said.

  “Jason had a pool party at his house yesterday and I forgot it was in my bag, sir,” Lee replied as he burst into tears again. “I’m sorry!”

  “Lee, can you give us a minute? Maybe go wait with the secretary?” I asked.

  “What are you doing? What if he runs?” Principal Reese asked.

  “I’ve got a dog,” I said. “Lee, please give us the room.”

  “Yes, sir,” Lee mumbled as he slowly stood and walked out.

  “Close the door,” I ordered Jenkins when the kid was out of the room.