Shane looked away from Andrew and the pony to check his watch. 7 a.m. Time to get back to the house. Shane turned his attention back to Andrew, who was looking like a pro as Jester trotted around the ring.
"Let's finish up, Sport," Shane said, ignoring Andrew's scowl. "I know you'd prefer to stay out here all day, but you have to get cleaned up before your tutor arrives. I don't want her complaining to your mother than you smell like a horse."
Andrew giggled as he slowed Jester and brought him to a stop.
Shane helped Andrew off the pony, and gave him the lead rope. "Now what do we do next?"
"Unsaddle and unbridle," Andrew answered. "Then brush him, and give him his breakfast."
"Right," Shane said, as he followed Andrew and the pony to the stable. Once inside, Shane said, "Now walk him up and down a little so he cools down while I get the brushes."
It took about 15 minutes to get Jester groomed and fed, as Shane helped Andrew through the process. In the back of his mind, he remembered how his own father had lectured him and Drew about the proper care of their horses. Shane's father had been a bit more didactic in the way he taught, but it looked like Shane's approach was working too. Andrew seemed to be learning about the responsibility of caring for a pet, Shane thought, as he proudly watched his son.
"Captain Donovan, sir," came a voice from behind him just as Shane was finishing tossing some hay into Jester's stall. Shane turned to see Mike standing at the stable doors. "Simmons told me Andrew was out here."
"Good morning, Mike," Shane said, as Andrew ran up to Mike and began rapidly detailing the morning so far. Mike glanced at Shane with a look that indicated he had something to say, but Andrew was not letting him get a word in. A little sternly, Shane cut in. "Andrew, let Mike speak, please."
Andrew fell silent and Mike motioned over his shoulder. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but there were some men at the house asking for you."
That was odd. It was far too early for visitors. "Did they say who they were?" Shane asked.
Mike shook his head. "They might have told Simmons, but I didn't hear. If I had to guess, I'd say they're feds." Shane knew exactly what Mike meant. Federal agents just had an air about them; it never seemed to matter if they were FBI, DEA or Secret Service. You just knew. Shane liked to think the ISA was different, but maybe that was because they took agents from all over the world. As Shane pondered that thought, Mike glanced out the door. "Looks like they're on their way down here from the house."
"Well, we're done here, so why don't we meet them halfway?" Shane scooped up Andrew and, with Mike following, headed out of the stables. He immediately spotted the four men. Definitely feds. The one in front, Louis Pasqua, was the Assistant U.S. Attorney for Salem. Shane recognized him from numerous meetings at the U.S. Attorneys' Office over the years, most recently when the lawyer consulted with the ISA on the Alamain surveillance. Shane did not recognize the three men flanking Pasqua, but they all wore dark suits and sunglasses that seemed completely unnecessary on this misty September morning. FBI was Shane's guess.
Still carrying Andrew, Shane approached the group. "Louis, what can I do for you?"
The men paused and Shane detected some discomfort in Pasqua's expression. After a minute, he seemed to compose himself as he loudly asked, "Shane Donovan?"
Shane was puzzled. "Louis . . . what's going on?"
Pasqua looked even more uncomfortable. "Shane," he said, hesitantly. "Look. . . there's nothing I can do about this. I have a warrant for your arrest."
For a second, Shane thought it was a joke, but from Pasqua's expression and the stony looks on the faces of the men with him, Shane realized they were serious. He looked at Andrew and realized that he needed to get his son out of the way. "Hey, Sport, why don't you and Mike go up to the house? I bet Simmons has those cinnamon rolls all finished."
"What about you, Daddy?" Andrew's eyes were wide.
What about me? Shane wondered. He had no clue what was going on, but he did not want to worry Andrew. "I'm going to talk with these nice men, okay?" He set Andrew on the ground and nodded to Mike, who reached for Andrew's hand. They began to walk away, but Andrew kept looking back. He obviously knew something was wrong.
Meanwhile, one of the FBI agents pulled out a pair of handcuffs.
"Is that really necessary," Shane asked.
Pasqua nodded. "Unfortunately."
Shane's heart began to beat faster and he looked again at Andrew, who still had not reached the garden. "Look . . . can we just walk back to the house before you put those on? My son's right there, and he's been through a lot recently. He doesn't need to see his father dragged off like some common criminal."
The agent with the handcuffs stepped forward. "Put your hands on your head."
"All I'm asking is for you to wait," Shane said. His heart was pounding so loud, he almost could not hear his own voice. "A couple minutes, please. That's all. Just so he doesn't have to see this."
Ignoring the request, the agent reached out and grabbed Shane's left arm. Instinct took over and he jerked away, reversed the grip, spun, and sent the man tumbling head over heels. Before Shane even registered what he had done, the man was on the ground. An instant later, Shane heard a click, then another, from the direction of the other agents, who were now behind him.
The sounds were unmistakable. Safeties being released.
Because Shane had turned, the other agents were outside his field of vision. But he could picture them clearly in his mind. More importantly, he could clearly picture the guns aimed at his back.
Shane became completely still. He kept his hands away from his body, knowing any movement could set off a trigger-happy agent. His heart was still pounding and his throat had gone dry. Very slowly, he said, "Let's . . . let's not do anything rash."
In the distance, he heard Andrew yell. "Don't hurt my daddy!"
With his back turned to the house, Shane had no idea where Andrew was. He hoped that Mike was rushing the boy to the house. Don't let him see this, Shane begged silently.
"Don't hurt my daddy!" Andrew shouted again. Shane tried to shut out Andrew's screams.
Meanwhile, the agent Shane had thrown pulled himself off the wet grass. "Put your hands on your head," he ordered angrily. Shane slowly complied, careful not to move too quickly. The agent with the cuffs grabbed his arm and spun him around, so he could see the two agents with their guns aimed directly at him. Behind them, near the garden gate, he could see Andrew struggling to break free of Mike's grip. Andrew was still yelling.
The agent with the cuffs was now behind Shane. The man had a hold of his wrists and Shane expected to feel the metal of the cuffs, but, instead, he was struck on the back of his legs and fell to his knees. The agent shoved him forward - face down onto the grass - and planted a knee in the small of his back so Shane could not move.
He felt the dew from the wet grass soaking through his shirt and trousers. The agent's weight made it hard to breathe and he tried to shift his head so he could take a breath without getting a mouthful of grass and mud.
With his head on the ground, Shane also could not see Andrew, but he could hear the boy's cries still cutting through the morning air. Over and over, Andrew screamed, "Don't hurt my daddy."
Why? Shane asked himself, almost too befuddled to really believe this was happening. Was he really being arrested? For what? But more than that, he angrily asked himself, Why did Andrew have to see this?Shane's cheeks burned with a mix of anger and shame as he continued to hear Andrew crying in the distance.
The agent pulled Shane's arms behind him, and the metal cuffs bit deeply into his wrists as they snapped shut. Then, he was jerked hard from the ground and frisked roughly. "Look what we've got here," the agent said. Then he waved Shane's pistol in front of him. "Odd thing to carry for a walk with the kid, isn't it?"
Shane bit back his response. There was no point antagonizing them further by explaining what it's like to have someone threatening your child. Shane realized that he could no longer hear Andrew, which meant he had probably reached the house. But the boy had already seen enough. What will Kim tell him? Shane wondered. What will I tell him? Heglared at Pasqua, but the lawyer looked away, seemingly as embarrassed by the scene as Shane was.
"Can you at least tell me what's going on?" Shane asked.
"You'll find out," Pasqua said, without meeting Shane's gaze. Then he began to read Shane his rights, as the agents shoved him back in the direction of the house.