On Her Six (Under Covers) (9 page)

The party was in full swing, crowds bunched together, jumping and shaking to the music. Couples lined the dance floor, groping each other and kissing as if it was their last dying wish.

She had to fight her way to an open seat at the bar. She peered over the crowd in search of her neighbor but came up empty. When she turned to the bar, she met eyes with a hunky fair-eyed bartender.

He nodded his greeting, sliding a martini glass with blue liquid toward her.

“Oh,” she said, surprised, “I haven’t ordered yet.”

The bartender offered a sweet smile. “It’s on za house.”

“Well, that’s nice.” She allowed him to push the glass in front of her. The free drinks were probably a way to make up for the lacking decor. She fingered the stem of the glass as she scanned the room again.

Lovers at the bar.

Lovers in the shadows.

Lovers on the dance floor.

The man next to her had his hand so far up his lady’s leg it was hard to tell if she was a woman or a puppet.

Is everyone making out? What kind of club is this? And where is John Black?

She turned to the bartender who had given her the complimentary drink. “Must be something in the drinks, huh?” She nodded her head toward the man and his puppet.

The bartender chuckled with a wicked hint. “Ya.” He bobbed his head toward the full glass in front of her. “You drink.”

She lifted the glass to her mouth, smelling the inviting aroma of fruit and liquor, before remembering her reason for being at Club Hell.

“Hey, Sven—can I call you Sven?” she asked through a convincing smile, setting the drink on the bar.

He shook his head. “Hans.”

“Okay, Hans. Is Viktor Heinrich around?”

His smile dropped and his spine snapped to attention.
A soldier preparing for battle
.

Interesting. His reaction gave her the answer she wanted. If Heinrich wasn’t here tonight, he was definitely involved in the club.

She leaned forward and rested her forearm on top of the bar. “I’m an old friend. We go way back. I just want to pop in and say hi. See how he’s doing.”

Hans didn’t blink once while she spoke, his stare so intense it was as if he peered down into her soul and pulled out the lie she’d just fed him.

Then after a moment, his eyes cleared and he blinked. “Don’t know Viktor.”

Her fist rested under her chin. “Hmm, you sure? I could have sworn he told me he owned this place.”

Hans’s eyes betrayed him for a brief second, flitting to the back left corner of the club, before he recovered and gave her a slight shake of his head. Then he turned to the bartender standing next to him—a bit too close, in Sam’s opinion—and whispered something. The second bartender, who could have been Hans’s twin brother based on looks and size, turned and gave her the same evaluating gaze. Both men’s lips curled into snarls.

Sam may not be a cop, but she had instincts, and at that moment, they were on full alert.

She shot from her chair, a nervous chill running through her. Leaving the free drink behind, she pushed her way past the people making out and crossed the dance floor.

“Hey!” one person shouted, spraying saliva. “Watch it!”

“What the—” came another.

Sweat-drenched appendages slid across her skin as she moved farther through the crowd to the back of the club. Gross. She swiped her slick arms on her tank top to be rid of the nasty sweat.

In the back corner, she spotted a door covered in shadow. That must have been where Hans glanced. Was it Viktor Heinrich’s office? Was he in there? Was he alone?

Only one way to find out.

She looked behind her. Her legs wobbled and threatened to give out. This was the moment she’d been waiting for. She unzipped the top of her handbag and reached for the can of homemade pepper spray. It contained Maybel’s extra-special recipe. The woman had learned a hell of a lot more than just peacekeeping tactics during her time with the CIA.

“C’mon, Viktor,” Sam said, her lip curling. “Just show me your miserable face.” She hoped the pepper spray would disable him enough for her to interrogate him. She hadn’t had enough time to come up with a rock-solid plan. She’d had to seize the moment. But no matter what, she’d find out once and for all what happened to her father. She had to. By any means necessary.

Two more steps and she was there.

With her free hand, she reached for the door handle.

Her heart hammered against her ribcage.
Finally!
She was finally going to meet Viktor Heinrich face to face. She couldn’t suppress the giddy anticipation bubbling inside of her.

Commotion exploded to her right. Screams erupted.

She turned.

The overgrown bartenders huddled around a body almost matching in size to theirs, manhandling him, five against one.

Three women stood to the side, in short dresses of black, blue, and purple. They turned their heads long enough for Sam to notice their eyes.

Red and black.

Vamps.

The man flailed his arms, screaming at the bartenders, “How did you do it? Tell me, damn it! How did you fucking do it?”

Sam searched the room in a frenzy. No one around her seemed to notice or care about the fight. Everyone went about their business, groping one another.

Then her heart caught in her throat. She lost her ability to breathe when she realized every eye in the club looking her way was
red
and
black
.

Oh God.

No. No. No. This couldn’t be happening. Not when she was so close to busting Viktor Heinrich.

One bartender held the large man’s arms behind his back, but he still managed to kick two of Hans’ twin brothers in the face. The captive man fought to free himself of the tight muscle-bound hold, twisting and writhing, when Sam caught a glimpse of his face.

John Black.

No!
Her knees were definitely going to give out. Blood rushed to her head. She blinked rapidly to keep herself from fainting.

Another bartender pushed his comrades out of the way and punched John in the face. Sam gasped as blood spewed from his mouth, trailing down his chin and neck. He spit a red patch back at the men in front of him and smirked.

The man John kicked in the face recovered, eyes glowing in fury, shouting something Sam didn’t catch. It sounded foreign.
German?

The bartenders surrounding John snapped to attention as Hans had done when she asked him about Heinrich, and they hauled him toward a back door in the opposite corner of the club.

No. No. No!

Her gaze darted from the office door to John. John to the office door.

Do the right thing and try to save John, who apparently couldn’t save himself? Or stay and get her long-awaited revenge?

As she contemplated, the seconds ticked by in her brain like resounding gongs. She’d waited for this moment and now it was within her grasp. Could she let it slip away with the probability it may never present itself again?

Her knuckles screamed in protest as her grip tightened on the door handle, the other on the can of pepper spray.

Who was John Black to her anyway? Only her neighbor. No one special to her. She didn’t have an obligation to him like she did to Rose, Estelle, Maybel, or Celia. Had one of them been in trouble, Sam would have flown over the crowd and pummeled each and every one of those German brutes.

She turned toward her neighbor, nibbling on her bottom lip.

If he was being beat to a pulp and forcibly removed from the club, she could bet he wasn’t partners with Heinrich. He couldn’t be. Plus, he’d saved her when she’d been attacked by that vamp. She owed him.

Another quick glance at the office door and then at John. Her grip relaxed on the door handle. “You better be worth it!”

Pepper spray still in hand, Sam ran as fast as her legs would carry her, ignoring the looks and shouts of the other patrons as she knocked them out of her way.

Within range of the scuffle, and running on pure adrenaline, Sam shot two of the burly men in the back of the neck with the spray.

They squealed and twisted in agony, hunching over. The skin on their necks began to peel away, leaving deep, irritated welts. Blood oozed onto their shirt collars. What had once been crisp, white cotton was now drenched with dark, scarlet stains.

Noticing their brothers wounded, two more broke away from the pack, headed in her direction.

John screamed, “No! What are you doing? Get out of here!”

Yeah right.

Once the two men were close enough, she sprayed their faces as if she held a can of Aqua-Net and was determined to destroy the Ozone layer in one shot. They fell to their knees screaming, gouging at their closed eyes, which started dripping with blood.

With eyes wide and mouth open, John glanced at the bleeding bartenders and then at Sam.

Surrounding vamps convulsed and their eyes darkened.

Out of nowhere, three more Germans came after her. John was still being forced toward the exit.

“Get back here!” she screamed.

“Go!” John shouted back, still flailing and shifting. “Run, goddamn it! Run!”

Vamps closed in on her, their teeth gleaming like feral beasts, a frantic thirst on their face. Even if they weren’t
actual
vampires, if they couldn’t get a drink from the bar, she was sure they’d be fine with a drink from her neck. They appeared that desperate.

Withdrawal. They must be going through withdrawal. Just like the perp who held her at gunpoint. She’d escaped that scenario. But a group of them? There was no way she’d survive.

Step by step, at an agonizingly slow pace, the giant men and dark-eyed monsters drew closer, ready to swallow her whole in the dark heart of the circle.

She had to do something or she wouldn’t live to see Viktor Heinrich brought to justice. She’d never know what her neighbor’s involvement was. Her father would forever be considered a traitor. And, she’d never hug Grandma Rose or laugh with the 19th Street Patrol gals again.

Thoughts of her grandmother whirled through her mind as the darkness closed in around her.

Chapter Ten

Sam squeezed her eyes shut and scattered the remaining pepper spray in the direction of anything that moved. Screams pierced her eardrums, but she kept her finger locked on the trigger.

When the can sputtered, she chucked it at one of the incoming bartenders. It bounced off his forehead as he advanced.

“Run!” John screamed again. “
Now!
Get out of here!” He was almost to the door.

Did he really think screaming the same thing over and over would make her listen? She was committed to the situation now. There was no backing down.

If they made it outside, who knew what would happen. She had to save him.

Another circle of Hanses and vamps closed in around her. Sweltering body heat stifled the air, smothering her, robbing not only her breath, but her courage, too.

“Leave her alone!” John strained against the powerful hold. He sounded like a wild man about to draw his last breath. “Over here! Come get
me
you sons a bitches!”

John wiggled one arm free, managing to elbow a Hans in the face; blood spurted from the man’s mouth before his comrade restrained John’s arm. Bloody-nosed Hans gave John a four-knuckle shot of his own. Sam winced and cried out as John doubled over.

Sweaty hands clawed at her body, pawing along her skin as she tried to squirm away.

Like possessed zombies vying for a taste of her, the monsters huddled into the circle, reaching, angry, and hungry.

Keep moving. Come on, Sam! Keep moving!

Sinking to her hands and knees, she opened her purse in search of her next homemade weapon. An iron-clad grip yanked at her hair, pulling the follicles from the roots. A wail tore from her lungs, but she continued to rummage inside her purse, pushing away the piercing pain in her head and neck.

Where
are
they?

A strong arm reached around her neck and tightened like a rattlesnake strangling its prey.

“No!” As she’d been taught in self-defense class, she dipped her chin and bit down hard on the forearm. A howl cut through the room as the arm yanked back. She tasted salt, but not metal. Thank God. She wanted to hurt the person, not draw blood into her mouth.

Another grabbed her, forcing her to her feet. She wasn’t giving in. Blindly throwing a right hook, she connected with the bartender in front of her. His head snapped to the side and he stumbled backward, finally allowing her to locate what she was looking for in her purse.

Earplugs.

She shoved one in and then the other as she watched John being propelled through the back door. The look of desperation and fury on his face was almost enough to crush her will.

The door slammed closed behind him.

While arms reached and voices screamed at her, she yanked the air horn out of her purse and let it howl.

Everyone but Sam doubled over, grabbing their ears and screaming at the slicing sound.

She inhaled a deep breath, starving for the oxygen left in the wake of the dissipating bodies. One by one they fell like dominoes.

It was as if she was the only person in the room—a statue standing among an ocean of bodies lying flat and lifeless on the ground.

The man who had received her right fist removed his hands from his ears to see his palms covered in his own blood. Dark red clumps dripped onto the floor. Other vamps ceased moving all together, stretched out on their backs, barely breathing as their bodies convulsed and blood ran from their ears onto the filthy cement.

She kicked off her strappy heels and ran toward the back door. Lightheaded, she leaped over bodies. Adrenaline on high alert, her heart pumped blood to her brain in rapid amounts. She was sure her heart was going to burst out of her ribcage at any moment. She was like a ticking time bomb.

Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

She threw open the door and spotted John on the pavement. His arms braced as if he’d just finished doing push-ups, except he was covered in smears of dirt and blood. He swiped his forearm across his mouth, blood streaking across his cheek.

His head turned, and he locked eyes with her, relief clear in his expression.

The Hans quintuplets turned as well, scowling at the interruption. Three remained with John and two headed toward her.

John’s eyes expanded. He tried to leap to his feet, but a foot stomped onto his back.

“Wait!” she yelled.

The Germans paused.

Pleading with each eastern European staring back, she said, “Please don’t kill him yet.”

John’s eyebrows rose. “
Yet?
”

The beefy Germans raised their eyebrows too, but in amused curiosity. The one with his foot on John’s back smirked as if to say,
Go ahead, humor me.

“Uh, yeah…please don’t kill him just yet.” She coughed and cleared her throat. “Please?” She batted her eyelashes, desperately trying to recall the year of German she’d taken in the tenth grade. “I mean,
bitte
?”

A few of the Germans offered appreciative smiles.

“
Ja, deutsche
talk.
”
She nodded after noticing their pleased reaction. “Me and
meine
man-
freund…
” She spoke slowly, deliberately, winking at the Germans as her hand gestured to herself and then her neighbor.

She was pretty sure John rolled his eyes and groaned, but she didn’t care. At the moment, he was alive and not being beat to a pulp.

Smirking, the Germans looked at her and then to John, seeming to forget that moments ago she’d made their brothers suffer in agony. “Ahh,” they said. “
Liebespyrchen
.” They nodded to one another. “
Dein Mann!
”

“Ja! Ja!”
she said, boisterously happy her plan to delay their torture was working. “My man.
Ich
like to, uh…say
guten
-bye…” She waved her hand in the universal gesture of farewell. “…before you…
killen
him.” The last part was spoken in question since she had never learned the German word for “kill.” Not much use for it in the tenth grade.

It seemed to get her point across. Their smiles grew wider, so she took a step toward her neighbor. They grabbed him by the shoulders and yanked him up.

Frau Weber would be so proud!
Sam squared her shoulders and took another step and then another, silently scolding her racing heart.

She stood within inches of John by the time his feet hit the ground. She was so close the heat from his body mixed with hers, and his musky male scent enveloped her. She took in two deep breaths, calming herself.

“What the hell are you doing?” he muttered, looking into her eyes with a mixture of both disapproval and awe.

“Just go with it,” she murmured without moving her lips. “My man,” she said, turning to smile at her new German friends. “
Liebe
man.” Sam caressed a hand across his cheek, slight stubble tickling her fingertips. “Oh,
meine liebe
man.”

“Is that your extent of the language?” he whispered. “Because if so—”

Sam pinched his cheek and twisted.

“YOW!” he shouted.

“
Liebe, liebe
man!”

Grunts and groans echoed from the Germans. Apparently they liked her dominance.

So she did it again.

“ARGH!” His face contorted into a scowl, and his eyes darkened. “Stop that, damn it!”

The Germans now moved in syndication, closing in on the pair, circling in attentive voyeurism. They nodded in encouragement and nudged one another in the ribs.

“Oh,
meine liebe.
” Sam tried to mimic the raspy voices she’d heard on TV for those 900-numbers. “
Ich
going to, uh…
essen
du
.”

“
Eat me
?” John blanched, and Sam pulled his head toward hers with a swift and effective tug on his ear.

The Germans continued to smile and grow red in the face, their sharp white teeth shimmering in the dim night.

On her tiptoes, she placed a soft kiss on his neck. Though meaning to, she didn’t stop there. Her mouth worked its way across his cheek, slowly depositing soft kisses. His face dipped in response, and her mouth searched for his. Body heat rising, she forgot herself as their lips touched.

Both exhaling loudly through their noses, it was as if they had been holding their breaths until that moment. The Germans must have let go of him, because a pair of strong arms wrapped around her, steeling her in place against him.

He tangled his fingers in her shoulder-length hair and tugged back for better access. When his mouth took hers, she forgot about their audience and location. It was simply the two of them.

He kissed her good and thoroughly, his tongue demanding an improper introduction with hers. He wasn’t gentle, and he wasn’t slow as he parted her lips with haste.

She gave in and opened for him, enjoying the pleasure of his warm, wet tongue dueling with hers. Never one to be dominated, Sam met him stroke for stroke, grasping his head tight as she sliced her tongue along his.

His hands dropped to her backside. They lingered, as if deciding, then his fingers dug into the fabric of her skirt and rammed her forward, cradling her against his erection.

How can he be turned on at a time like this?

As if hearing her thought, he pulled back and looked into her eyes with a clouded expression. He looked to be in pain.

Before he blew the con, and the Germans realized what she was doing, she dipped into her purse and grabbed the remaining pair of earplugs.

She reached her arms around his neck and grazed her lips along his jaw line. Her fingers climbed toward his ears, and she pressed the buds into his canals.

When his eyebrows dropped and his forehead creased, she whispered, “Trust me.”

The Germans closed in. They now wore expressions of wary concern rather than horny curiosity.

John must have thought she lost her mind. “What are you—?”

Sam yanked his face to hers and planted a sloppy resemblance of a kiss that would have been fitting if she’d been about twenty years younger and eating an ice cream cone instead of kissing her hot neighbor.

Lips still locked, she lowered her purse between their touching bodies, blocking it from view as she searched inside.

The bartenders, now snarling, stood shoulder to shoulder, trapping Sam and her neighbor in the center with their massive bodies.

John’s body went rigid, every muscle locking into place. He was going to try to take on these thugs.

Before he could, Sam raised her arm to the heavens and pulled the trigger of the second air horn. With her other arm, she bear-hugged John as if they were on a ship in the middle of a monsoon. He tightened his arms around her waist.

Like in the club, the Germans dropped to the ground and began to bleed from their ears.

John’s head whipped around, watching the massive bodies fall.

Darkness invaded her vision as she looked up at him, smiling proudly. She’d saved him! She’d actually done something right, and she’d saved him! Without a badge. Without backup. Without anything but her brain and some homemade weapons.

And now it was time to get the hell out of Dodge.

Throwing his arm around her shoulder, she held him close as they hobbled toward the street.

He paused, bending to retrieve a gun from the ground, and tucked it into his waistband, before leaning on her again. His taut muscles pressed against her, and she realized it must be difficult for him to rely on anyone for help. He didn’t seem to have friends or comrades. No one ever visited. And aside from the Tyke guy he talked to, John seemed to be a loner. The thought pulled at her heart. Everyone deserved someone they could rely on for comfort and love.

Once they approached her car, he spoke. “What in the hell did you think you were doing?”

“Saving your ass, obviously.” She dug in her purse for her keys. She staggered a step as they approached the curb where her car was parked. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Saving
me
?
”
He laughed without humor. “I had it under control.”

“Looked like it.”

“I told you to run.”

She leaned him against the passenger-side door. Taking in his battered appearance, she ignored the urge to shake her head at his ridiculous statement.

Black spots invaded her vision as she ran to the driver’s side and struggled to get the key into the lock. Success after three tries, she sat behind the wheel. “Can you get in okay?” Noticing his drooping frame, still covered in mud and dried blood, she opened the passenger door from the inside.

He fell into the seat, expelling a few sharp breaths. He buckled himself as she started the car and raced down 26th Street.

“Again,” he said, wincing as he turned to her. “What did you think you were doing?”

“Can we worry about that later? Right now I’m concentrating on getting us out of here.” She stole a few glances in the rearview mirror. The view tilted, so she narrowed her eyes, concentrating.

He looked in the side mirror and then craned his neck to look behind. “You can slow down. No one’s following us.”

She breathed a sigh of relief and slowed the car’s pace to the speed limit.

“What was that?” he asked.

“Are you okay? You look pretty banged up.”

No verbal response, but she sensed his eyebrow raise.

She sighed. “An air horn.”

“That wasn’t a regular air horn. Where’d you get something like that?”

She shrugged like it was no big deal she had a contraption that made people’s ears bleed. Thanks to the CIA for their research in the sixties on unorthodox methods of warfare.

He pulled the earplugs from his ears and held one up to examine it as if it was a rare gemstone found only in the most remote and dangerous cave.

“Where’s your gun?”

“My gun?” She removed her earplugs and placed them in the cup holder. “What makes you think I have a gun?”

“You’re a cop.”

She snapped her head to look at him. “No, I’m not.”

“You work for Baltimore City Police.”