Truth & Lies: A Queen City Justice Novel (28 page)

Andrew leapt from the van. “Are the women safe?” he asked.

Rodriguez nodded. “Falcon and Thompson are sorting them out.”

Andrew flew into the building.  He could hear Deck grunt in pain as he tried to keep up.

Six women, some crying, were lined up in front of the counter in the laundry. “Do any of you speak English?” he asked. The clerk he remembered from before raised her hand. “Are you here against your will?” he asked.

She looked around and spoke quickly to the other women in a foreign language he didn’t immediately identify before turning back to Andrew. “Yes we are. We’ll answer your questions, but you have to help us protect our families at home,” she said. “We’ll tell you whatever we know.”

“Do you know where you’ve been kept? We need to find Anka Pierovich.”

“I knew Anka. She worked here for a couple of weeks after her wedding didn’t work out. But then she disappeared.  That is why I took the risk to call you. But, I don’t know where they keep us. They pick us up in a van when the store closes at nine. The van has no windows.”

“How far away is it?”

She shrugged. “Not far. Ten or fifteen minutes on the highway?”

A small bus arrived to take the woman to the FBI Field Office. “Ma’am, go ahead and have a seat on the bus.  We’ll take all your information, and we’ll make sure your families are protected.”

The woman waved the others onto the bus, gathering them in like a hen pulling in her chicks.

“Good work, team,” Andrew said. “Meet you back at the office.”



Saturday, December 13—6:30 p.m.

Cincinnati FBI Field Office, Kenwood Neighborhood, Cincinnati, Ohio

“How’re they doing?” Sherwood asked Rey, who was leaning against the wall next to the two-way mirror.

Rey indicated MacQuaid, who handed John Giordano a pad and pen. “He’s writing down the address of Turlucci’s lair right now. The entire interview was taped, so you can catch the details later, but the gist of it is Milton gave Giordano a leftover bride in exchange for gambling debts. Giordano moonlights as a bookie, as we suspected. Giordano fell in big love and was encouraged by his new bride to go clean. He’d decided to turn state’s evidence against the Turlucci clan. He was hoping he and his new fiancée would get witness protection. Before he could go to the police, evidently Papa Turlucci managed to find out, and Turlucci Junior decided to teach Giordano a lesson by killing his fiancée. In front of him.”

The whole story turned Rey’s stomach. But in a matter of moments, they’d have Dana’s location and this whole case could be over.

“Apparently, Junior enjoyed it a little too much.”

“Why did he stay on Turlucci’s payroll? You’d think killing your employee’s fiancée wouldn’t be very good for employee morale,” Sherwood said.

“Evidently, the same fate was promised for Giordano’s mother and sister, who have no idea what he does for a living.”

Sherwood nodded.

“So Anka Pierovich has been Turlucci’s captive all along. Giordano makes sure that she and any other, er,
guests
have clean clothes and a couple of meals a day. He calls in the doctor to patch up Pierovich. He says he didn’t know what happened to the ones who stayed just for a few days, and frankly, he didn’t want to know. There are other women where Pierovich is being held, but he claims he has no hand in that.”

MacQuaid gave them the thumbs-up as he left the interview room.

Giordano put his head down on the table in front of him.

“You gotta believe he’s probably almost relieved it’s over,” Rey remarked as they went out into the hall to meet MacQuaid and get the location.

“Let’s just hope that he isn’t dicking us around and that this information leads us directly to Dana,” Sherwood said, ever the voice of optimism.

Chapter Nineteen

Saturday, December 13—Evening

Location Unknown

Anka made their homemade knife disappear down the back of her short skirt as they heard
him
put his key in the door, and prayed that this would work.

She darted a glance at her unexpected savior, who shot her a look of solidarity before Dana dropped her eyes to her lap.

“Oh good. Both of my bellas are ready for me.” His gaze came to rest on Anka. “But who should I start with?”

Oh no.
They hadn’t considered what they’d do if he broke his pattern.

“Please don’t hurt me,” Dana sniveled in a pitiful voice, starting to cry. Had she lost her nerve already?

“Come on, Anka. I’ll let you watch me with her first.”

There was just a split second of victory on Dana’s face before it disappeared. Thank God, she was acting. The woman deserved an award for this performance.

He came to Anka with the roll of tape, his gun never wavering from Dana’s huddled form. She didn’t give him any reason to move her around, for fear that by moving the wrong way, the toothbrush knife would shift from its place nestled between her buttocks and show.

He hadn’t shot any of the women yet, but she didn’t want Dana to be the first.
Just think of Katja.
He taped Anka’s wrists behind her back and her feet together at the ankle. As soon as he settled her back against the wall, she dug her fingers down the back of her skirt, retrieved the knife, and started cutting at her bonds. She scraped her wrist but didn’t stop even when she felt blood loosen the tape. It gave her a little extra wiggle room.

Her heart leapt when she heard the sound of the knife ripping through the tape.

Dana must have as well, because she started crying loudly.

“Shut up!” he yelled.

Anka winced as he smacked Dana in the face. The sound was loud, even over Dana’s sobs.

He grabbed Dana’s hands to tape them. While he was occupied, Anka met Dana’s eyes. She let her frustration at the lack of progress she was making show on her face.

Dana wiggled and was rewarded with another slap, which shot her head back. A moment of pure hatred flashed across the other woman’s face before she masked it.

Anka turned the knife around, and it went through the tape with much less effort. One side was clearly much sharper than the other.

She felt her face brighten as the tape gave way. Dana chose that moment to give a warrior’s cry and kick him directly in the stomach.

Unfortunately, that didn’t even slow him down.



Saturday, December 13—7:00 p.m.

I-71, Approaching Norwood Neighborhood, Cincinnati, Ohio

“Can’t we drive any faster?” Deck asked Jack Falcon, who was behind the wheel of the SUV.

“We’re doing ninety-five, Murphy. Hold tight. We’ll be there in less than five minutes.”

Deck looked out the window, willing the bad feeling in his stomach to go away. The emergency lights flashed blue and red against the ground as they sped up the highway through the night.

Dana had to be all right.

She just
had
to.



Saturday, December 13—Evening

Location Unknown

Dana darted a glance to Anka, who sawed furiously at the tape around her ankles. She returned her attention to Mr. Psycho.

He sneered. “I knew there was more fight in you than you were letting on.”

Don’t celebrate your intuition just yet, asshole.

He looked over at his gun on the table, where he’d left it after tying her hands. Bet he was regretting that. She couldn’t let him get back to it. With her hands bound behind her, she was limited in how she could take him down. He pulled an X-ACTO knife from the pocket of his trousers and dropped the safety shield onto the ground.

Damn-Damn-Damn!

She kicked with her right foot, catching him in the side of the knee. He howled in anger or pain and lashed out with the knife, catching her just above her elbow.

Fear and adrenaline easily overrode the pain. In her peripheral vision, she could see blood dripping off her arm, but she figured she’d worry about it after she took him down.

She heard a loud crash as she kicked out again with everything she had. This time he was ready for her, and he got her in the upper thigh.

That one hurt.

A lot.

Hurry, Anka!

Before she could get her balance, he came at her with the knife and stabbed her in the chest. He hit rib. The good news was that he hadn’t taken out a vital organ. The bad:
Oh-Holy-Fuck-That-Hurt!

He swiped her feet out from under her, and she went down as she heard Anka’s primal scream of rage. Mr. Psycho’s eyes went wide and he shrieked his surprise and Anka jammed the shiv in his back. He began to go down and Anka pulled out the shiv before stabbing it into his other kidney.

Dana scrambled to her feet as Mr. Psycho collapsed. Oh God. She’d lost more blood than she’d thought. She felt woozy, and apparently she was hallucinating, because suddenly, Deck was there.



Saturday, December 13—7:10 p.m.

Norwood Neighborhood, Cincinnati, Ohio

Deck sent up a prayer of thanks as Dana said his name. She was alive.

Alonso Turlucci lay on the ground with what looked like a toothbrush sticking out of his kidney. He groaned and started to roll over, but Falcon put a foot on his back to keep him in place. “Somebody call an ambulance,” he said. “Tell them to send two.”

Dana was starting to list to starboard and Deck crossed the room to pull her into his arms. She leaned into him and realized her hands were still taped behind her back.

“Somebody get me a knife,” he barked.

“Only you would try to take on the bad guy with both hands tied behind your back,” Thompson said. “You are the fiercest woman I know, Dragon.”

She smiled at that, but her eyes didn’t seem entirely focused. She must be in shock.

Falcon handed him a utility knife, and Deck cut her out of the tape. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and it was possibly the best thing he’d ever felt.

Only then did he notice that Dana was bleeding from three different cuts. “Come, here, baby,” he said, leading her to a ratty-looking cot in the corner. “Lie down.”

“Is that really you, Deck?”

“It’s me. I’m here. I’m really here.”

And so was she. He’d really feared he’d never see the life in her beautiful gingerbread eyes again.

Alonso began protesting as Rey Rodriguez and Kier MacQuaid restrained him with hand cuffs. “Shut the fuck up,” MacQuaid said.

Deck tuned them out. “You’re bleeding pretty bad there, gorgeous.”

“He cut me,” she said. “It wasn’t that bad before, but now it’s really starting to hurt.”

“The ambulance is on its way.” He smoothed her hair back from her face.

The cut on her ribs probably hurt like a mother, but it was superficial. The cut on her upper arm had already start to clot. It was going to leave a nasty scar, but it wasn’t life-threatening. The one on her leg, however…

He didn’t like the look of the long, deep gash on her thigh. It traveled ninety degrees from the top of her thigh to the inside. He whipped his T-shirt over his head and tore it along the seam. “I’m sorry. This is gonna hurt,” he said.

He put pressure on the gash, and she cried out. It hurt his stomach to cause her more pain, but it would be worse to have her bleed out. “The medics will be here in just a few minutes, sweetheart. They’ll give you some great drugs, and it’ll stop hurting.”

He held the pressure on her leg with one hand and stroked the back of his knuckles down the side of her cheek. Her gaudy makeup had started to run down her face. He wiped up a trail of black tears with his thumb.

“How’s Anka?” Dana asked, trying to look to her left.

“She’s fine. Rey took her out a second ago.”

“Was she hurt?”

“No.”

“Good.” Her eyes drifted closed, and Deck clamped down harder on the makeshift pressure bandage on her leg. He didn’t like how pale she’d suddenly gotten. And his T-shirt was completely soaked through.

Don’t let him have hit an artery.

“Hang in there, Dragon,” MacQuaid said. “The ambulance is less than two minutes out.”

“Dragon?” she whispered as her lids lifted to half-mast.

“I think it’s partly a take on your name, but mostly a show of respect,” Deck said. “We broke down the door as you were kicking the crap out of Arturo Turlucci. You impressed the hell out of everyone. Me included.”

“They won’t be so impressed when they find out about DC,” she mumbled.

He looked down at her. “Honey, they’ve known for months.”

“How could they? They’ve been so nice.”

“’Cause they know you’re a good agent.”

“Deck? I don’t feel so good.”

Her face had become paper white. “Stay with me.” He turned his head. “Where the fuck’s that ambulance?”

Even as he said it, the siren in the distance got louder.

Dana’s eyes fluttered closed. He patted her face, and when she didn’t wake up, he rubbed her sternum with his knuckles.

MacQuaid popped his head in.

Deck met the agent’s wide gaze as MacQuaid took in the scene. “Tell them she’s bleeding out.”



Saturday, December 14—7:30 a.m.

University Medical Center, Clifton Neighborhood, Cincinnati, Ohio

Dana came to in the hospital. She looked to her left to see Deck dozing in a wheelchair. His leg was propped up and wrapped in a complicated-looking brace, the leg of the cargo pants he’d been wearing the day before cut off just above the knee to accommodate the brace and bandaging.

His eyes drifted open, and a smile smoothed the tired lines on his face. “Hey there, sleeping beauty. Welcome back.”

“How long have I been out?”

He flicked a glance down at his watch. “Since they brought you in last night. You gave us a little scare there.”

“What happened?”

“Turlucci nicked an artery when he stabbed you in the leg. You lost a lot of blood.”

“No. To
you.
” She indicated his leg.

“I just overdid it.”

She raised an eyebrow.