Thicker than Water

by Danae Ayusso

  Mickey’s eyes narrowed and he checked to make sure the gun was loaded. “Fury, go around the back of the cabin. The back dormer is false and leads to the attic space. It should drop you in the house somewhere. Get him from behind and I’ll take the front.”

  Colt nodded then stopped and gave him an accusing look.

  “I saw Rossi slip out of the damn thing when you were fighting with Jimmy at the bar. I didn’t want her to be next so I made sure she made it to your cabin, but by the time I got back to the bar to tell you where she went, you were gone and the tribal representatives got me.”

  Colt’s face dropped; this whole time he’d been suspicious of the young deputy when the entire time he was trying to protect and was watching out for the woman Colt loved.

  “Thank you,” he said with a forced smile.

  “Oh, and Fury,” Mickey added with an evil smirk, “whatever you do, don’t answer the door.”

  Gunshots echoed from inside the cabin and was followed by a loud howl of pain.

  Colt took off as fast as he could around the back of the cabin and pulled himself up on one of the trees and found the faux dormer, something that seamlessly blended into the roofline with the other dormers, but he knew it shouldn’t have been there since he installed the others.

  As silent as death, he pulled the dormer free and dropped it to the snow bank below. The opening was narrow and he’d have to squeeze, but the woman he loved was inside and needed him. She was possibly injured, or worst, dead, and it was entirely his fault. Cat kept telling him that all of this had to do with him, but he couldn’t believe it. He didn’t want to believe it. And now because he was stubborn and in denial, the woman he’s waited his whole life for became the next victim.

  Forgive me, Rossi.

  Colt followed the trusses so he didn’t fall through the ceiling to the attic access panel hidden in the bedroom closet. He pulled it free then set it aside, but the bedroom was completely dark, as was the rest of the house.

  “Catalina,” James teasingly sang in the distance and Colt surmised that he was by the bathroom where Cat must have barricaded herself. “Tell me something, Catalina, why him?”

  Jesus! He sounds completely insane….that doesn’t even sound like Jimmy!

  “Vai e fottiti!” Cat yelled through the door, but it was extremely strained, as if she was having trouble breathing.

  Oh no. Please don’t be shot in the lung again. You better have had your vest on!

  “I had a sneaking suspicion it was you,” James continued, tapping the barrel of the gun against the solid wood door, causing it to echo throughout the cabin.

  Colt lowered himself down to the bedroom floor, well aware that Cat would have the floor of the closet completely unobstructed since it was a route for escape.

  He loved how paranoid and practical she is.

  “It irritated me,” James said, “when the surveillance videos from the bar disappeared, but I expected no less since Mitch is Fury’s biological uncle on his father’s side. But when I went back, after I put two and two together last night, and the Area 51 game called out to me… Imagine my surprise when the top scores were CAT CAT CAT COL CAT CAT COL COL CAT. They weren’t from the night of the robbery, but they were from a night that Colt told me he went to bed early at Grandmother’s. Obviously he hadn’t because the proof was right there in front of me.”

  For a moment, Colt could hear the hurt in his voice, and he actually sounded like Jimmy.

  “Get over it!” Cat yelled through the bathroom door. “Fury is never going to love you like your psychotic ass loves him! Fury loves me and I love him, why can’t you accept that?!”

  Rossi loves me? She just said she loves me!

  James growled in irritation. “Colt could never love a whore like you,” he snarled, his voice void of anything remotely Jimmy-like. “You’re just like my disgusting sister; you aren’t good enough for him. His parents weren’t good enough for him. That bastard Reverend wasn’t good enough for him. Vicks wasn’t good enough for him. If a pure and virtuous virgin wasn’t good enough for him, what makes you think that an Italian whore would be good enough for him?”

  I will kill you, Pope.

  “Fanculo! I’m Sicilian, figlio di puttana.”

  James shot at the bathroom door, unloading three rounds.

  “You missed,” Cat amusingly informed him.

  You tell him, Rossi.

  “I will gut you in front of him,” James snarled.

  “Not if I gut you first,” she countered.

  Colt slipped into the room more, careful to take small steps, his feet sliding across the hardwood floor to keep from tripping or knocking anything over as he went.

  “Oh!” James gasped. “What’s that I hear, Catalina? Is that your knight in Carhartt and Levis?”

  “I highly doubt it,” she scoffed.

  That’s a spanking.

  “Oh it is. In fact, I think I hear him now.”

  Colt stopped in mid-step and held his breath.

  There came a soft scratching at the front door followed by the jiggle of the handle.

  “Ooh, it is your precious Detective Fury,” James taunted as he strolled across the room, kicking furniture over as he went.

  Pope’s in front of the door.

  I know he is.

  There isn’t enough time to knock on the bathroom door, to do the series of knocks that Rossi trained me to use to announce my arrival. Pope would get a shot or five off before I get the three knocks completed. What is Mickey going to do with that double barrel? It won’t get all the way through that solid wood door. It wouldn’t even scratch it. The damn thing belongs on a fortress. The only weakness is the peephole she never uses....

  Mickey and Emma, I could kiss you both!

  “Fury, is that you?” James sang at the door as he pressed his eye to the peephole.

  We need light.

  Colt pointed his gun at the far wall and pulled the trigger in rapid succession. The blackened window shattered and the bright light of day flooded the room, and just as James started to turn to regard the breech, a loud explosion blew a hole in the front door at eye level. Colt’s arm swept wide and he shot as James’ body started to fall to the floor, and he didn’t stop shooting until his clip was empty.

  The clicking of the hammer as he dry fired over and over was the only sound filling the cabin. Colt couldn’t stop firing, he couldn’t stop trying to kill the man who had taken so much from him—his best friend, dad, mother, grandfather, fiancée, deputy, friends, those who were like an aunt and uncle, he tried to take his grandmother, but most importantly, he tried to take the woman he loves and who loves him, the woman he wants to spend the rest of his life with.

  The body of the man who was once a brother to him was beyond recognition. One side of his head was missing, the bullet holes riddling his body tore his chest open at his heart, the organ was shredded in what was left in his chest cavity, and his remaining eye was wide open and staring at Colt. The rapidly spreading pool of blood under the body was a red as the anger clouding his vision, and he didn’t feel any sense of justice or atonement now that the killer was dead.

  A long, olive toned hand wrapped around his and pulled the gun from his grasp. “He’s gone, Fury,” Cat whispered. “He’s gone.”

  Colt nodded and looked over at her.

  Cat looked at him, her disguise was gone, her bulletproof vest was damaged from the eight body shots she took at the hands of Pope, both arms were ribboned with blood from the numerous cuts and scrapes littering her exposed flesh, the corner of her lip was split, the side of her face was slightly swollen, and both of her wrists were rubbed raw from the handcuffs dangling from them. Even though she took an apparent beating, had a shootout in her home, was almost killed, she was the picture of composure.

  And never had Colt seen anything so beautiful in his entire life.

  He looked around the cabin and his stomach knotted; he almost lost the woman he loved, again. The furnitu
re was all broken and thrown across the space. Bullet holes littered every wall. Blood stained all of the throw pillows and quilts.

  Nearly everything was beyond repair and wasn’t salvageable.

  Cat followed his gaze around the room. “Thankfully I was able to keep him out of the bedroom. If he would have ruined that bed, I would have killed him a few times.”

  He gave her a look from the corner of his eye.

  She groaned. “Damn it. I loved that chair,” she complained, looking back to the living room.

  Colt followed her gaze and cocked an eyebrow. “You already broke that damn modern Austrian chair? I just brought it over last week.”

  The corners of her mouth twitched. “I suppose that’s a spanking,” she said.

  “Don’t think I won’t. You love me?” he asked.

  Cat nodded. “Yeah, I love you,” she said and wrapped her hand around his. “Now that you’ve faced your demon, I need your help to face mine.”

  The courtroom was filled with uniforms and badge carrying members of law enforcement on one side and a virtual Who’s Who of the NYC criminal underground and Italian mafia on the other. The defendant sat behind the table on the left with his team of attorneys, his perfectly tailored navy pinstriped suit making him look as if he fell off of the pages of a fashion magazine instead of being on trial for two counts of criminal facilitation in the first degree; that was all the D.A. could manage to get to trial.

  Even if Daniele was found guilty, everyone in the courtroom knew that he’d walk out the doors and the two hours he spent in a holding cell while he waited for his team of overly priced attorneys would count as time served.

  It was a grave injustice, but the law is the law so the D.A.’s hands were tied.

  The jury was lead back into the courtroom after their lunch break, and everyone rose as the judge entered. He motioned for them to sit after he did.

  The doors in the back of the courtroom opened and a man slipped inside and headed down the aisle then handed the prosecuting attorney a folded piece of paper and manila envelope. Without a word, he turned and motioned with his chin and Salvati moved over, making room for the mountain of a man looking extremely out of his element in a partially buttoned dress shirt, suit jacket and jeans.

  The prosecutor read the note and his eyes widened and he looked at the messenger in disbelief.

  “Is this a joke?” he harshly whispered, emptying out the envelopes contents.

  The judge banged his gavel. “Do I need to remind you that court is in session, Prosecutor?” the judge asked. “Does the prosecution rest?”

  The prosecutor continued to look at the note with wide eyes.

  “Does the prosecution rest?” the judge asked again, louder that time, his patience running out.

  “If it will appease the court, I’d like to enter into evidence the cell phone of Lieutenant Rossi,” the prosecutor said causing an uproar in the courtroom.

  The judge banged his gavel over and over, trying to restore order.

  Daniele leaned into his attorneys. “That was lost, it can’t be hers,” he hissed.

  His attorneys nodded their understanding. “We object. This evidence has not been presented to us in order to authenticate the evidence and confirm that it wasn’t tampered with. Besides, what is the purpose of said evidence in this case?”

  The judge turned to the prosecution and motioned for him to support his motion.

  “There is a video on it, taken hours before Lieutenants Rossi and D'Avanzo were gunned down,” the prosecutor explained. “This is the first that we have heard of it as well and have no prior knowledge as to what is on the recording or its nature. The jury has a right to know, see firsthand, those that lost their lives due to the defendant’s actions.”

  The defense started to object when the clearing of a throat came from the middle of the bench behind Daniele.

  Micheli Calandriello motioned the lead attorney over and he whispered instructions in his ear.

  The attorney nodded. “The defense will permit the evidence to be submitted,” he said and sat back down.

  A television was brought into the courtroom, and a tech hooked the cell phone up to the television and started the video.

  The video was shaky, but the first image caused tears to flood the eyes of nearly ever badge in the courtroom.

  “D'Avanzo, if you don’t give me back my cell phone I’m going to shove it up your ass,” Rossi, on the video, warned. She was sitting on an exam table, checking the sight of her sidearm.

  Frankie laughed from off camera. “No. This is the proof I’ve been waiting for since the academy. Rossi isn’t Superman after all.”

  She looked up at him and cocked an eyebrow. “I swear to God your mother dropped you on your head when you were a baby,” she complained. “Give me my phone,” she said and reached for it but he pulled it away.

  He turned the phone around and recorded himself. “This is proof that badass extraordinaire, Lieutenant Catalina Rossi, isn’t invincible. She pulled something, and now they’re going to have to give her an ultrasound to make sure that she doesn’t have a hernia or another torn abdominal muscle. This is so going to be my digital Christmas card this year!” he beamed, turning the camera back to her.

  Rossi shook her head. “Remind me why I haven’t shot you yet?” she complained.

  The tech came in and chuckled when she saw the two arguing and recording a video but she didn’t ask; Lieutenant Rossi wasn’t a stranger to the clinic, especially when she’s on physically demanding cases.

  “My money’s on that perp I chased thirteen blocks,” Rossi said, pulling a folded twenty out of her pocket and tossed it on the ultrasound cart. “Out ran two pit bulls and a paper boy that time.”

  Frankie laughed. “And I say it was that button man that landed a couple of punches before you broke his arm in four places.” He tossed a folded twenty on top of hers.

  “You forgot his shattered nose, broken jaw, and three ribs...those stairs are a real bitch, I hear,” she said with a smirk.

  Most of the courtroom laughed.

  Rossi leaned back and Frankie got ready to record the answer, which would get him drink money that night.

  The tech squirted some jelly on Rossi’s abdomen then used the ultrasound probe over her stomach and watched the screen as she worked. After a minute, her head tilted to the side and she moved the probe lower.

  “What is it? Another torn muscle?” Rossi complained.

  “It isn’t cancer, is it?” Frankie asked, concern flooding his voice.

  The tech looked up at them. “Actually, neither,” she said and took the money from the cart and slipped it into her pocket. “You’re nearly five month pregnant,” she said. “Congratulations.”

  Frankie dropped the phone and Rossi’s eyes widened.

  There was a collective gasp from both sides of the courtroom.

  “Shut up!” Frankie choked, picking up the phone and sat it down, but the angle caused the image to go on its side, and showed a clear view of the small fetus and its rapid heartbeat on the ultrasound display. “Holy shit! Who knocked you up, Rossi?”

  She looked at him with wide eyes. “Ooh, this isn’t good.”

  “Who’s the daddy?” he asked again with a chuckle.

  Rossi glared at him. “You are, you idiot.”

  Frankie’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open.

  “After Don Montiglio walked on that bullshit technicality we got really drunk, remember?” she said.

  Absently he nodded, his attention on the kicking legs and moving arms on the screen.

  “And we hit the sheets...neither us remembered most of the night, but we were pretty damn sure we slept together since we woke up naked and wrapped around each other and I haven’t been with anyone since that married D.A. over a year ago. Either way, Internal Affairs is going to have our asses for this one.”

  Frankie finally looked at her. “Who cares what I.A. says? They owe you hardcore after all the meat ea
ters you pinched in just a year for them. So you wanna get married?”

  She snorted. “No. I’m not marrying you. Your mother’s going to kill you either way, but I’m married to the job, you know that.”

  “Huh,” he said and scratched his head. “I’m going to be a father... I can’t picture you as a mother, Rossi. Sorry, it just isn’t in you.”

  The tech cleared her throat. “It’s way too late for an abortion. There’s always adoption.”

  They both shook their heads.

  “No wonder my tits are bigger and my vest isn’t fitting worth a damn,” she complained.

  Frankie looked at her chest and held his hands up. “Yup, over a cup size bigger. How did I miss that?” he asked.

  She smacked him.

  “Rossi, I’ll stay home with our kid,” Frankie said, turning serious. “It’s not a big deal, and you can keep kicking ass and taking names while I teach our son, because I’m rather confident that we’ll have a boy, how to pick up women and run from his grandmother who’ll be trying to beat the word of Jesus into us.”

  Again, the tech cleared her throat. “Don’t get your hopes up, Frankie. That’s not a boy.”

  “A daughter?” he whispered, looking at the screen more intently. “You sure? Because that looks like something a father could be proud of.”

  “That’s the umbilical cord,” the young woman said with a snort. “That’s your daughter. I’ll give you two a moment, just hold the probe there.”

  Frankie took over for her and she left so they could talk. “My daughter,” he whispered again with a smile.

  Rossi pulled her hands over her face in frustration. “You know what this means,” she said.

  He nodded; his attention on the image of their wiggling daughter. “It’s time you made a marriage, Rossi. He’s your old man and he deserves to know that you’re over it and that he’ll be a grandfather.”

  “That’s so much easier said than done,” she said.

  Frankie smiled, pulling his gaze from their daughter to her. “Rossi, if it were easy it wouldn’t be worth doing. You live on the right side of the law, always have and always will, so that means you’re going to have to continue to live on the right side of it but straddle the line for the sake of our daughter. She’ll need our protection and his...he has a right to know his granddaughter. Besides, maybe your brother becoming an uncle will make him less of a prick.”