Casino Girl

by Leslie Wolfe

  “I’ll always have your back, Baxter,” he eventually said.

  I frowned, confused. “But you said you’re putting in for reassignment?”

  “Nah,” he reacted, while the familiar, crooked grin pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Just an interrogation technique.”

  I gasped again, recognizing the words I’d previously said, and felt another wave of heated anger coursing through my blood. My face scrunched, and my hands trembled with the urge of breaking something, of throwing something at him. Out of options, I grabbed the napkin off my lap and slammed it on the table.

  “Detective Jack Holt, I swear to you, I could kill you right now. I could make you scream and bloody enjoy it,” I said, making a scratching gesture with my fingernails, as if I were about to reach over the table and leave long, bloody marks across his smirking face.

  He leaned back against his chair while his grin widened, his eyes not leaving mine, his gaze intense, searing, melting my anger and turning it into overwhelming, urgent desire, equally intense, only far more dangerous.

  Michelle appeared, bringing strawberries and whipped cream, but we didn’t break our loaded eye contact. She dropped them on the table and disappeared without a word, wondering if her two customers were sane, considering how they stared at each other.

  Holt interlaced his fingers behind his head and said in a low, sultry voice, “Tell me in detail, how exactly are you planning to make me scream?”

  ~~ The End ~~

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  Las Vegas Crime

  What happens here, stays here.

  And

  Dawn Girl:

  A short-fused FBI Agent who hides a terrible secret. A serial killer you won’t see coming. A heart-stopping race to catch him.

  ~~~~~~~~

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  Preview: Las Vegas Crime

  Gone

  They sat in the unmarked Crown Vic, watching the last of the kids rush inside, after harried drivers dropped them off at the curb. It was almost eight-thirty, but some parents had a terrible sense of timing; by now, the first period had already started, and traffic should’ve been nonexistent in the drop-off lane.

  “Let’s do this,” the man behind the wheel said, arranging his uniform and checking himself briefly in the rearview mirror. His name tag read, “Beasley,” and the patch affixed to his uniform bore the insignia of North Las Vegas Police Department. “The job isn’t going to get any easier if we wait.”

  “Yeah, yeah, all right, hold your skivvies with both your hands, will you?” his partner, with a name tag of Greer, replied, then got out of the Crown Vic, groaning. He arranged his tactical duty belt and put his cap on, walking quickly toward the school entrance, not bothering to wait for Beasley to catch up.

  They entered through the main gate, underneath a glass banner with the words, “Western Warriors” written in bold lettering. The security officer posted at the doors let them right through, but they didn’t stop to ask for directions; they kept on walking.

  “This place gives me the creeps, man,” said Beasley. “I’d rather do serious time than go back to school. No, scratch that, I’d rather be shot like a rabid dog, than do one more day of school.”

  The two men laughed, and the resounding echo of their laughter caught the attention of a sternly dressed woman in her fifties, carrying a stack of papers and walking quickly toward one of the classrooms.

  “Can I help you, Officers?” she asked, forcing herself to try to smile and failing.

  The two men immediately stopped laughing. Beasley cleared his throat, uncomfortable with being caught laughing when he was about to break some bad news, and said, “We’re here to pick up the daughter of one of our detectives.”

  The woman frowned.

  “We require parental approval—"

  “He’s been shot in the line of duty, ma’am,” Beasley replied quickly.

  The woman gasped. “Oh, my goodness… I’m so sorry. Is he, um, going to be all right?”

  “Yes,” the second man replied, while at the same time, Beasley said, “They don’t know yet; it’s too soon.”

  The two cops glared at each other for a moment, but the woman didn’t seem to notice. She kept staring into nothingness, her hand clasping her gaped mouth.

  “Ma’am?” Beasley asked.

  She turned toward him as in a trance. “I’m assuming you’re talking about Meredith Holt, right?”

  Both men nodded.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Beasley confirmed.

  “Such a shame,” the woman continued. “Detective Holt is such a nice man.” She looked at them for a long moment, then said, “You’ll have to sign her out at the office.”

  “Ma’am, with all due respect,” Beasley said, “time is of the essence here. Last thing we want is for Meredith to get there too late.”

  She hesitated, then said, “Okay, follow me; I’ll take you to her.”

  They walked down seemingly endless corridors filled with the smell of heated sneakers, disinfectant, and too many strange odors, while the woman never stopped talking, not for a single moment. Not even to draw breath.

  “This city is falling apart, if you ask me,” she said. “A nice man like Detective Holt—to be shot… that isn’t right. That shouldn’t happen. Where did, um, where did he get shot?”

  Beasley looked at Greer before answering, “In the abdomen. It’s serious.” Thankfully, Greer had learned his lesson and kept his mouth shut.

  After what seemed like an eternity of walking through a maze of cement-floored corridors, the woman stopped in front of a classroom and opened the door. She turned to the two men and said, “Please, wait here.”

  She went inside, and they heard her say, “Meredith, please come with me, dearie.”

  When the girl stepped outside the classroom, the men could tell she was confused and a little worried. Beasley was the one who broke the news to her. Before he could finish speaking, the girl had grabbed his forearm and begged, “Please take me to him.” She was acting brave, but her lips quivered.

  They thanked the woman and left, rushing toward the school’s exit. Falling a step behind, Beasley looked at the girl with a smirk on his face; she had a nice, round butt for a fifteen-year-old. She showed promise; a couple of months with the right trainers and she’d be topnotch booty. Not to mention, she was the daughter of a cop—one of the meanest, most annoying pigs he’d ever crossed paths with. He’d lost three long years of his life because that piece-of-absolute scum, waste-of-skin Jack Holt wouldn’t cut him some slack when he’d caught Beasley selling a little bit of dope, just to make ends meet.

  Today was payback for all the long days he’d spent caged like an animal.

  He’d gladly taken the job to snatch Holt’s daughter; he’d volunteered, and he didn’t even think of negotiating a fee. He would’ve done it for free, just to put that pig’s little bitch in Snowman’s hands and then, when the time was right, to find Holt and lau
gh in his face, say something like Bruce Willis would’ve said. “Yippee ki-yay, motherfucker, it was me, and now we’re even. You’re never going to see your little girl again.”

  The girl stopped a few yards short of the exit and turned around so quickly he barely had time to wipe the smirk off his face.

  “Where’s my mom? I have to call my mom,” she said, as she started digging through her backpack for her phone.

  “She’s already on her way to the hospital,” Beasley said, frowning.

  How did they not realize the kid came equipped with a cell phone and she was going to use it?

  He grabbed her hand and somberly looked her in the eye. “We’ll get you there in ten minutes, you’ll see. We’ll turn on the sirens and all. Your mom is probably already there with your dad, and they don’t allow phones in hospitals, so she wouldn’t get your call. You know that, right?”

  The girl nodded. She wore a spiky dog collar around her neck and dark eyeliner, and her long hair, almost raven black, covered one of her eyes completely. She was trying to pass for a Goth, but she wasn’t there all the way.

  To see where she was going, she occasionally ran her hand through rebellious locks and tucked them behind her ear. Yeah, Beasley could see she needed some work, but her small, firm breasts and her full lips were promising, and she had fire in her eyes. Now, with her eyeliner running down her cheeks, she didn’t look like much, but Beasley still felt a twitch below his belt.

  When they reached the car, he held the back door open for her and refrained from putting his hand on her head to prevent her from hitting the doorframe, like he’d experienced firsthand when he’d been arrested. He’d seen that so many times in the movies he was dying to do it, to be the pig for a change, the one who got to force people’s heads down. He would’ve loved to force that girl’s head down… all the way down.

  “Let me take that,” he offered, extending his hand for the girl’s backpack.

  She hesitated a moment, then let go of the straps and watched Beasley put it in the trunk of the Crown Vic.

  Beasley slammed the car door shut, making sure the girl was now locked inside, behind bars, without possibility of escape. Satisfied, he climbed behind the wheel and started the engine. Cautious, he looked left, then right, before entering traffic and they drove in silence for a while, heading north. He didn’t turn on the lights nor the siren; the last thing they needed was to draw any unwanted attention.

  “Hey,” the girl said, sniffling and panting, grabbing the wire mesh that separated the back from the front, “where are you going? UMC Trauma Center is south of here. That’s where they take all the wounded cops.”

  The two men looked at each other, smiling widely.

  “Shut your piehole, bitch,” Greer said, slamming his palm against the wire screen.

  She flinched, but quickly recovered. “Hey,” she shouted, “let me go!” She grabbed the wire mesh with both her hands, sliding her fingers through the holes and rattling it with all her might. “Hey!”

  They laughed louder, ignoring her. When she turned sideways and started screaming for help, banging against the barred window, Beasley took out his phone and handed it to his partner.

  “Here, you break the good news to the boss. Tell him we’ve got the cop’s girl and we’re coming in.” He licked his lips and added, “Tell him he’ll like her; she’s feisty.”

  Stunned, Meredith stopped shouting while pallor discolored her features. She looked at the two men, slowly taking in the details she’d missed before. Their two uniforms bore different precinct insignias. There was a thick layer of dust on the car’s dashboard. The driver’s duty belt didn’t have any gear inside its many pockets; only the gun holster wasn’t empty.

  Then she seemed to realize what was happening to her.

  She’d been kidnapped.

  ~~~End Preview~~~

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  Preview: Dawn Girl

  Chapter One

  Ready

  She made an effort to open her eyes, compelling her heavy eyelids to obey. She swallowed hard, her throat raw and dry, as she urged the wave of nausea to subside. Dizzy and confused, she struggled to gain awareness. Where was she? She felt numb and shaky, unable to move, as if awakening from a deep sleep or a coma. She tried to move her arms, but couldn’t. Something kept her immobilized, but didn’t hurt her. Or maybe she couldn’t feel the pain, not anymore.

  Her eyes started to adjust to the darkness, enough to distinguish the man moving quietly in the room. His silhouette flooded her foggy brain with a wave of memories. She gasped, feeling her throat constrict and burning tears rolling down her swollen cheeks.

  Her increased awareness sent waves of adrenaline through her body, and she tried desperately to free herself from her restraints. With each useless effort, she panted harder, gasping for air, forcing it into her lungs. Fear put a strong chokehold on her throat and was gaining ground, as she rattled her restraints helplessly, growing weaker with every second. She felt a wave of darkness engulf her, this time the darkness coming from within her weary brain. She fought against that darkness, and battled her own betraying body.

  The noises she made got the man’s attention.

  “I see you’re awake. Excellent,” the man said, without turning.

  She watched him place a syringe on a small, metallic tray. Its handle clinked, followed by another sound, this time the raspy, telling sound of a file cutting through the neck of a glass vial. Then a pop when the man opened the vial. He grabbed the syringe and loaded the liquid from the vial, then carefully removed any air, pushing the piston until several droplets of fluid came out.

  Dizziness overtook her, and she closed her eyes for a second.

  “Shit,” the man mumbled, then opened a drawer and went through it in a hurry.

  She felt the needle poke deeply in her thigh, like it was happening to another person. She felt it, but distantly. She perceived a subdued burning sensation where he pushed the fluid into her muscle, then that went away when he pulled the needle out. She closed her weary eyes again, listless against her restraints.

  The man cracked open ammonia salts under her nose, and she bounced back into reality at the speed of a lightning strike, aware, alert, and angry. For a second she fought to free herself, but froze when her eyes focused on the man in front of her.

  He held a scalpel, close to her face. In itself, the small, shiny, silver object was capable of bringing formidable healing, as well as immense pain. The difference stood in the hand wielding it. She knew no healing was coming her way; only pain.

  “No, no, please…” she pleaded, tears falling freely from her puffy eyes, burning as they rolled down her cheeks. “Please, no. I… I’ll do anything.”

  “I am ready,” the man said. He seemed calm, composed, and dispassionate. “Are you ready?”

  “No, no, please…” she whimpered.

  “Yeah,” he said softly, almost whispering, inches away from her face. “Please say no to me. I love that.”

  She fell quiet, scared out of her mind. This time was different. He was different.

  Chapter Two

  Dawn

  “What if we get caught?” the girl whispered, trailing behind the boy.

  They walked briskly on the small residential street engulfed in darkness, keeping to the middle of the road. There were no sidewalks. High-end homes lined up both sides, most likely equipped with sensor floodlights they didn’t want to trip.

  She tugged at his hand, but he didn’t stop. “You never care about these things, Carl, but I do. If we get caught, I’ll be grounded, like, forever!”

  The boy kept going, his hand firmly clasping hers.

  “Carl!” she raised the pitch in her whisper, letting her anxiety show more.

  He stopped and turned, facing her. He frowned a little, seeing her anguish, but then smiled and caressed a loose strand of hair rebelling from under her sweatshirt’s hood.

  “There
’s no one, Kris. No one’s going to see us. See? No lights are on, nothing. Everyone’s asleep. Zee-zee-zee. It’s five in the morning.”

  “I know,” she sighed, “but—”

  He kissed her pouted lips gently, a little boyish hesitation and awkwardness in his move.

  “We’ll be okay, I promise,” he said, then grabbed her hand again. “We’re almost there, come on. You’ll love it.”

  A few more steps and the small street ended into the paved parking lot of what was going to be a future development of sorts, maybe a shopping center. From there, they had to cross Highway 1. They crouched down near the road, waiting for the light traffic to be completely clear. They couldn’t afford to be seen, not even from a distance. At the right moment, they crossed the highway, hand in hand, and cut across the field toward the beach. Crossing Ocean Drive was next, then cutting through a few yards of shrubbery and trees to get to the sandy beach.

  “Jeez, Carl,” Kris protested, stopping in her tracks at the tree line. “Who knows what creatures live here? There could be snakes. Lizards. Gah…”

  “There could be, but there aren’t,” Carl replied, seemingly sure of himself. “Trust me.”

  She held her breath and lowered her head, then clasped Carl’s hand tightly. He turned on the flashlight on his phone and led the way without hesitation. A few seconds later, they reached the beach, and Kris let out a tense, long breath.

  The light of the waning gibbous Moon reflected against the calm ocean waves, sending flickers of light everywhere and covering the beach in silver shadows. They were completely alone. The only creatures keeping them company were pale crabs that took bellicose stances when Kris and Carl stomped the sand around them, giggling.