On Her Six (Under Covers)

by Christina Elle

  “You okay, Harper?” Martinez asked, holding a coffee cup. “Looks like you could use this.”

  A smile started at the corners of her lips. “Thanks.”

  After a sip, he asked, “What’s going on, Sam? You’ve been moping around all day. It’s so bad Hanson and Michaels bet if I brought you that coffee, you’d throw it in my face.”

  She wanted to laugh, but she didn’t have it in her.

  His smile faded. “Wanna talk about it?” He propped his hip on the corner of her desk.

  Her shoulders went up and her chest expanded once. “It’s my neighbor.”

  Martinez’s body tensed, his eyes intent on hers. “What did he do? Did he hurt you? Your grandma?’ He cradled a fist in the opposite palm. “You want me to rough him up a little? You know I will.”

  She did laugh then. “No, no. Calm down, Rocky. He didn’t hurt me. Well, not in the way you’re thinking. Just said some things. Mostly true, but it still hurt.”

  “You two getting close, then? He moved in, when? A week or two ago?” The protectiveness in his voice was hard to miss.

  Had it really only been a week or two? What a turn of events her life had taken since Ash moved in next door.

  He waited, seeming to want an explanation, so she said, “I’d rather not talk about it. Thanks for the coffee though.”

  “You sure? I mean, I’m here.” He grinned. “I’ve been told I’m a great listener.”

  “Nah, I’m good.” She turned her attention back to her computer screen.

  “Sam?”

  She looked up, catching his worried expression.

  “You’re doing okay, right? You aren’t getting involved with anyone who isn’t right for you? I mean, you’re hanging out with good people?”

  She blinked. Where had that comment come from? “Uh, yeah.”

  He glanced around the room, checking if anyone was listening to their conversation. Webb had just walked out, Michaels was on the phone, and Hanson sat behind his computer with a pair of headphones, but Dan lowered his voice anyway. “’Cause I’d hate for you to start hanging out with someone and then fall for him, and have him lead you somewhere dark. Know what I mean?”

  No, she had no freakin’ idea what he meant. “I’m cool, Martinez. No need to worry.”

  He nodded once but didn’t erase his worried expression. “I just…I mean, he’s not making you do things you don’t want to do, is he? If you need help… Or you feel trapped…you know you can come to me, right? I’ll help you.”

  “Yeah,” she said as if the word held ten syllables. This had to be the strangest conversation she’d ever had with her friend.

  “I don’t know about this new neighbor of yours. I’m getting a bad vibe from him.”

  One corner of her mouth drooped. “You’ve never met him, Dan.”

  “Yeah, but based on what you’ve said, how you’ve been acting lately, there’s something going on. You’re not yourself, Sam. He’s not a good influence on you.”

  “Seriously. I’m good.” Her gaze cut back to her computer screen. “There’s nothing going on between me and Ash.” Not anymore.

  “Okay.” He raised his arms in surrender. “Just thought I’d check. There’ve been some bad things going on downtown. I wanna make sure you and your grandma are okay.”

  “Downtown?” she asked. “Like what?”

  He eyed her a moment. It was the most serious she’d ever seen him. “Club Hell. That place on 27th Street. It’s all over the precinct. Didn’t you hear? Someone killed a bunch of bartenders and patrons. Blood everywhere.”

  Oh no. It was all over the precinct. Did anyone know she’d been involved? That she’d been responsible for taking all of those lives? “Oh, that,” she said through a forced laugh. “Yeah, of course I heard. Man, what a mess that must’ve been, huh?”

  “Yeah,” he said, still serious. “Just be careful who you’re hanging out with, okay?”

  She nodded once. “Sure. Got it. Thanks for the tip.”

  As he turned to head back to his desk, she said, “That was Viktor Heinrich’s place, right?”

  He paused, his body locking into place. Then he craned his neck and nodded at her. She couldn’t discern anything from his bland expression.

  “Was that his only place?” she asked, making sure it came out cool and even. “Does he have any other locations around town that might’ve been hit?” Like a compound?

  “Nah,” he said. “Not that I heard.” And he walked across the room to his workstation.

  Gritting her teeth in frustration, Sam continued to type reports. Nothing was more monotonous than deciphering Major Fowler’s chicken scratch.

  No matter how much she tried, she couldn’t stop thinking about Ash. So he didn’t want her involved. She understood to a point. She wasn’t a cop. Yet. But she felt like one, deep in her heart. She’d wanted it so bad for so long that maybe she’d disillusioned herself into thinking she was one. That to be a cop she didn’t need a badge, she simply needed the will and determination. Sure, there were things legally she couldn’t do until she joined the force, but she grew more and more impatient with each passing day. Especially since her father was out there, and no one would help her find him. No one believed enough in her abilities or heart.

  But if she showed them she had what it took. If she found concrete evidence that her father was at that compound, maybe then Ash and Lou and whomever else would jump in and help save him. It was worth a shot. If Dad was being held against his will, possibly tormented, tortured, then she needed to do something. He didn’t deserve to spend one more second in that maniac’s clutches.

  Was her plan reckless? Yes. Was it unplanned and a tad rash? Definitely. But if she was going to succeed, she needed to do what Heinrich wouldn’t expect. She’d go back to Club Hell and see what information she could find. That was her only lead at this point. If she was lucky, there’d be someone there to question. It was better than nothing.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  It was still dark and gross, but this time it wasn’t packed. In fact, Sam was the only person in the room.

  She dragged the large steel door closed, which eliminated most of the light she might have used to navigate the empty floor of Club Hell. The place looked different during the day without any patrons—er, Vamp addicts.

  Bottles had been stacked neatly on glass shelves lining the walls. Small lights illuminated behind them, casting refractions of colored streams, giving the illusion this was just an ordinary run-of-the-mill Baltimore bar.

  It was quiet and empty. Which was good. She wouldn’t be able to interrogate anyone, like she’d originally planned, but she would be able to keep her presence a secret. That was a hell of a lot better. She could be impulsive sometimes, but she didn’t consider herself stupid. Of course, Grandma Rose and Ash would consider her being here right now pretty stupid, but she ignored the thought.

  Get into Heinrich’s office. See what you can find. Then get the hell out.

  Grateful she’d worn flats, she tiptoed across the sticky floor, not daring to look down to see if it was blood or grime that grabbed at the soles of her shoes.

  Major Fowler had looked worried when Sam insisted she’d needed to go home because she wasn’t feeling well. He’d watched her out his office window as she lifted her trunk and rooted around inside. He, of course, had no idea she’d been making sure her weapons were accounted for. She prayed he wouldn’t call Grandma. Otherwise, her mission would be over before it began. Grandma Rose and the ladies couldn’t know where she was. They couldn’t come here. Not ever.

  Taser in her right hand, and a spare in her purse, she moved with stealth, halting at the wall just before Heinrich’s office door.

  Voices spoke from inside.

  Shit! She spun and smashed her back against the wall. Flattening herself as thin as possible, she remained immobile until she could decipher whether the voices moved to exit or remained in the office.

  Staying put, from the soun
d of it. Deep voices reverberated off the walls. Footsteps clicked as if someone paced the room.

  With her heart lodged in her throat, cutting off air supply, she tried to calm herself.

  “You’re not going to do this to me. No fucking way.” A man’s voice rose to intimidating levels, his footsteps now stomping on the concrete floor in the office. “You’re crazy if you think I’m going to let you do this and get away with it. You can forget the whole fucking deal.”

  A female voice, calm but sardonic, responded. “Heinrich,” it was said in a thick Spanish accent. Sam almost missed the name because of the strong inflection.

  Sam leaned in, tilting her head toward the doorway. She couldn’t help it. Curiosity made it impossible to turn away. Based on Heinrich’s outburst, whatever this woman had decided was going to be detrimental to his plans. Sam liked whoever she was.

  “I came to renegotiate the terms,” the female said. “If you do not like it, then you can forget the whole fucking deal.” With emphasis on the Fs, her voice exuded authority, despite its soft velvet lilt.

  “You bitch!” Heinrich shouted.

  When she dared a peek through the small opening of the cracked door, Sam’s breath caught. It was one thing to hear the woman say Heinrich’s name, it was another to see him five feet away. Vulnerable. Reachable. Taser-able. Her fingers drummed on the device, itching to aim and pull the trigger.

  He wore a finely tailored black suit with a dark, silk tie and a perfectly pressed white dress shirt. His hair was a bit longer than the normal fashion; the back, filled with varying shades of blond, touched his collar, and the shaggy top was bleached to almost white. His nose was severely pointed and cheekbones sharply contoured. Thin, almost non-existent lips and a cleft chin completed his Eastern European look.

  Sam peered past him, searching for the woman.

  “Now, Heinrich,” the female spoke, still composed, “is that any way to speak to a lady?”

  “A lady?” Heinrich laughed, showcasing his veneers, but broke off when a gun pointed at his face.

  Three other men stood in the small office with Heinrich and the woman. They wore dark suits, positioned behind her, as if for protection. Only one raised his gun, the others rested their hands casually at their waists, just within reach of their 9mms. Judging from the menacing glint in the woman’s almond-shaped eyes, this chick didn’t need protection from anyone.

  Her other features were just as fierce. Taller than average, dark skinned, and curvy to the point of being sinful. At the view of the woman’s overabundant chest spilling out of her brightly colored wrap dress, a pang of jealousy hinted in the back of Sam’s mind.

  “As I said, Heinrich,” the woman’s sexy Spanish accent caressed his name, “we have decided to change the terms. You will agree, or we will take our shipment elsewhere. Your choice.”

  Heinrich remained silent.

  “That is what I thought,” she purred, smiling with her luscious red-painted lips. She sauntered up to Heinrich, leaning into his ear. “Remember who is in charge.” Like a rattlesnake, her hand clamped onto his crotch and squeezed.

  Sam gasped. Then threw her hand to her lips.

  All heads turned to the sound.

  “What the—?”

  “Sven! Gunter! Heinz! Max!” Heinrich’s voice rang out over the clatter and confusion of shouts and heavy footsteps. “Attack!”

  Sam bolted to her left for the nearest bar, only turning once to see the hostile look on Heinrich’s face. “You!”

  Guns fired, but Sam didn’t feel any pain as she leapt over a lacquer-covered wooden bar. She dropped behind it with a loud thud that sent a slicing pain down her right side.

  “Holy hell,” she squeaked, rubbing her shoulder and knee. Taser still in one hand, she braced her back against the bar and felt her body with the other, searching for holes. None. And no blood around her.

  Shouts and slamming doors echoed. Doing a quick inventory of her supplies—two Tasers, a can of pepper spray, and one pair of handcuffs—she realized they were useless against bullets flying over a thousand feet per second.

  Real smooth, Sam.

  Additional shots fired. The booms pounded against the bar as the bullets dug their way into the wood. Glass and wood shattered, shards spewing all around her.

  Covering her head with her hands, she sat and thought. Thought about Ash. About Grandma Rose. The ladies. Martinez. Fowler. Her father.

  What had Dad always told her whenever she found herself in trouble?

  When all else fails, improvise.

  With what?

  She glanced up at the bottles of liquor on the shelves above. Setting her Taser aside, she reached for a bottle of Bacardi 151 and a bottle of White Lightning.

  This was ridiculous. There was no way Dad ever had cause to use liquor bottles in a gunfight.

  Crouching behind the bar, she peeked over. The three men in expensive suits fired shots in her direction as they hurried for the door. The beautiful woman was nowhere in sight. Heinrich stood behind a gaggle of his Germans, who held nothing but their fists. Which, Sam knew first-hand, were all they needed.

  She ducked each time a bullet whizzed by. Would they ever run out of ammunition?

  Dropping back to the floor, she hugged her knees and rocked in place. With nothing but liquor and makeshift weapons to defend herself, she wasn’t getting out of this unharmed. Ash was right. Heinrich was dangerous. He didn’t care who he killed.

  Suddenly everything was silent. Dead silent.

  “Stand up nice and slow,” Heinrich said in his thick German accent. “Do it now, and I’ll spare your life.”

  Both bottles were still in her hands. Her Taser was on the floor next to her. “You-you promise not to shoot?” Her voice broke once, but she forced air into her lungs.

  She could hear Heinrich’s smile when he answered, “I promise not to shoot.”

  Just as before, she hesitantly lifted her head to peer above the top of the bar.

  When she met eyes with one of the large Germans wearing a smug grin, his arms stretched out to grab her, and she shrieked.

  She shot to her feet and slammed the bottle in her right hand on top of the German’s head. It shattered into pieces, covering him, the bar, and floor in liquor and glass shards. He staggered back as his comrade leapt forward. Sam jumped out of his reach, then came forward and smashed the other bottle on top of the second guy’s head. He shifted on his feet, a momentary dazed look on his face as he recovered, and then snarled at her.

  Four additional men surged forward in full assault mode. Their chests heaved, stretching their massive chests against their short-sleeve shirts. Their faces promised murder.

  She whirled, grabbing bottles and tossing them this way and that. She didn’t have time to pick up her Taser or purse. Glass and liquor could keep the savages at bay for now.

  A sudden burst of light filled the room as another group of massive Germans entered. Where did Heinrich find them? Was he harvesting them in the basement?

  As the muscle-bound men moved in on her, she continued to pelt them with bottles, some slipping in the liquor and glass on floor.

  “Get her goddamn it! Get her!” Heinrich screamed from behind the line of Germans. Not so scary and dangerous without them, was he?

  Sam grabbed the final bottle on the shelf and chucked it at the nearest German. It didn’t break; it bounced off his shoulder and landed on the floor with a crack. The top broke off and liquor poured across the floor.

  Sam’s eyes widened when she realized she hadn’t done anything to deter the Germans’ approach. Instead she’d only managed to anger them more, and they came at her that much faster.

  She sank to her knees and scrambled for the Taser and her purse, then stood.

  The Germans froze. They stared unblinking at the black contraption conveniently resembling a gun. Sam smirked at their stunned expressions.

  “Back away now or I shoot.”

  “Attack!” Heinrich shouted. “D
on’t listen to her! Attack!”

  None of the Germans moved. Then, after a moment, one took a hesitant step forward.

  “I-I’m warning you,” she said, “I’ll do it. I don’t want to, but I will.”

  The German grinned and took another step forward.

  “Don’t—don’t do it. I’ll shoot.”

  Another step.

  She glanced at Heinrich. He grinned as if he sensed her fear.

  Dad.

  A black shadow filled her chest, making it difficult to remain composed. Shit, here it comes. The nightmare. The one that haunted her since Heinrich took her father from her. Dad’s smiling face. It was the last time she saw him. He’d told her he’d be fine, and he’d come back.

  But he wasn’t fine. And he didn’t come back.

  Then his eyes widened and he mouthed, Help. He glanced down at his chest, where three red orbs spread. He looked up at her, his eyes misting. “Sam, help me,” he said. “Help. Me.”

  She reached, but he slipped through her fingers. His body fell into darkness seemingly forever. Until a splash cut through the silence, then ice-cold water doused her body, swallowing her whole. When she surfaced, she frantically searched for him.

  Dad floated beside her facedown in the Chesapeake.

  “No!” she screamed, coming back to the present. Her hand squeezed the Taser, her knuckles going white from the intense strain.

  No. Dad was still alive. She’d get through this. She had to. She had to find him.

  Another step. One more and the German would be on her.

  Her gaze flitted to Heinrich. Please don’t miss. Not this time.

  With a tremble, she pulled the trigger.

  Viktor Heinrich and his men threw their long blond manes back and laughed at the trajectory of the Taser’s arc. It missed the man in front of Sam by a few feet, landing on nothing but the floor. Bright sparks shot from the end, dancing and jumping in the puddles of spilled liquor. A burning stench permeated as the sparks kicked up in intensity.

  Once the German in front of her calmed his laughter, he reached for her arm to yank her forward. His stale breath blew in her face as his beefy hand clamped on her shoulder.