Dead and Gone

by Tina Glasneck

  Shit.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  A serial killer, Dante had said. We were on his list. We survived.

  And to think, this all started with a mannequin and a little afternoon of sport.

  Kay looked over at me, looking a little drunk. She giggled behind her hand. “Bobbi Jax,” she snorted, “looks like I got to see how you can make three cops come all at the same time.”

  I winked at her. “Just one of my many talents.”

  My other talent was one we shared—finding ourselves in the middle of crazy situations. The ambulance had brought a gurney up for Kay. I needed to get back to the bar. I could hear a shot of Badge Bunny Booze calling my name.

  The End

  * * *

  Want more snarky, inappropriate and irreverent fun? Continue the fun with BJ and Kay in the Badge Bunny Booze Mystery Collection. Enjoy the next book in the series called IF YOU SEE KAY HIDE.

  Become a Quinn Glasneck VIP reader, and never miss a laugh.

  Tina Glasneck is a USA Today bestselling author of murder, mayhem, and mystery. When she is not killing people in mystery novels, she also enjoys finding fantastical ways to wreck havoc. As a former criminal paralegal, she knows the devil is all in the details.

  Tina is only one half of the Quinn Glasneck writing team, created with dear friend and USA Today Bestselling author Fiona Quinn.

  For more information and to connect with Tina, you can find her online at: www.TinaGlasneck.com

  Tina Glasneck: Angels Cry

  Angels Cry

  By Tina Glasneck

  Author’s Rating:

  Language: *** Sexuality: *** Violence: ***

  For your convenience each book in this collection has been rated by the author for language, sexuality and violence, so that you as a reader can make an informed choice.

  Our collection includes books that span the intensity range.

  Language Intensity:

  * - No or mild profanity, if any

  ** - Stronger profanity, with up to 5 uses of the f-word

  *** - Strong language

  Sexuality Intensity:

  * - Sexual reference or no sexuality

  ** - Sexual reference which might include some details.

  *** - Intense, descriptive sexual scenes

  Violence Intensity

  * - Violence, but no gory details.

  ** - Mild violence, fairly detailed with some blood

  *** - Detailed violence

  ANGELS CRY © 2014 by Tina Glasneck

  Written by Tina Glasneck

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Edition: 01–15201801-01

  Blurb

  Nowhere is safe in this dark suspense by USA TODAY bestselling author Tina Glasneck.

  The city is plagued by a heroin epidemic and women are disappearing without a trace. Everyone knows the Brotherhood Syndicate is behind it, but they never leave any blatant evidence.

  Undercover cop Peter Lazarus is tasked to find the smoking gun to cripple them. He's on the verge of success when his two worlds collide and threaten the entire mission when his estranged wife appears and is working with them -- a wife the Brotherhood will gladly use against him, if they learn the truth.

  Now, this case is no longer just an assignment. He's fighting against time and for family. This investigation will test everything he's worked for and what he's made of. The consequences for failing could be dire. He could lose more than his badge, but also his very life.

  This story is a part of the Spark before Dying series and is set in that story world. Read the next in the series, Deadly Sins (Book 2).

  Prologue

  August 1, 2003

  A gurney’s wheels squeaked under the weight of its sheet-covered cargo. Deep under the populated streets, footsteps resounded in the aged underground tunnel. Overhead, exposed electrical wiring and steam pipes dangled from the ceiling while lights flickered and old pipes banged. Jesse Callahan clenched his fists around the cool metal as he pushed the gurney toward its destination—away from prying eyes. In the hot corridor, sweat beaded and ran down his spine. His breathing labored, and he glanced at his watch.

  Time.

  He was losing his window, just as the woman on the gurney had lost her life.

  Having been rushed through the back door, the woman was worth more disassembled than she was ever worth alive. Like always, a quick injection had eased her fight, and with the body barely cold, Jesse had taken his opportunity, whisking the woman away.

  Passing through the swinging doors to the morgue’s cool rooms, Jesse continued until he reached the back—a section where he could work uninterrupted. Once in the lab, he sighed in relief, allowing the crisp air to refresh him before he began his arduous task.

  Tossing the paperwork of the deceased to the side, he tried not to read the woman’s name, although the name Davina flashed before he was able to shut it out.

  Jesse covered his scrubs with a gown, snapped on latex gloves, and placed the clear plastic face shield over his face. With the ease of a professional, he rolled the female cadaver onto the metal slab and then cut away the cadaver’s remaining clothes. Gripping the retractable sink spray, he quickly washed away any hairs, residue, and fibers that might remain, leaving the deceased female au natural.

  He appraised the body like a good butcher, locating the areas that needed to be separated for proper filleting. Wrapping his hand around his tool of choice, situated next to the stainless steel autopsy table, he picked up the electric saw and switched it on.

  The vibrations rose up his arm.

  Taking a deep breath, Jesse remembered the details of the order and lowered the saw.

  1

  August 6, 2003

  Curled up on the white porcelain toilet, Charlie hugged her legs and swallowed the tears that threatened to fall. She bit back the sobs barely hidden under the surface. She heard Jesse pacing on the other side of the stall door, heard his heavy footsteps and heavy thick grunts, as his hand punched the stall’s metal. “You fucking bitch,” he howled.

  Charlie remained quiet, silent to his goading.

  Time ticked by, and as her heart pumped, she considered her options.

  “Come out of there, Charlie,” Jesse yelled. “How dare you embarrass me!”

  She knew from his words toppling over each other that any answer would only rile him up more and be dry tinder to his raging fire. And then, after he placed his hands on her, he’d wait until she crumbled to his feet, begged him to live, until he too would fall down and attempt to wipe her tears away with butterfly kisses filled with arsenic. He’d blame her and then rise, fix his tie, and act like nothing happened, like he’d not demolished the shell of a woman he’d been wrecking the last few years, keeping in a prison of his making, and she . . . she would let him, in order to survive.

  With the gusto and force of a storm, the stall door came crashing inward. She jumped and pulled even further back.

  “No, Jesse . . . please,” she croaked, while his fingers wound into her hair yanking her toward him as if she were a small rag doll and he a raging bull. The candy-like smile she’d once loved was long gone, replaced by a sneer mixed with revulsion and rage.

&nbs
p; In a blur, he dragged her from the stall and slammed her face into the ceramic floor. “Your smiles are only for me. Everything is mine and only mine,” he screamed. Charlie felt the blood gush from her nose and run into her mouth, filling it with the taste of copper.

  From the corner of her eye, she watched him rise, then rinse his hands, tear off a couple of sheets of paper towel, and toss them in the trash can. “Now clean yourself up. You still have to perform. You just remember you belong to the family, to me; and when I need your company, you have nothing else to say besides yes and amen.”

  2

  The sound of the sirens screaming in the distance made Shane pause over the porcelain sink. He stared at his haggard reflection, gritted his teeth, and wiped the trickle of blood from his freshly shaven jaw. The water swirled with red droplets.

  Situated in Church Hill, overlooking Shockoe Bottom, he heard the bass from the local clubs combined with the blaring horns and chatter from passersby. Richmond was alive on the other side of the brick walls.

  In the small encrusted washroom, he wiped away the crimson drops and dabbed a piece of toilet paper on his jaw to stop the bleeding.

  Padding through his almost bare apartment, he stared at the disheveled bed where she lay.

  “Hey, get up,” he said, nudging Rose awake. Aluminum foil littered the table, as did a toilet paper roll and a couple of straws. Stringy hair and ashen pallor was usually not his thing, but information always was.

  She groaned in response, and he nudged her again.

  “I need you to get your shit and get the fuck out of here,” he demanded.

  “Just give me five more minutes, baby,” she muttered. He watched as her nails began to dig into her flesh as she scratched her arms. “I hope this isn’t how you treat all of your lady friends,” she complained.

  What she said now didn’t really matter. She’d gotten her needs fulfilled, and he’d gotten the information he needed to finally move up the street corner ladder—no more would he play the errand boy. He needed to finally meet up with Jesse, who’d make sure to introduce him to the upper crust of leadership. Over the last few months of slinging, Shane had proven his indispensability, at least he hoped so.

  With disdain, he watched the still high and barely lucid woman sit up, pull back her thinning and greasy hair, and rise from the edge of his bed.

  “Do I get something for the road?”

  “Yeah,” he pulled out a pill from his pocket and handed it to her. “Maybe this will get you through the night.” He almost reached out and touched her face, but that would have meant having her touch him; no one could touch him.

  Dropping the pill into her palm, he walked over to the door and opened it for her and watched her do the zombie shuffle. The drugs she’d used only an hour ago were still pumping through her system.

  He couldn’t care though. That wasn’t why he was there. He’d been doing his bid for three years—three years to move up the criminal ladder, three years to make connections, after almost messing it up.

  His police-sanctioned criminalism required him to be Shane Sterns, not Peter Lazarus and definitely not a caring cop.

  Pulling a T-shirt over his head, he moved through his tiny apartment, yanking out drawer after drawer until he found what he needed: a few tablets of “E,” a cellphone, and a wad of cash; for safety, he tucked his gun into the back of his pants, tugging the T-shirt over the large bulge. The coolness of the grip was his insurance policy for the night.

  He had waited for an in for a while, a way to meet a vulnerable soldier willing to bring him in, and with the drug bust in the Sandston, the department had stumbled onto something good, a way in to map out the criminal enterprise of the Bruderschaft, an international Syndicate. Since his arrival on the scene in 2000, after a made-up relocation from Rikers to Richmond, word had gotten out about Shane and his drug of choice, black tar heroin. During his departure, things had changed and the old faces he knew had disappeared to be replaced by a new crew. The older ones had either met their makers, been reassigned, or were serving time. The only thing that remained for the Richmond crew was the head.

  Rumor had it that the crew had disappeared due to a major fuck-up.

  So far, Shane had worked his way up from the corner thug to being more proactive in the group, and a lot of that had to do with the stint of time he’d done at the local jail where he’d made connections with gang members conveniently made his cell mates.

  When he'd dipped out before, a simple incarceration served as an alibi, and now he was back as Shane Sterns, living the unadulterated life of member of the family, an untested member again since the old crews' reassignment.

  For the past few weeks, he’d been up and down the road, going from one run-down house, to a warehouse, to now what appeared to be an old abandoned building.

  The Bruderschaft’s band of thugs pushed black tar heroin, and those who used it craved another and another hit until all that was left was desperate people with no money and unscrupulous enough to take what they needed. But now, they were branching out, stretching their wings to where it was no longer about heroin, but something else that no one wanted to speak about, and which Sterns had been unable to get anyone to say a word. The underlings knew nothing, the known associates faked selective amnesia, and even the street corner girls dared not utter a word about it.

  The city had taken a hit like almost never before, and if Sterns wasn’t able to find the information they all needed to bring the gang crumbling down, the city would end up belonging to them.

  Moving out into the fresh air, he inhaled deeply, pulled back his shoulders, and headed toward his car.

  It was time to get to work.

  3

  “We have to get out of here, Charlie,” Veronika whispered and tugged on Charlie’s arm. Her eyes darted toward the closed door as if a ticking clock was counting down. “We have to leave now, not later but now.”

  “Where are we going to go?” Charlie asked. Staring into the mirror, her hand shook as she dabbed on the makeup concealer along her bruised jaw line. The bluish mark was fading more and more each day until nothing would be left besides the hidden bruises and scars etched into her soul. “Jesse won’t allow anything to happen to any of us, you know that.”

  “You’re under his spell. Just look at you. Look at what he did to you.”

  Turning her head, Charlie refused to consider what had prompted his hitting her.

  “You don’t see it,” Veronika said. “You don’t see the monster right under his contrite smile.” Veronika’s hand fell.

  “Don’t talk about him like that. Just walk away. If you want to go, then go, but don’t try to take me with you.”

  “What do you think happens to the girls? What happened to the ones before us? Where are they now?” Veronika’s makeup streaked as tears began to fall. She yanked up her items in a plastic shopping bag and tied the handles. Charlie watched Veronika head toward the door and turn, “If something happens to me. Then know that he did it.”

  Now alone, Charlie itched for another cigarette. She refused to think or assign blame regarding her complicated relationship with Jesse. Instead, she tallied up the number of dances she’d still have to give to meet her daily quota.

  To the all-assuming regular Joe who’d watched one too many pornos, adult movies, and anything starring a stripper in Vegas, she supposedly bathed in pools filled with dollar bills. Reality didn’t compare. The Commonwealth of Virginia only allowed bikini dancers, unless it was an underground night filled with high rollers, VIPs, large bills, and a Champagne room that served true Champagne instead of sparkling wine.

  The house took the largest cut, leaving her swimming in a handful of coins instead of her hard-earned reward.

  But she worked for the family. Tonight Hyacinth hadn’t shown up for work, but because Charlie was Jesse’s prized possession, it was her duty to comply and perform, even when she too wished to have a night off.

  Walking through the velvet curta
ins, the loud music blared around her, cocooning her in her stage persona. Charlie grabbed the silver metal poll. She tried not to think about everything else, especially not the eyes of faceless men who stared at her. Instead, she concentrated on the beat of the music as she shimmied her hips, turned and bent over to touch her toes, and then shook her derriere, allowing her black lace thong to earn its cost. Her long black hair covered her face, veiling her from her inner critic. Flipping it back, she puckered her red lips and smiled over her shoulder. Her lips spread in her assumed wanton but innocent expression, and she turned and did a body roll, allowing her curvy and toned figure to be as sexy as she desired.

  Tonight she had to enjoy her job, every second of it. It had to show in her performance, or the tips would prove her inability to bring in money, which could mean the end of her time on the stage, a threat that silently hovered. With an excitement and ecstasy she didn’t quite feel, she dry humped the pole, twisted, turned upside down, and caressed it, spread eagle on the silver shaft.

  Taking the tip of her forefinger, she teasingly eased the strap of her diamond-studded bra down her tanned shoulder, and then slowly removed it, bearing her star-pastied breasts, which she then squeezed together.

  When the green bills began to flutter, she sighed in relief and moved closer, allowing strange callused hands to caress her glittered body. Finally, like pure shots of adrenaline, their energy egged her on. Their hot breath on her skin made her feel alive—something different than when she wasn’t on that stage. For that moment, she was what they needed and they in turn soothed her, though they chose to just stare at her milk bar or her barely hidden landing strip. They saw what she offered, even if it was only a dance on the stage.