Death, Taxes, and Hot Pink Leg Warmers (36 page)

We talked for a few minutes, and he told me that Fiona was at his house now and had finagled a transfer to a country club in the Dallas suburbs. She’d be moving to the area in January. I told him about the pool cleaner trying to kill me and about the turkey that had come to our rescue.

He smiled, but shook his head at the same time. “I have to admit, all that dangerous stuff? That’s part of our relationship I won’t miss.”

“What
will
you miss?” I asked, surprised to find myself choking up.

He didn’t miss a beat. “The thrill of not knowing what might happen next. Your sass. Watching BBC America together. And the sex, of course.”

“It was great, wasn’t it?”

He cocked his head and gave me his boyish smile. “You know, we could do it one more time for old times’ sake.”

I smiled back, knowing he was only joking. “It’s been a long month, huh?”

He cringed. “Longest four weeks of my life.”

We shared another laugh and stood. He stretched out his arms and I stepped into them for the last time, tears spilling over my cheeks as he held me. We stood like that for a moment or two before I finally stepped back. He reached out a hand and I held it for a moment, looking into his eyes, finding them looking a little misty, too.

He cleared his throat and released my hand. “Take care, Tara.”

“You, too, Brett.”

With that, we turned away from each other and set forth to begin our new lives.

I didn’t look back.

chapter forty-four

Mission … Accomplished?

I felt giddy with nervous energy the entire evening at Guys & Dolls. I hoped it didn’t show. In just a few hours Geils and his sick, seedy empire would be finally going down.

I’d worn the hot pink leg warmers over jeans to work that day. The things had become a part of me, like a bright, fluffy second skin. They made me feel warm, comfy, ready for action.

And if I’d ever been ready for action, it was tonight. I was disappointed I’d only be able to come in after the raid. But given the size and number of Geils’s brutes, along with the fact that there could be weapons in the place, it made sense to let the SWAT team take charge.

Wesley Prescott ventured into the club around nine-thirty and, as usual, waited for a spot to open up in Christina’s section. When he whispered in her ear, I saw her smile but shake her head and point to her watch. I knew what was going on. She’d told him she didn’t want to romp in the VIP room while other customers were inside. She wanted their party to be a private, after-hours affair. Besides, the club was busy and her waitressing services were needed. She’d deliver once the club was closed. Of course, the only thing she’d be delivering to the oversexed man whore was a swift kick in the gonads.

Five grand in tips came in from the VIP room tonight. Nick kept a close eye on the door to the room, and I noticed he stepped outside when each of the johns left, giving his signal to the plainclothes officer waiting in the parking lot. As part of tonight’s bust, cruisers waited on nearby streets to arrest the men who’d visited the VIP room. Of course, by the time the men were hauled to the station, stripped, deloused, and booked, we’d have Geils and his goons in custody, too. This was going to be one big-ass crime sweep.

As the night wound down, Christina brought me the last of her tips. “Here you go.”

I gave her a discreet thumbs-up.

She returned to the table where Prescott was still seated, but slid into a chair next to him. A bottle of champagne sat on the table, a full glass waiting for her. If I didn’t know better, and if not for the skanky setting, I’d think the two were on a romantic date.

I noticed my office mate had an eye on Christina and Prescott, too. A worried frown wrinkled Merle’s face as he watched the two drinking their champagne. But what could he do? He’d warned “Christie” about the lecher, but by all accounts she’d ignored him. Like Bernice, Merle tried to look out for the girls who worked at the club. I hoped Merle wasn’t hurt that Christina hadn’t heeded his advice to steer clear of Prescott.

I wrapped up my counts and took a last look into the club. Other than Prescott, the place was cleared of customers. Eric and Theo wiped down the bar, while Nick and the other bouncers made their way around the floor, inverting the chairs on the tables as usual.

“Good night, Merle,” I said as I stood from my desk. “See you Monday.”
No I wouldn’t.

“Bye, Sara.”

As I stepped into the hallway, I saw light under the closed door to Geils’s office. He must be inside. I wondered what else might be in his office. A handgun, perhaps?

I went to the dressing room door and endured a final cursory frisk from Cyclops. I retrieved my purse, noting all of the dancers were gone by now, too.

On my way to the front door, I passed Christina and Prescott. She was really playing up her role, her head resting on his shoulder, her face pressed into his neck. He had his arm wrapped tightly around her, his head tucked against hers. Don Geils stood nearby, watching. What a pervert.

As I reached the front door, I raised a hand to my coworkers. “See y’all.”
Be sure to smile pretty in your mug shots.

I pushed the door open and looked out into the dark parking lot. There was nothing there other than a few cars belonging to the employees and a plastic bag blowing across the asphalt like a tumbleweed.

The SWAT team was supposed to be in position in the parking lot and moving inside now. Where the hell were they?

I glanced back into the club. Christina was standing now, pressed up against Prescott, who had his arms wrapped around her. No doubt they were heading to the VIP room at this very moment.

My stomach performed a back flip inside me.

We needed the team inside.

Now.

A gust of cool wind blew past me into the club. Geils felt the breeze, glanced my way, and jerked his head to indicate I should leave. “Go on,” he called. “You’re letting the cold in.”

I had no idea what to do. If I went back into the club, Geils would become suspicious. If I tried to prop the door open, he’d get suspicious, too. Nick, Christina, Aaron, and I were vastly outnumbered and didn’t have our weapons. Without the SWAT team, we’d be in big trouble.

I did the only thing I could. I stepped outside and called the phone number for the team leader as I hurried to my car. “Where are you?”

“Two minutes away,” the man said. “A water main broke on our route and we had to take a detour.”

Shit! My nerves jangled. Christina, Nick, and Aaron were inside with Geils, Theo, Cyclops, Tarzan, and Swiss Cheese, along with a few more of Geils’s goons, plus Prescott. No way could the three members of law enforcement take on such a huge number without significant risks.

“Hurry!” I cried into my phone.

I sat in my car, chewing my lip and bouncing my foot on the floorboard, unable to sit still. A few seconds later, my cell phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number.

I punched the button to accept the call. “Hello?”

“Sara, it’s Merle. All hell has broken loose in the club.”

“What!”

“Geils and that customer dragged Christie to the VIP room. I think they may have drugged her.”

Dammit! She hadn’t been nuzzling Prescott’s neck. She’d been unconscious. Why hadn’t I realized that?

“Mitch and Eric tried to stop it,” Merle continued, “but Geils sicced the other guys on them. Eric’s down. He’s hurt bad.”

“What about Nick?” I choked out. In my terror I’d forgotten to use Nick’s alias, but the fact that Merle had called told me he knew I wasn’t who I purported to be. He probably knew some of the other new hires weren’t, either.

“It’s not looking good,” Merle said quickly. “Call the cops. The front door code is 6969.”

Why wasn’t I surprised?

“I’ve got to try to help.” With that, Merle was gone.

I scrambled to unlock my glove box, my hand shaking so bad I had a hard time getting the key into the lock. I grabbed my Glock, shoved a clip into it, and bolted toward the door.

The SWAT truck pulled into the lot and the team leader hollered across the parking lot. “Don’t go in there!”

If he thought I was going to wait another second, he had another think coming. Christina’s and Nick’s safety were at risk. Maybe even their lives. I couldn’t just stand here and do nothing! Last time I’d failed to respond quickly enough I’d ended up in the hospital with a fractured skull. I couldn’t let something like that happen to my partners.

I jabbed 6969 on the keypad and yanked the door open when it unlocked.

I ran inside, the door swinging shut behind me. Quickly, I assessed the scene.

Cyclops had Merle up against the wall next to the administrative office door. Merle struggled to get free but to no avail.

Aaron lay unconscious on the floor, blood seeping from the back of his fuzzy duck head onto the carpet.

Mickey Mouse held Nick by one arm and Swiss Cheese held the other, while Tarzan sucker-punched Nick repeatedly in the gut, causing him to hunch over in pain. One of Nick’s eyes was swollen shut and blood streamed from his nose and lip. Still, Nick was giving the goons a run for their money, kicking and struggling the best he could.

Don Geils was nowhere to be seen, but I suspected he was watching from behind the mirrored window of his office.

Wimp.

Acting on instinct, I ran first to Merle and jammed the butt of my gun as hard as I could against Cyclops’s temple. It wasn’t enough to knock him out cold, but it stunned him long enough for Merle to twist out of his grip.

I ran to Nick next. I didn’t bother showing my weapon to the men and offering them an opportunity to back off. They might take that opportunity to jump on me. No way could I get off three shots before they’d take me down and wrestle my weapon from me.

I did what I had to do.

I put a bullet in each of their feet.

Blam!

Blam!

Blam!

Cursing with pain, they lifted their injured feet and jumped around on the other, as if playing a violent, bloody game of hopscotch. Released from their grip, Nick crumpled to the floor. He looked at me with his one good eye and waved a hand, indicating I should get to the VIP room ASAP.

I heard a loud
BAM! BAM! BAM!
coming from the exterior door behind me, the SWAT team using their battering ram to break it down.

I ran to the VIP room, finding it locked. I shot off the lock—
blam!
— and kicked the door open.

Christina lay across a couch inside, totally unconscious, her arm hanging eerily lifeless off the edge of the sofa. Prescott had removed her shirt and her naked chest bore a half-dozen purple bite marks. Thank God her skirt and fishnets were still on.

My eyes scanned the room, locating Prescott where he crouched under a table in the corner, making a laughable attempt to hide.

“You sick prick!” I screamed. I walked to him, turned the table onto its side to expose him, and aimed my gun at his face.

Still crouching, he raised his hands in surrender, lost his balance, and fell back on his ass. “Don’t shoot!”

I reared my leg back and gave him a kick in the gut with my steel-toed Dr. Martens. He bent in two, rolled to his side, and puked up his champagne.

My hand shook with raw fury. The man had planned to do unspeakable things to my friend, things he knew she’d never voluntarily agree to. It took everything in me not to put a bullet in his head.

I might have done it had Don Geils not run into the room. In the mirrored wall, I saw him enter behind me, a pistol in his hand. My back was to him, but our eyes met in the mirror. He raised the gun and aimed it at my back.

In that split second, I had to make a choice.

Should I merely disable him?

Or should I shoot to kill?

The bastard had a gun aimed at me, his finger on the trigger. If I put a bullet in his head or his heart, I would be entirely justified. Hell, I’d been trained to respond with lethal force when confronted with the same. After all, if I didn’t take Geils out, he could kill me and then go on to kill Christina, Nick, and Aaron, too, assuming Aaron wasn’t already dead. The puddle of blood I’d seen around his head told me it might already be too late.

But could I live with myself if I took a life, if I actually killed Geils?

He not only deserved death, he was asking for it.

Virtually begging.

Right?

I dropped, spun around on my heels, and put a bullet in his thigh.
Blam!

Rats.

Turned out I was a wimp, too.

Geils got off one wild shot that shattered the mirrored wall—
bang! Ksshhh!—
before falling onto a couch and instinctively dropping his weapon to clutch his wounded leg. “Fuck!”

Through the open door, I saw the SWAT team storm into the club, easily taking down the bouncers who tried to hobble out the back door on their wounded feet. One knelt over Aaron, assessing his condition. None had made it to the VIP room yet.

Burning with a raw rage I could no longer control, I stepped over to Geils. I grabbed his gun from the floor and held it in my left hand while keeping my Glock trained on him with my right.

“Who the fuck
are
you?” he shrieked between gasping breaths, realizing my Sara Galloway persona had been a façade.

I shot him a nasty smile. “The last thing you wanted to see around here.”

His eyes grew wide. “IRS?”

“Yep.”

He wailed, partly in pain, partly in terror. Gotta say, I found it very satisfying.

I aimed my gun at him. “You ordered your goons to hurt my boyfriend.”

Geils deserved another bullet in the leg for that, didn’t he?

Sure he did. I might be too wimpy to kill the prick, but I wasn’t too wimpy to cause him a world of hurt.

Blam!

Geils shrieked in pain. Such a lovely sound.

I gestured to Prescott with my gun. The man had curled up in a fetal position with his arms wrapped instinctively over his head. He was probably afraid I’d shoot him next. Heck, maybe I would. This was kind of fun. I turned my attention back to Don Geils. “You arranged for that pervert to rape my friend.”