No Good Truth (Bad To Be Good, Book 2)

by Dana Volney

  They were safe now. All safe.

  “Do you speak English?” she asked. There couldn’t be a woman over twenty in the mix.

  “Yes.” One girl, the one standing by Hope, stepped forward while most cowered back.

  “My name is Claire and this is Sabene.” She motioned to Sabene, who had dropped her backpack to the ground and knelt to search it. “We’re here to help you.”

  Sabene stepped into the container, protein bars in hand, and started passing out the handful of colorfully wrapped packages. “Here’s some food.”

  No one moved.

  “Is everyone okay? Is anyone hurt?” That was a stupid question. These women were being held like slaves. Of course they weren’t okay.

  “We are all alive,” the English speaker said. She said something in Spanish to the group, who then started to open the wrappers, take a piece, and pass it along.

  “Good.” Claire let out a sigh of relief. She stepped back out into the open and looked around. No sirens rang, no guards ran toward them, and no vehicles screeched in the distance. Their break-in hadn’t been detected yet. She wanted to keep it that way. “We need to move. Gather anything you want to take with you.”

  Sabene turned to her. “My Jeep isn’t big enough. I’m going to call a car service, but we need to get them out of here pronto.”

  “The fencing a quarter mile back wasn’t manned.”

  Sabene got on her cell and started to make transportation arrangements.

  Claire ushered the women out and pointed them back toward the road. Each one who stepped out looked dirtier than the last. She clenched her jaw as the last exited. Samson and anyone else was going to have to come up with a real good reason not to take out all of the SL-40 members in the area a.s.a.p.

  “The fence is electrified.” After a brisk five-minute walk, Sabene sidled up next to Claire along the row of chain link capped with barbed wire. “I’ll work on cutting the power.” Sabene used her phone like a versatile weapon.

  Claire touched Sabene’s wrist and they stared at each other for a silent moment—her own anger reflected in Sabene’s eyes. An understanding passed between them. “Map this area and the weaknesses. We’re coming back.”

  Chapter Six

  Samson and Rife showed their IDs at the strip club well before the night rush would hit. They headed for a table on the far end of the room so that they would be by a quick exit should the need arise. The worst was being stuck in the middle of a room surrounded by obstacles and people milling around behind you. His time in the army had been enough to teach him that, and extensive on-the-job training had filled in the rest of the dos and don’ts of covering your ass.

  “What’ll you boys have?” A petite blonde in a tight black dress held a miniature notepad in her hand.

  “Beer,” Rife answered as Samson said, “Same.”

  He didn’t care what he drank. He wasn’t even in the mood for alcohol. He wanted to get visual confirmation that Grace was okay so Claire would let it go, take it easy for a while, get her memory back, and get out of his home. The longer she stayed, the more he was getting sucked in.

  Samson got it; he didn’t like the idea of sex trafficking either. But Claire, she took it personally. And when she became invested, the phrase “hell hath no fury like a woman scorned” didn’t even begin to describe her mental state and the lengths she would go. It was the tactics she’d fall back on that worried him. For him and the team. It was one thing if she wanted to raise hell and go all Rambo, it was another when she dragged others along for the crazy ride.

  The team didn’t know why this case was touching a nerve with Claire. Hell, she’d only finally told him the real story about her childhood after they’d been together for two years. But although the gang was all capable assassins and could take care of themselves, knowing what they were getting into was more than half the battle. Getting caught off guard or finding out the reality of the job was completely not what you thought was never ideal.

  He didn’t have a great feeling about this. Any of it. Not the case and not her amnesia. It was all just a little too convenient. He couldn’t shake the pull in the back of his mind that he wasn’t seeing the whole picture. With Claire there was always more than one angle to watch for. Somehow, he wasn’t seeing at least two of them. The waitress brought their drinks and the song switched from a thumping bass to a pounding bass.

  “That her?” Rife tipped his bottle toward the far end of the room.

  Samson reached in his front pocket and pulled out his phone, calling up the picture of Grace Kaye that Sabene had sent over. Grace had long, wispy, brown hair and a long, thin face with the innocent eyes of a fawn.

  “No.” He passed the phone to Rife for a view.

  There were five small, circle platforms around the room—classy for a strip joint—and a main stage with a walkway that spanned half the room. The in-between parts were dance floors for the customers to populate with grinding and drinks in the air. Everyone was getting a view of what tickled their fancy tonight.

  What was Claire doing? He hadn’t texted her while he and Rife were chasing down contacts today. For some dumbass reason that made him antsy. He wanted to know where she was and what she was doing. What if, all of a sudden, she lost all of her memories and had no idea who she was or what she was doing? Of course, he could just watch the news and wait for a cluster of attacks involving a tactical baton. He smiled to himself. She was lethal with that damn thing.

  A group of average gangbangers, ones more deadly than skilled, entered from the main door.

  So far, Samson had been careful to not look anyone in the eye for too long. He knew the four assholes had survived their beatings because he’d checked the police blotter—only one reported dead the night of the attack. The one who hit Claire so hard her life was forever changed.

  He scanned the group, looking for familiar faces.

  And he had a winner. No, three winners. All three jokers were together, joined by a couple others who broke off and went upstairs. They were easy to spot—their faces were still fucked up.

  “I see three that I know really well.” Samson moved his eyes to signal Rife. There was still one he’d hunt down next.

  “Who are they?” Rife took a drink and nonchalantly checked out the group.

  “The guys Claire and I got into it with when she got knocked out.” Guys he should’ve put a bullet in before taking Claire to the hospital.

  “Okay then. Let’s go say hi.” Rife finished his beer.

  Why the hell not? Samson took another swig. “We have to get them out in the alley between patrols.”

  “Or we drag them outside, use three bullets, and dump them in the river.”

  “I’d rather not get brought up on murder charges in the third easiest state to get fried in. There are cameras everywhere in here.”

  He’d heard rumors that his colleague didn’t have fingerprints anymore. Sabene could clean their law enforcement records again, but he’d rather not mess with all the hassle of getting arrested in the first place.

  “You go out back and I’ll lure them outside. We’ll deal with them there.”

  “And Grace?” Rife asked.

  “We can come back in, find her, then go the hell home.”

  Samson wasn’t exactly chomping at the bit to get back to his place, Lord only knew what fresh hell Claire had cooked up for him, but there was a nervous sort of energy in his gut.

  Rife took the exit to their left and Samson stood, adjusting the brown button-up he’d put on with dark jeans.

  He made eye contact with the leader who had stuck a gun to his head and headed right for him.

  “Remember me?” he said.

  “Should I?” The guy had a cut lip and a shiner covering his left eye, but the surprise was evident in his good eye. Yeah, the fucker remembered him.

  Samson turned for their predetermined exit. There was no more that needed to be said. The asshole knew Samson had killed his friend and been one half o
f a team that had kicked their asses. The young guy only saw revenge. Not the trap.

  Just outside the door, Samson turned around. He let the guy get in a swing that connected to his ribs.

  Rife came out of the shadows and, in one blow, knocked the short one the hell out, the moved to the third guy who ducked in time to miss a punch. Samson punched the guy near him in the kidneys and then uppercut him, connecting with his chin as the guy doubled over.

  Samson punched his guy again and this time the shitstain stayed down.

  Pew. Pew.

  “What the fuck, man.” He stared at Rife, who was returning his gun to his waistband. “We weren’t going to kill them.”

  Rife shrugged. “I have a gun, I use it.” He nodded toward the leader.

  “No, he stays alive.” Samson bent down and spoke closely to the guy’s face so that the man living on borrowed time could hear. “I want him to watch over his shoulder for a little while. Then I’ll come back in a couple of weeks and beat him again. Then again and again until Claire gets her memory back.” Samson stood and kicked the guy in the face, knocking him out.

  “Savage.”

  “Fuck it.” Samson pulled his HK from his ankle holster, his silencer from his other leg’s holster, and double tapped the two on the ground. He couldn’t risk him or Rife being IDed.

  “Take that end.” Samson lifted the first dead guy’s arms and they swung him into the dumpster, then did the same for the other two, piling bags on top of them.

  The waitress brought two more beers as they reclaimed their table and Samson chugged it.

  “Want to talk about it?” Rife faced the stage and surveilled the room simultaneously.

  “What? Claire?” Samson sat back in his chair and watched a dark-skinned beauty in an outfit that had to have thousands of rhinestones on it take the center stage. “Nah, there’s just no way to load that bullet right. I’m fucked either way.” His voice trailed off and so did his thoughts.

  If he gave in to this new reality, if her memories never returned, could they live happily ever after? Every scenario he came up with still ended the same as before. There was no way to make this situation into something good.

  He had to stay away, at least emotionally, from Claire.

  There might be something to be said about going in eyes wide open though. If he knew it wasn’t going to work out and assumed it was going to end, would it hurt the same when it did? Fuck. Probably better not to find out the answer to that question. He liked Arlington and working with the team. If shit went bad between them again, he’d have to leave and not come back.

  He scanned the room again. No one was sending up flares, looking for the assholes from the alley.

  Straight ahead of them was a girl in a tight white dress. Grace Kaye? Samson sat forward, studying the woman. Pointed nose, longer face, round eyes. Yeah, that was her. Thank the heavens above.

  The slicked back boss from the photo at the office was talking to Grace. She kept smiling, even tilting her head back to laugh at one point. She was fine and dandy.

  “She’s here and fine,” he said, finishing his beer. “Let’s go.”

  “Do you want to talk to her? Get a confirmation?”

  “Nope.” He would’ve if she’d looked like she needed help. But she was bouncing from table to table and hadn’t glanced at any of the exits.

  Rife eyed him. Samson knew what he was thinking, and, yeah, Claire would just have to take his word for it.

  He was hungry, and on the off chance Claire hadn’t grabbed dinner yet, he’d stop and get a pizza after he dropped Rife off.

  A half hour later, Samson fumbled in his pocket for his front door key while bracing a pizza box against his side. He was fucking wound tight from the club. And not for the reasons he should be. Dozens of tight asses in his face and all he could think of was Claire. What was she doing? How was her mental state? How much longer was he going to be able to hold off on giving into her advances? What if she stopped coming on to him?

  “I’m home,” he called out and slammed the door behind him. What a dumb fucking thing to say.

  “Hey.” Claire quickly sat up on the couch, a blanket around her legs. She’d changed into a gray Washington Capitals’ shirt. His gray shirt.

  A brown curl with a red tint fell over her eye and she swiped it away. There wasn’t peace in her eyes. She was tense.

  “You changed your hair back.” He set the box down on the coffee table and sloughed out of his jacket.

  “Feels more like me.” She opened the lid. “Mmm. My favorite.” She grabbed a slice and crossed her legs on the couch, leaving a cushion for him on the two-seater. “I found a Law & Order: Criminal Intent marathon.”

  He took a slice and a seat. So she wanted to have a vague conversation instead of say what was on her mind. Okay then. He, too, could sit and eat and at least pretend to watch TV while he processed the last two days.

  “You’re back earlier than I thought you’d be.” She leaned closer to him and took a deep breath. “With only a hint of smoke, cheap perfume, and glitter.”

  Her smile was easy. She was definitely hiding something.

  He had no use for a strip club.

  “Mmm hmm.” She took a bite and watched him. “Are you really going to make me ask? Did you find anything? Did you see Grace?”

  He smiled. “We did indeed.” It almost pissed him off that Grace was okay—there’d been no reason for he and Claire to have staked out the place. There’d been no reason for her injury.

  “And?” Her back straightened and he caught a slight wince of her neck.

  “She didn’t look distressed.” He let his gaze roam over Claire—was she feeling okay? Maybe she should go see a doctor tomorrow. “She was waitressing. Had a smile on all night.”

  “Then she’s in trouble.” She sat back and glanced at the stairs.

  “How in the hell did you get that from what I just said?”

  “It’s unnatural to continually smile unless you’re made to because your life is in danger. Smiling hurts after a while.”

  He chewed his pizza. She was absolutely determined to fight with him.

  “The point is, we found her. You can call her parents in the morning.”

  He left out the part about the guys in the alley. It wasn’t going to help in the investigation since it was over. And, really, he’d just needed to scratch that itch. He was going to monitor that club from now on. His issue with them was far from over. One of the fuckers still lived.

  There was a noise upstairs. He glanced up and pulled his gun from his boot. “Are you alone?” It was probably a dumb question, but she didn’t seem to be spooked.

  She sat up and place her hand on his thigh. “I want to talk to you about something.”

  “I don’t think I’m going to like this.”

  “Don’t jump to conclusions, lover.” She rubbed his thigh, getting close enough to his groin for him to wish she’d keep going.

  She was really laying it on thick. This was going to be bad. He said nothing and didn’t blink first.

  A shadow moved down the stairs and he gripped his HK tighter.

  “Claire, we’re out of condition—” Sabene stopped on the stairs when she made eye contact with him. “Samson. You’re home early.”

  “I’m beginning to wish I was back at the strip club.”

  “Have a little faith.” Claire kissed his cheek as she stood.

  A girl Samson didn’t recognize came down the stairs to stand behind Sabene. She had long, dark hair, a dark complexion, and was in jeans and a stained, white t-shirt.

  “Claire.” His teeth clenched and he braced his hands low on his hips.

  “We went to the port today to check things out. We did so well that we found Padarn’s newest shipment of women he was no doubt going to hold captive in prostitution and God only knows what else.” She stepped toward him, but he didn’t move a muscle, only trailed her with his gaze. “I couldn’t leave them there.”

  �
�You could’ve gotten into a situation you couldn’t get out of.” If he’d come home to learn she’d been killed at the port … he couldn’t leave her alone anymore.

  “I’m going to try not to take offense at that.” Her eyes squinted for a second while she decided which battle to fight. “You are the one who keeps telling me we help people now.”

  “I didn’t say we bring them home,” he raised his voice as he scratched the back of his head. She wasn’t sitting on the sidelines; she’d jumped in full force. He stopped a smile. Dammit, this was something she would’ve done before the accident. He wasn’t sure if that should worry him or not. He glanced to the girls coming down the stairs.

  He was going to go with worry.

  “I’m not mad they were rescued,” he clarified. He wasn’t the bad guy in this situation, and it was wearing thin on his last nerve that she was acting as if he was.

  “Just that it was by Sabene and I?”

  “No. That you didn’t communicate. What if you would’ve needed back-up?” What if they were captured and sold as sex slaves? His gut roiled and his throat tightened.

  “We didn’t.”

  Okay, this wasn’t going to get him anywhere. “What are you going to do with them?”

  “Teddy is on his way.” Claire glanced up at Sabene. “The women have been showering and we’ve been doing laundry.”

  Teddy was Samson’s cop buddy from high school. They went way back, and he’d used Teddy to help on their first team mission. At least the guy knew not to ask too many questions.

  A knock came at the door and Claire whirled on the balls of her feet to answer it.

  “Claire.” Teddy kissed her cheek and stepped inside. “It’s been too long.”

  “Thanks for coming over.”

  “You said it was urgent.” Teddy tore his eyes from Claire and walked over to shake Samson’s hand.

  She hadn’t even told him why she called him over? Classic. Now he couldn’t say no to helping the stowaways.

  “We found a cargo container at the shipping yard full of women and girls who were kidnapped to be sold by a Salvadorian gang that is new to the area.”