Gypsy Blood (Born to Romany Blood, Book 1)

by Lorrie Unites-Struiff

  He chuckled and squeezed her shoulder. “Okay. Let’s just make like I’m another john dropping you off. I’ll ride around the block and find a parking space across the street.”

  “And you make sure your speed dial on your cell is set, and that your flat ass is in gear ready to move if our guy does show.” Rita slid out of the seat.

  The tote hung loosely from her shoulder as she strutted along the sidewalk. The faint haze drifted in the air, the dampness curled the edges of her long, dark hair. Hookers stood under awnings or wedged in doorways to keep warm. Three working girls walked across the street, braving the misty cold.

  After a half an hour of freezing, Rita wished she had worn leotards along with her barely-there skirt. She leaned against a lamppost and cursed under her breath.

  A crash of rending metal shattered the night. Rita jerked upright and stepped toward the racket. Before she walked twenty feet, she turned and noticed an old, rusty black van had cruised to a stop at the curb. She tapped the mic at her waist twice. “Hey. I’m going to walk back to a van that stopped. That earwig better stay glued inside your ear.”

  As Rita drew nearer, a man slid over to the passenger side and opened the window. He leaned out and flashed a roll of bills. The sketch. It was him! The crystal froze on her skin.

  The man wasn’t bad looking, even with the noticeable bump on his nose. He wore a dark blazer, had the defined widow’s peak, his hair graying at the temples. But, his broad smile gave her the willies.

  “It’s fun time,” she said aloud so the mic would pick up the pre-arranged code words. She glanced over her shoulder hoping to spot Sully. Rita shivered, clenched her coat tighter, and took her sweet time sauntering closer to the open window.

  “Hello, handsome.” She glanced up and down the street. Come on you guys, roll it!

  “What’s your pleasure?” she stalled. “BJ in the front seat, thirty. Though I bet we can have a lot more fun at a motel. Only set you back a couple C’s.”

  “Come. Get into the van. We will discuss our evening together.” His voice sounded hollow, as if speaking through a long tube.

  Rita’s stomach jittered while she waited for Sully and the units to rocket down the street. She was gonna kill those assholes. The traffic seemed to have stopped. No backup was in sight.

  She leaned over the window. “Ah, or tell me something, sugar. How would you like to play out one of your little ol’ favorite fantasies?”

  What the hell was taking them so long? It had been a good two or three minutes since she signaled. Screw them. I’ll take him myself.

  “Hold it a sec, hon, my shoe strap is loose.” She stepped back near the rear wheel, smiled at the man, and stooped over. Her fingers flexed to reach inside the bag to grab her weapon. She’d cover the scumbag until the troops arrived.

  Before Rita had time to get her fingers on the gun, the man had shot out of the door, yanked her forward, and somehow shoved her headfirst onto the front seat. She skidded over the vinyl bench seat, her nose and cheek hitting hard, blocking her breath for a moment. Rita yelled in surprise. The door slammed shut. She scrambled to sit upright, gagging when she inhaled the dank, moldy scent of the interior. A metal object, hanging from the roof above the mirror, clunked heavy against her head. She swallowed the acrid taste in her throat.

  The driver’s door opened and the man slipped inside. One corner of her mind wondered how he could have possibly run around the front of the van so fast.

  Rita rubbed her bruised temple and twisted the door handle. It was stuck. She rammed her shoulder into the door. It didn’t budge. The window was up. Her purse with the gun lay on the sidewalk. She worked the lock button and slammed into the door again. The impact sent shock waves down her arm to her fingertips. Shit. The van was rigged. Rita looked at the serial killer, her heart banged against her ribs, her breathing short and shallow. Tapping the mic with frantic fingers, all she could do was pray.

  The man grinned.

  Chapter Seven

  Streetlights threw flashes of illumination into the van as they moved slowly away from the strip district.

  Rita shifted in her seat and gave a quick glance over her shoulder to look out the back window. No one was following. She had to keep it together, play it out.

  “What the hell’s the matter with you?” She slapped the dashboard. “Why’d you shove me in like that? I don’t go for any of that rough shit.” She swallowed the glob of fear stuck in her throat.

  “Ah, but a bit of fantasy is what you offered, did you not?” He spoke with a slight accent.

  “Yeah, but I don’t need any bruises to explain to my man. If you want the hard, kinky stuff, there’s a girl a street over who’s into that freaky shit.”

  He looked at her, his grin eager. “I promise to be gentle with you now.”

  Rita searched around her feet for something to use as a weapon. Nothing. “Shit. Wait. Go back. I dropped my purse on the sidewalk when you shoved me. All my things are in it.”

  “You are full of concerns. I will give you money to purchase many new items.”

  “But that’s my favorite. You sure know how to piss a girl off.”

  “That temper of yours is challenging. You amuse me.”

  Rita broke out into a cold sweat. She had to keep stalling. Surely the team had missed her by now.

  “I am a stranger to your city. What is your name?”

  “Jade.” Rita made her voice husky, although her insides shook like marbles in a blender. “Well, if you promise to be nice, right up the road, there’s a little motel that will set us up.”

  “I know of a better, quiet spot where we will not be disturbed.”

  She bet he did. Shit, shit, shit.

  They rolled through the second intersection, the area growing darker and emptier. Rita gripped the torn seat. The curled vinyl bit into the skin of her palm. Her thoughts fumbled for a way to break free. She peeked out at the side mirror. Still no car following. Her lungs refused to pull enough air. She slid her hand slowly down the calf of her leg. A spiked heel would make a better weapon than her fists. Rita almost reached her shoe when he stopped at a red light and flicked on the overhead light.

  “Let me have a better look at my choice for the evening.” Abruptly, his gray eyes widened, his body went rigid. He breathed in deeply through his nose, then reached and grabbed her shoulders, his big fists bunching the plastic coat up around her ears. The crystal slid up her throat with the scrunched coat collar and jabbed into the soft flesh under her chin. He crushed her into his solid chest, her arms trapped between them.

  Rita’s pushed her palms hard against the buttons of his blazer, her muscles strained to the bursting point. She couldn’t break free. He buried his nose in her hair, forcing her head down. The crystal dug into her throat like a sharp piece of cold glass. The man nuzzled her neck, her throat, sniffing at her like a wild animal. She thought her heart was going to tear through her chest.

  He yelped suddenly and flung her away. She skidded across the seat. The door handle rammed into her back, pain shot up her spine.

  A wide red welt had appeared on his chin. He rubbed at it. “Where did you get the amulet?” he sputtered his anger. “No! This cannot be!” Before her mouth could form words, he pounded the steering wheel.

  “Tzigan blood,” he snorted, rage bold on his face. “Familia.” His arm slid down between the doorframe and his seat. A sharp click resounded in the van. Then, in one smooth motion, he reached across her waist, opened her door, and shoved.

  Rita clamped her arms around her head. Her shoulder and hip landed on a large green garbage bag. It exploded like a gunshot beneath her. A beer can flew up and clattered onto the street.

  “Poison,” the killer shouted over the squeal of the van’s tires.

  She breathed in the sickening scent of overripe bananas, forced her momentum and kept rolling over the sidewalk. The cement scraped her bare legs. A cry escaped her lips when she flopped into a shallow ditch.

 
; Dizzy, gasping for breath, she moved her arms and legs slowly, surprised all of her body parts still worked. Something sharp dug into her palm. Unclenching her fist, a gold, domed button from the killer’s jacket lay in her palm. She shuddered and shoved the button into her coat pocket.

  The flashing strobe light nearly brought tears to her eyes. She struggled to sit upright. The SUV skidded to a stop. The door flew open. Matt raced to her, knelt in the damp earth and lowered her gently to lie flat on her back. “You hurt? Lemme check. Lie still, damn it.” Firm hands ran over her legs and arms.

  She giggled, then to her chagrin, laughed aloud.

  “What the hell are you laughing about? You could have been killed! You’re a crazy woman.” Matt sat on the wet weeds, put his hands under her back, and lifted her to a sitting position. He cradled her up against his chest.

  “Sorry. Adrenaline overload. Always laugh after a bad scare.” Her voice cracked. She inched back and looked up. “Especially when my backup doesn’t show, and I end up alone with a freak-head SOB. Where the hell were you guys?”

  Matt’s chest heaved against her. He ran a hand up and down her back, the fingers of his other hand threaded through her hair. He pulled her into the warm strength of his chest again. “Sully called as soon as he could,” his mouth was near her ear, “some teen dragsters sideswiped his car and put his wheels out of commission. The crash bounced him to the floor, jarring his earwig out. The units didn’t spot the van. When I rounded the corner, I saw your purse on the sidewalk and just floored it straight ahead. Other than being scared shitless, this sense of getting closer to you kept getting stronger and stronger.”

  Rita slid her hand between them and felt the warmth radiating all around her crystal, not only the side against her skin. Had the crystal guided Matt in some mysterious way?

  Suddenly, Matt gripped her upper arms and he pushed her away, his features harsh in the beams of his headlights. “I should shake the living crap out of you. I said not to get into his van. Not to try to take him alone. What the fuck did you think you were doing?”

  “Like I had a choice,” she shouted. “First he was leaning over the passenger seat, then poof, he was out as fast as Superman. Before I knew it, I was looking at the underside of his dashboard. Doors were rigged.” Her breath hitched. “When he stopped, he yelled something crazy about blood and poison, then wham, I was rolling into a ditch.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “That doesn’t make sense.” He stared over her shoulder into the night, his gaze distant for a moment. He snapped back and pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “But I’m damn glad you’re safe. I’ll get the EMTs.”

  “No, no, I’m fine. Just bruised a little. The van wasn’t moving when he pushed me out.” She took a shaky breath. “I’m just thrilled to still have my blood swimming in my veins.”

  Matt gripped her waist and helped her out of the shallow ditch. “Sure you’re okay?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be fine once my knees stop kissing.”

  They walked to his SUV. Rita secured her seatbelt while Matt hurried around the front and slid behind the wheel. His hand covering her cold fingers resting on the seat felt delicious. He lifted his other hand and softly caressed her cheek. His cell phone rang. She jumped as if she touched a live wire.

  Matt squeezed her hand, then answered the phone. “Yeah, Della. We got lucky.” He grinned at Rita. “She’s pretty shaken up, but okay. Squawk the others. I have her with me.” His face tightened into a scowl as he listened. He angled the phone away from his mouth. “Della just saw a girl get into a black van. They’re in pursuit.”

  “Well, what are you waiting for? Go!”

  He handed Rita the cell. “Direct me.” Matt pulled the gearshift and stepped on the gas pedal. Rita shouted the turns to Matt as Della relayed the van’s ongoing location. Sidewalks and buildings blurred past. Matt turned on the siren. The flashing strobe light reflected in the windows of the closed shops and the houses on the empty streets.

  They were heading down toward the river.

  The SUV careened around a corner and shot down a long steep grade. The railroad trestle loomed ahead. Matt slowed when he hit a sudden dip in the road, then charged full speed under the trestle. He swung the wheel in a hard right, hit a pothole, and bounced onto the paved river road. The SUV tore straight ahead, paralleling the cement railroad embankment that rose four-feet high on their right.

  A freight train rumbled on the tracks. The boxcars swayed dangerously, as if they would tip over any moment and crush whatever lay below them. Rita’s chest tightened. She hated this stretch of road, always felt claustrophobic trapped between the cement with a pounding train atop the wall, and the deep Monongahela river peeking through the crooked trees and scrub growth on the left. She was afraid to blink.

  Thin mist covered the windshield. Matt turned on the wipers, but didn’t slow down. Rita held the phone tight against her ear, locked her knees and pressed her feet into the floorboard. “Della sees our flashers. We’re catching up.”

  Rita was grateful for no traffic at this late hour. The vertical cracks in the cement embankment blurred into one shadowy line. She gulped for air as they sped along the narrow roadway.

  The haze grew thicker. A sulfuric stench floated within the mist from the coke mill operating up-river.

  Matt hunched over the steering wheel, squinting through the windshield. “Must be Hank’s taillights flickering way up there ahead of us.”

  Her pulse outraced the thump of the windshield wipers. “Della’s saying they’re losing sight of the van in this mess. It’s getting bad ahead. Damn it, Matt, slow the fuck down. You don’t know this road. We’ll end up in the river.”

  “Okay, okay.” His eyes flicked to the rear view mirror. He eased up on the pedal. “We have a unit behind us. Maybe we should let them take the….”

  The taillights grew alarmingly large within a thick cloud of mist. Matt’s arm shot out across Rita’s chest and he hit the brakes, hard. The seat belt dug into her stomach and chest. Matt spun the steering wheel, and the SUV slid to a stop a millisecond before climbing up the trunk of Hank’s car.

  She caught the pale reflection of strobe lights behind them in the side mirror. They wavered left and fishtailed to a stop.

  Rita expelled her held breath and collapsed back against the seat. “Della says to thank you for not whacking their asses. They had to slow down, they can’t see a shittin’ thing. Follow them, there should be a gravel pull-off ahead.”

  “God damn it,” Matt hissed, “we lost him.”

  The three vehicles crawled through the fog. Bits of gravel splattered under the tires as they rolled to a stop.

  Rita fumbled for the handle, opened the door, and stepped down onto the loose stones. Her heels wobbled as she walked on the shifting bits of rock. Matt met her at the back bumper. Hank and Della approached them on foot, holding flashlights. Identifying themselves, Bobby and Gus joined the group.

  The moisture dampened Rita’s hair. Fog wrapped around her like wet cotton. She shivered and clamped her teeth together. The train whistle faded in the distance.

  Matt turned in a slow circle, searching the perimeter.

  “It’s no use, Boulet,” Hank said. “Even with the road blocks, there’s too many side streets branching off, going back up into the hills. Patrols will keep searching for the bastard, though.”

  Bobby tried to pierce the fog with a fixed spotlight on the side of the cruiser. “Maybe he pulled off and cut his lights. Damn, this beam doesn’t punch through far enough.” He stepped back and touched Rita’s arm. “You okay, Gypsy? I was worried when I heard you were with him.”

  The genuine concern in his voice surprised her. “Yeah, I got lucky. He threw me away.” She folded her arms across her chest and rubbed her hands up and down her coat sleeves, shivering.

  Matt paced to the front of the SUV. His shoulders slumped.

  “Here’s your purse,” said Della. “I snatched it when we passed the corner. Couldn’t l
eave the gun layin’ around.” She gave Rita a quick hug. “You gave me a shit-shooting scare back there.”

  “Almost stroked out myself. Did manage a few bumps and bruises, though.”

  Della tilted her head toward Matt. “Your Feebie looks like he could use a little TLC.”

  “He’s pissed like the rest of us. We nearly had the dirt-bag.”

  “We all screwed up,” said Bobby. “Can’t do a damn thing standing around here. Better form a caravan and head back. I’ll lead the way till we get outta this soup.”

  Rita went to Matt and tucked her hand under his elbow. “I’m sorry, Matt.”

  Matt kicked a stone into the river, the splash faint in the mist. He slammed his fist on the hood of the SUV. “So fuckin’ close—again.”

  The flat sound of his fist hitting metal sent a wave of sorrow over her. “We all feel like shit.” She tugged at him. “Come on. We better get back. The Locals and Staties will be searching the surrounding areas all night. They’ll notify us if they find him.”

  They followed Bobby and Gus back to the station. Matt’s stony silence spoke volumes about his anger and frustration. The need to comfort him nagged at her, but what could she say when she felt the same? She had been next to the Ripper and didn’t do a damn thing.

  Matt parked in front of the building. Once inside, the group huddled in the meeting room. After the debriefing, Della yawned, then waved to Rita. “See you same time, same station, tomorrow.”

  Matt walked Rita to her car. “I’ll follow you home.”

  “It’s only a few miles. I’ll be fine.”

  “After scaring me senseless, I want to make sure you stay that way, so don’t argue.”

  “Yes, Mon Capitan,” she said and saluted.

  Chapter Eight

  Rita rummaged in her tote for her key ring. When Matt’s arm slid her around her waist, her knees weakened. His fingers encircled her wrist, his grip strong, yet tender. He took the keys and hefted the overloaded ring, jingling them.