Where the hell was Deuce?
“I haven’t spotted him yet.” Isaiah answered Tucker’s unspoken thought. “There are eight main vertical supports along the walls in this warehouse. Solid eight-by-eights. I’ve already placed a camera on four of them.”
Good thinking,” Tucker sent to his fellow agent.
“Believe it or not, I do have some skills.”
“Then cover the other four uprights.” Despite his terse comeback, Tucker nearly smiled. He hadn’t expected Isaiah to man up like he had on this mission, especially when it had turned into a rescue op instead of a simple re-establishment of parental rights. A definite bond had grown between him and Clark Kent. Isaiah had initiative and Tucker trusted him, a definite plus amongst covert operators.
Dropping his rifle into the nearest bin, he rolled toward the opposite end of the building. Rounding the first aisle, he jerked to attention when a woman shrieked. Looking over his shoulder, he caught sight of a young kid punching another in the face, knocking him down. The bully screamed up to the woman, pointing to the kid he’d just pummeled into submission. The witch yelled again, pointing her rod at the fallen kid. Several older boys zeroed in on the poor boy on the floor, screaming while they kicked and punched.
This garden party had to end. Tucker rolled his bin up the aisle. He hadn’t spotted Deuce yet, and he didn’t want to intervene unless he had to, but that puny little guy on the floor had better get up and offer one lick of resistance if he meant to live. Fight back, for hell’s sake. Punch someone. Anyone.
And then another voice lifted above the din of machines and bullies. A familiar, commanding voice. “Leave him alone!”
Tucker’s heart stopped. Deuce.
At any other time, Tucker would’ve been proud, but the bullies heard Deuce, too. They turned as one. Words were exchanged. Deuce answered, but Tucker couldn’t see him until he shoved his bin between two sewing tables. There Deuce stood down the aisle, facing three older boys, his face sweaty and his fists clenched at his side. The kid blinked like he was going to cry, but not for a second did he stand down. He meant to fight those boys, and, damn it. Tucker couldn’t get to him fast enough. This could go so bad.
He powered off the ball of his foot, but upset a stack of pattern pieces with his boot in the process. The old woman shrieked from her lofty perch. Tucker shot her a quick glance. She wasn’t looking at him. Only Deuce. Damned if her face didn’t twist into a snarl, her pudgy legs carrying her straight into the fray, and that damned rod twitching in her hand.
Tucker matched her pace, his fist clenched and ready to knock the glint out of her beady eyes. “Don’t you dare touch my boy.”
“Don’t do it. You can’t break cover,” Isaiah cautioned. “Remember why we’re here. You need proof to support your case, Agent Chase.”
“Bullshit!” Tucker put a wealth of authority in his tone to back Isaiah off. “I’ve seen enough.” He left his rifle concealed in the cart, but eased his pistol up from his thigh holster.
Things happened fast. A cry went up, and the bullyboys charged Deuce. When he went down swinging, Tucker jumped the workbench blocking his path, but someone grabbed his ankle on the way over. He pitched to his hands and knees, dragging a shelf filled with fabric down on him. Scrambling to his feet, he shoved the shelf aside, but slipped on the fabric on the floor. Barely on his feet again, he caught sight of the old woman, her arm cocked and—
STING! The bitch struck Deuce.
A smoldering red haze filled Tucker’s head. Logic flew out the window.
“Wait,” Isaiah called to him.
“Nobody hits my kid.”
She cocked her arm for another strike, and Tucker turned into a bull in a china shop, but before he could engage... BLAM! A single shot rang out.
He whirled on the shooter, shocked. Isaiah?
The kid was scared, hyperventilating, and shaking, but what a sight. Isaiah aimed his pistol at the woman, his eyes wide. “O day co ai biet noi tieng anh knong?” came screaming out of his mouth—whatever that meant.
“You speak Vietnamese?”
“No, but this phrase was phonetically diagramed in my travel guide.”
“You’ve got a travel guide?” Tucker closed in on his son, daring that old hag to stop him. “Keep going. You’re doing good.”
“That’s all I got.” The gun in Isaiah’s hand shook. “Deuce Chase!” he said with tense authority, his nervousness barely under control. “Get off the floor and get over here. Bring your friend.”
The machines ceased clattering. Everyone within reach watched as Deuce lifted shakily to his feet, wiping his bloody nose against his shoulder. He tugged his friend off the floor, glaring at the bullies before he ran to Isaiah. Catching sight of Tucker, he changed directions. “Dad?” he cried. “Dad! You’re here! You came!”
He hit Tucker hard enough to hurt him, but Tucker gladly took the hit. Broken ribs or not, he smothered his son under his arm. Nothing felt sweeter than that boy back where he belonged. “Deuce,” he ground out, assessing both boys’ physical condition with a glance.
Shadows dogged Deuce’s eyes. His nose was bleeding and his cheeks had lost their boyish plumpness, but that smile? One in a million.
His friend was another story. The poor boy ducked behind Deuce, not meeting Tucker’s eye. He was of a slighter build and a good foot shorter than Deuce. One bloodied eye was swollen shut, and Tucker had to roll both shoulders that time, loosening every single vertebrae for the slap-down headed Vinnie’s way.
“I couldn’t let them hurt Luke, Father. I mean Dad,” Deuce blurted, his eyes shimmering and his fingers clinging to Tucker’s wrist. “Luke’s small than me, and we were just talking, and... and... it was my fault. I was just trying to do what’s right.”
“You did good. Your friend’s going home with us.”
“I happen to speak perfect English,” a haughty male voice declared from the catwalk. Had to be Nguyễn Vin Li. The bastard.
“So the hell do I, and I’ve come for my son.” Tucker stared him down, not sure why Nicole’s new husband led with that info byte. Who cared how many languages he spoke?
“Because that’s what I asked before,” Isaiah admitted. “Sorry. It’s the only Vietnamese I knew. I had to say something.”
“You have no custodial rights in your country, Mr. Chase,” Vinnie stated clearly as he looked over the railing instead of confronting Tucker at ground level. “Certainly not in mine.” He looked the part of an aristocrat in his linen trousers, his white shirt unbuttoned, the cuffs rolled to his elbows.
“Why don’t you climb off your perch and fight like a man?” Tucker snarled, his son tucked behind him.
Step by step, Vinnie complied. Deliberately, he closed the distance, the metal stairs creaking under his weight, his palm sliding down the smooth metal banister. The crowd parted, and there he was. The worst kind of bully. An adult who preyed on children and used them for profit. A pimp by any other name.
“Your witch had no right hitting my son,” Tucker growled, his Irish up. He slanted a deadly glare at the old woman, daring her to fight an adult who could knock her on her bony ass. “Deuce and his friend are coming with me,” he told her in no uncertain terms. “Get the hell out of my way.”
“I think not, Mr. Chase.” A look passed between Vinnie and his nearest guard, a thick-necked guy with long, greasy black hair. “The laws concerning child labor in my country are different than yours. Children here are often required to work long hours to serve their families, their elders, and their betters. It’s a sign of respect and the least they can do.” He lifted his palms, playing to the crowd gathered around him, now infiltrated with thugs with clubs and knives who seemed to be translating what Tucker had said. “Isn’t that right?”
Murmurs and shifting glances answered timid affirmatives.
“I don’t think those guards are translating, Tucker,” Isaiah mentally whispered. “I think they told Vinnie’s workers you’re here to put them out
of a job. At least, that’s the vibe I‘m getting.”
Tucker let a low hiss between gritted teeth. This is going to get ugly. “I don’t give a shit about your country or your laws, Vinnie. Only my boy. He comes with me. His friend, too.”
A half-smile slithered over Vinnie’s lips. His thugs were already weaving into the crowd, tightening the noose. Tucker tried again. “Sorry, folks. I’m just here for my son. You got a problem with Ham Thủ Thiêm Sewing, you take it up with management, not me. Now move aside. Let me pass.”
He didn’t see the knife as much as he felt the vibration in the air when it sliced toward his kidneys. Without thinking, Tucker whirled on his attacker before the blade struck, keeping hold of Deuce’s wrist, shielding his son and Luke.
The tip of the knife caught the edge of his elbow, but not before he landed a boot dead center of the thick-necked guy’s chest. The knife skittered to the floor when Thick Neck flew backward. He didn’t fall, but settled one hand to the dusty concrete, his fingers splayed and ready to charge.
Tucker’s pistol was instantly in his palm and ready, a round chambered and hell on its way.
“You’d better think long and hard before you try that again,” he ground out at the man in his sights. “I can make two of you at this range, and it won’t be pretty. Go ahead. Try me.”
Deuce tucked his fingers into his dad’s belt. “I wanna go home, Dad. You’re bleeding.”
“I’m fine, son. Get ready to run. If anything happens to me, stick with Isaiah.”
Thick Neck never took his eyes off Tucker, just chin-nodded, a sure signal to the other guards.
Tucker put every deadly intonation into his voice, daring the moron to start this war. “You heard the boy. We’re going home. Now move your ass.”
The noose had tightened. Vinnie’s thugs were closing in. Vinnie, too. Tucker had no doubt the man was armed. This was no standoff. It would be a massacre.
“Get my boy out of here,” he mentally commanded Isaiah.
“Like hell. I intend to appeal to their despicable natures. Watch and learn, Agent Chase.”
Again with the watch-and-learn bullshit. The fluorescent lights flickered once before the place went completely dark. The steady hum of noise died, making the silence nearly as loud. Tucker plastered Deuce against his hip where no one could get at him. “Whatever happens next, you and your friend stay with me.”
“I will, Dad. I’ve got a good hold of Luke.”
God, a man loves it when his kid was one hundred percent on his six.
“Come out with your hands up!” a loud voice bellowed from the rear entry.
“Are you doing that, Isaiah?” Tucker had to know. He didn’t relish running into any real cops.
“What do you think?”
“I think it’s time to get the hell out of here.”
“I can do that.”
“This is the police!”
BLAM! Isaiah upped the ante with a single shot, and chaos took over. But Thick Neck still had a hard-on for Tucker. He charged with his head down, plowing the few workers out of his way to get Tucker.
Tucker barely had time to hand Deuce off to Isaiah before he intercepted the guy with a come-on-over embrace that put Tucker on his back and sent Thick Neck flying over his head. Crash. The big guy went down hard.
Back on his feet, Tucker thumbed his nose and danced to the adrenaline racing up his spine. He’d been in bar fights and brawls galore since his dad did what he’d done. He could take more than one of these guys. The rifle slung over his shoulder proved that, but first—he just wanted to play.
Another man came up behind him, but Tucker was on his game now. He bobbed to his left and pulled the idiot in close enough to crunch his nose onto his thigh, then pushed him into yet another thug who’d gotten in too close and too fast. Too bad the third guy never got a chance to lower that fancy knife of his. He’d inadvertently knifed his buddy. The second idiot went down screaming and swearing in a puddle of his own blood.
Isaiah must’ve mentally flickered the lights on just enough to give Tucker a visual, and to let him know the crowd wasn’t in the game as much as the guards were. He found himself in a ring of a dozen fighters while the workers shifted away. Isaiah, Deuce, and Luke were nowhere to be seen. Just the way Tucker preferred it. His kid didn’t need to see his old man in action. But Vinnie was missing, too. Not good.
Thick Neck was back on his feet. He and another guy, both with knives, charged Tucker.
Not today, boys. The basic science behind hand-to-hand fighting was how to use an enemy’s energy against himself. How to throw him off-balance and keep him guessing while you killed him.
Tucker kicked out at Thick Neck the same time as he punched the new guy in the throat with a hard right. He earned a knife slice up his left bicep with that move. It cut his shirt and bloodied his arm, but New Guy went to his knees gurgling, his larynx crushed. Thick Neck tucked his gut in to avoid the kick, but couldn’t recover in time to dodge Tucker’s one-two punch to his ears. Fatal mistake. Thick Neck went down with a pathetic squeal, both eardrums shattered if the tactic worked like Tucker meant it to.
“Who’s next?” he growled, still dancing and still buying time for Isaiah to get Deuce and his friend to safety.
“We’re clear of the building,” came Isaiah’s voice loud and clear in Tucker’s head. “You’ve only got one good eye, or did you forget? Get your dumb ass out of there.”
“One eye is enough. ’Sides, I’m just getting started.”
The lights flashed again, and, God bless him, Isaiah was a good man to give Tucker a final warning. Tucker thumbed his nose again, surprised it was bleeding as much as it was, and not exactly sure how he could get from point A to point B in the dark. He dropped to one knee, no longer sure which way was out.
“Turn one-hundred-and-eighty degrees and go straight. I’ll tell you when you’re at the exit.”
Tucker complied, jostling through the congested, groping crowd as he weaved between sweaty hips and thighs in the dark.
“Keep moving.” Isaiah’s voice sounded tight and stressed. “You’re running out of time.”
“I see it now.” Tucker feinted to his right, truly wondering about all that psychic crap. His five senses seemed to be on some kind of souped-up hyper-alert. He felt the guys coming for him before they passed by, four hulking guards with clubs and rods. Thick Neck was now packing a sawed off shotgun. The guy had to be dizzy with those busted eardrums, but there he was.
“Keep my son safe. This might take a while,” Tucker commanded Isaiah.
“But—”
“But nothing!” He couldn’t take the chance. Tucker launched himself at Thick Neck, needing to end this confrontation. “Do it. Do it now!”
Chapter Twenty-Three
David Tao’s warm brown eyes glittered with approval. He stood with his hands on his hips at the wooden dock as the hovercraft sidled alongside it. Dressed in khaki pants and a yellow printed button-up shirt with his wife, Nancy, at his side, he looked the picture of contentment.
When Rory turned the engines off, he beamed. “Melissa! What an unexpected surprise.”
David Tao was a true friend and one of the first agents Alex Stewart had hired way back when he’d first founded his covert surveillance business. He and his wife, Nancy, had always been in the background, solid supporters during the bad times and quiet cheerleaders during the good times. He had to be pushing forty by now, but Melissa had never seen him happier.
This next part was going to be hard, but she offered him a genuine smile despite the goodbyes in her imminent future. “It looks like Cambodia agrees with you.”
“That’s because he’s incorrigible,” Nancy declared, her dark eyes scrolling over the sweet girl in Melissa’s arms. “He’s always coming up with another way to help. Is that Pich you’re holding?”
Melissa looked past Nancy to David. “Yes. Where’s the doctor?”
David nodded at his wife with a serious smile. �
��She’s never a heartbeat away from me. You’re looking at her.”
“You? You’re a physician?” Melissa hadn’t known.
“General practitioner, mid-wife, and nutritionist,” Nancy replied as she climbed onboard and took her place alongside Melissa, her hands already smoothing over the sleeping girl and diagnosing as they went. “Tell me all you know about this child’s situation. Fever? Contusions? Abdominal swelling?”
Melissa breathed a sigh of relief as she filled Nancy in. Her angst fled. Nancy was the answer to her prayers. “Yes. I’m sure she’s been raped, but we didn’t have any morning-after pills in our first-aid kit.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got something for that, plus I’ve got something to calm her nerves. She’ll be okay.”
“Do you have any idea when this happened?” Melissa had to ask. “I mean, can you tell by the color of her bruises like they do on all those forensic murder shows on TV?”
Nancy allowed a small smile. “The people in Hollywood make everything look easy, don’t they? But yes, we can make a calculated guess.” She peered closer at Pich’s wrists. “There’s no yellowing. If this was her first assault, I’d say we’re still inside the seventy-two-hour window as far as preventing conception goes. I’m more worried about internal injuries. Let’s take care of first things first. David? Can you come get this little one for me?”
“Please don’t let anything happen to these girls,” Melissa pleaded when David eased Pich out of her arms. “Please take good care of them.”
Nancy took hold of Melissa’s forearm and pulled her in close. “All of these girls will live with us at our private compound, Melissa. I will personally watch over them as if they were my daughters. Don’t worry. The minute you get back home, check your email. I’ll send a progress report and pictures so you can see for yourself.”
King of Hearts (Deuces Wild Book 1) Page 22