by Mia Gold
The footsteps stopped. Ruby tried to glance both ways at once, not knowing from where he would come.
Silence.
Kneeling by the curb, Ruby lowered her head to look beneath the car …
… and saw the man looking right at her.
With a yelp she leapt up, sprang over the car, and aimed a kick at her would-be killer.
At least she tried to. The dress didn’t cooperate and what should have been a bone-crunching blow to his wrist ended up a near miss.
Even so, the assassin was so startled, backpedaling out of the way, that his next shot didn’t end the fight. Instead, Ruby felt a streak of pain along her thigh.
She landed on her feet, adrenaline keeping her upright for the moment.
The assassin raised his gun to her face.
A moment too late. Ruby made a vicious karate chop to the back of his wrist, which shattered with an audible snap. The gun clattered to the pavement.
In the MMA ring that would have been the end of the fight, but this was not the MMA ring and they were not on television. This was far, far more real.
The assassin’s only reaction to blinding pain was to let out a grunt and draw a knife with his other hand.
Ruby jumped back, surprised, the knife whistling through the air an inch from her chest. The assassin advanced, stabbing. On the edge of panic, Ruby ducked to the left, only to find his initial attack was a feint and he brought the knife slashing at her side.
She caught his arm at the last instant. She twisted it, trying to get him to drop the weapon, only to get a kick to her leg. It was supposed to break her kneecap and would have if Ruby hadn’t seen it coming and managed to dodge just enough to turn it into a glancing blow to the shin.
Ruby stumbled. The assassin used his greater height and weight to leverage the knife to aim right at her throat.
She grasped his arm with both hands, trying to twist it, but he redoubled his efforts. The knife inched forward, its razor edge and fine point all too visible in the streetlight.
Time for a change of tactics. Ducking to the left, and nearly stumbling as she put her weight on her injured leg, she let the knife pass by her head and sank her teeth into the assassin’s wrist.
Strictly against MMA rules, and a terrible flavor, but it did achieve results. As the coppery tang of the man’s blood filled her mouth, he let out a strangled cry and the knife fell to the ground.
Tearing her teeth away, she gave him a gut punch, followed by a palm strike to the jaw that whipped his head back and made him smack against the car. Another couple of gut punches took him down, and she easily twisted his good arm behind him and pinned him face first on the pavement.
The scene was suddenly illuminated by approaching headlights. A car passed down the street and slowed. Ruby looked up at the astonished faces of a husband and wife, and three little open-mouthed children staring from the back seat. They took in the woman in eveningwear pinning a grown man on the street, and the nearby knife and pistol.
Ruby gave them a grin. She felt a drop of the assassin’s blood dribble down her chin. The driver hit the gas and zoomed down the street.
Ruby gave the assassin’s arm a painful twist. He hissed between his teeth, but otherwise said nothing.
“Start talking,” Ruby said.
“Not going to happen.”
She gave his arm another twist.
“Ah! Nothing you can do to me can be as bad as what they’ll do if I talk.”
“Want to make a bet?”
He twisted his head as much as he could and looked up at her from the corner of his eye.
“Ever been to Saudi interrogation center?” he asked.
So, it really is the Saudis.
“Never had the pleasure.”
The man grinned. “I have. They took me on a grand tour. Wanted me to know what happens to people who prove disloyal. Then they treated me to a night in the pleasure gardens. Oh man, I can tell you. The choice is easy.”
Ruby gave him arm another twist. “You’re not going to any pleasure garden.”
“No. I’m going to die. Hurry up and get it over with. I’m not going to talk and sooner or later some passing motorist is going to call the cops, assuming that last one hasn’t already. I know you don’t want that.”
Ruby glanced at the knife lying nearby. He was right. She should kill him. It was the only way to be safe.
Except it wasn’t. If the Saudis knew where she was, they’d only send another. And another.
An image of Aaron Hansen flashed through her mind. Facing her, golf club raised.
And then hesitating.
He couldn’t strike a woman, and Ruby couldn’t kill a man. She was a fighter, not a killer.
Maybe if he had been on his feet with a weapon in his hand, but not now. Not while he was pinned and helpless.
She turned back to the assassin and saw him looking up at her with contempt.
“You’re a coward,” he told her.
“I’m an MMA champion, you idiot.”
“That’s not real fighting.”
“Real enough to whup your ass. Now let me tell you something you can pass on to the Saudis. Yes, I did have the thumb drive. I gave it to someone who knows what to do with it. If I go missing, the contents on the drive go public. As long as I’m healthy, that thumb drive stays in a certain safety deposit box in a certain European nation. If I die, if I disappear, if I show up on a torture video, that thumb drive goes international. They won’t try to save me and they won’t bargain. They don’t give a damn about me. That’s why I picked them. That thumb drive is my insurance policy. So scuttle on back to the sand dunes and tell your masters what I said. Oh, and here’s a parting gift.”
With a quick twist she popped his shoulder out of his socket. The assassin gasped.
Ruby hauled him to his feet just as the approaching lights of another car appeared a couple of blocks away.
“Beat it.”
The man ran off, one arm set back in an unnatural fashion and the other, wrist shattered, cradled against his chest.
Ruby watched him go. She had no doubt that man was resourceful enough to get out of the Bahamas and back to Saudi Arabia, even in his condition. Once he got safely out of the neighborhood, he’d find some convenient wall or palm tree and smack his shoulder against it to pop the joint back into place. With one good arm, he’d fashion a sling for his other and catch the next flight out.
As he disappeared into the shadows, Ruby realized she needed to get going too. She turned to her car and stumbled, the pain of the wound finally shooting through her fear and adrenaline.
Blood was running down the inside of her thigh. She raised her skirt and saw the bullet had streaked along the flesh, leaving a shallow furrow that oozed rather than flowed with blood. Remarkably, her dress had remained undamaged. It must have billowed up as she jumped over the car and onto the assassin, giving him a nice view before she beat the living crap out of him.
The approaching car passed. She turned. Two men inside stared at the barefoot woman with her skirt hiked up. They spotted the bleeding leg, the knife, and the pistol with silencer. The car slowed and the driver lowered his window.
“Do you, uh, need some help?”
“Does it look like I need help?”
“I’m calling the police!” came a shout from the other direction.
Ruby turned to see a man peeking out the window of the nearest house, the same one the assassin’s bullet had hit.
“Everyone OK in there?” Ruby called over.
“Yeah. Stay where you are until the police come.” The man tried to say this with some sort of authority, but his fear gave him away.
And what could he do to stop her?
Keeping her dress hiked up so she wouldn’t get bloodstains on it, she walked over to gather up her shoes.
“What’s going on?” the driver of the car said, moving his vehicle forward, unsure if he should leave or not.
“Simple misunderstanding.
Make sure the police dust that gun and knife for prints. He wasn’t wearing gloves. Probably didn’t think he’d lose both of his weapons. Underestimated his opponent. Always a fatal mistake.” She laughed, hearing it come out maniacal, and realized her nerves were at the breaking point.
She collected her shoes and glanced towards John’s house. No sign they had heard. The silencer would have been inaudible inside. The only reason the other homeowner had known anything was going on was that bullet thumping through his wall.
And he probably didn’t know Ruby had been visiting John. Good. Hopefully when the cops came to his door John would be smart enough to pretend he didn’t know anything.
Collecting her high heels, she swept the broken glass off the seat of her rental car and got inside, immediately leaving a bloodstain on the seat.
“No way I can drive with one hand while keeping my skirt hiked up with the other,” she muttered.
So she shucked her dress off and draped it over the other seat. The guys in the other car were still staring.
“What? You never seen a girl strip after a gunfight before? I don’t want any blood on this dress. You know how much it cost me?”
The men’s eyes widened.
Oh God, that came out all warbled and high pitched. I’m losing it.
Time to go.
She drove off as fast as she could. No one dared stop her.
She only hoped those guys in the car didn’t take down her license plate number.
Then she decided it didn’t matter. Detective Anderson would be sure to follow up on this one. The gun with the silencer was like a big neon sign saying, “RUBY WAS HERE.”
She fumbled in the glove compartment for the First Aid kit. The next light turned out to be red, so she got busy on her leg while all the other motorists got to stare at the woman wearing only a bra and panties. She tried to ignore them as she applied direct pressure to the wound. Luckily it was just a graze, and the bleeding started to ease as she pressed down on it with some gauze.
The honk of a horn behind her made her yelp. For a second she thought the cops had spotted her, or the assassin had somehow returned.
No, the light had changed, and the driver behind her, who couldn’t see her little peep show, impatiently wanted her to get on her way.
With shaking hands she drove off.
Only to hit the next red light.
She resumed work on her leg. The pain was bad now, a burning sensation like someone had lain a smoldering log across her flesh. More direct pressure, then winding up the wound with bandages and taping them onto her thigh.
A trucker pulled alongside and cheered. Apparently he hadn’t noticed the blood on the seat or the bloody handprints on the steering wheel, only her bare flesh. She flexed for him.
I wish I could go back to the boring life. I miss it.
The light changed and the trucker pulled away. No one was in the lane behind her. She stayed where she was, flicking on her hazard lights and finished up working on her leg. She took some antiseptic wipes and cleaned her hands, the steering wheel, and seat as much as she could.
Then she sat back and took several long, deep breaths, eyes closed. She needed to relax, and she needed to focus. To hell with the traffic. They could go around her. She’d faced a lot of fights, and more than a couple of knives, but she had never been shot before.
My life is getting way out of hand.
After she got her heartbeat down to something approaching normal, she started to drive again. Her hands remained shaky on the wheel.
Damn. I really need to get it together.
The bright sign of a liquor store appeared before her.
A drink would help with that.
Shut UP.
Actually a drink really would help with that. Ease the tension. Work out that stiffness in your muscles you’ve been feeling. That’s from withdrawal, you know. Not good to get off too quickly.
Shut up. Now. You have a murder to solve.
Another red light came up. She was hitting them all tonight. Usually that irritated her. Now it turned out to be pretty useful.
A thorough examination of her clothes showed no holes or bloodstains. That was a relief. She couldn’t have shown up at the Moonlight Lounge in a bloodstained dress. Even Ruby knew that wouldn’t be fashionable.
The guy in the car next to her grinned and pulled out a phone. Ruby covered her face as he snapped a picture. Briefly she considered getting out and kicking his ass, but she had attracted enough attention for one evening.
Piling the shopping bags onto the seat to cover up the blood, she put on her dress and pulled out as the light turned green.
The police would be at the scene of the fight by now, and they’d be sure to come looking for her.
She had to solve this case tonight, because once the police found her again, they wouldn’t let her go this time.
Ruby put all thoughts of the police out of her mind for the moment. What she had to face at the Moonlight Lounge would be far worse than any police officer could dish out.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Ruby stood uncertainly at the doorway of the Moonlight Lounge, scanning the room for danger. It looked much the same as it had the previous night. The same lone drunk slouched against the bar, the same pimply bartender stood behind it, and several of the same lovely ladies sat alone at separate tables.
No, not all alone. One chatted flirtatiously with an older tourist. The way the pot-bellied man lavished attention on her, Ruby could tell he would spend quite a lot tonight. This woman was far out of his league in anything other than a financial transaction.
Ruby, nerves tense and feeling awkward in her high heels and eveningwear, didn’t have time to see more than that, because the bartender had started to stare. He hadn’t recognized her when she first stepped through the door, but as she passed into the light recognition was stamped on his face.
And he did not look happy to see her again.
Ruby put on her fight face and walked up to him, managing to only briefly wobble on her high heels. She was beginning to get the hang of these things. Except that they made her bullet wound sing with pain.
“An orange juice, please,” she said, keeping eye contact.
“You want vodka in that?” the bartender asked.
Oh, hell yes.
The slumped drunk brightened.
“Vodka!” he shouted before slumping over his drink again.
“No, thank you,” Ruby said.
Then she thought again.
She took a quick inventory of her body. After so many years of training and the ring, she could read her body like a book. Her limbs were shaking a little, and it was not fear or adrenaline. It was alcohol withdrawal. The sugar in the orange juice would help stabilize her sugar levels, but that would wear off soon and she’d crash, making her dangerously sluggish. And no amount of juice would take off the alcohol withdrawal.
The bartender poured her orange juice.
“Actually yeah, add vodka to it.”
Damn it.
The bartender shrugged and reached for the vodka.
“Actually, no.”
Damn it, damn it, DAMN IT!
He leaned over the bar.
“You think I don’t recognize you?” he whispered. “You need to get the hell out of here.”
“Or what?”
The bartender glanced at the door leading to the parking lot.
“Just get out of here. It’s not safe for you.”
The bartender looked nervous, whether for her or for himself Ruby wasn’t sure. Perhaps both of them.
“It won’t be safe for you if you don’t tell me what’s going on,” she told him.
The bartender raised his hands. “No way. Just get out of here.”
The drunk leaned in. “What’s all this whispering? You two flirting? He’s too young for you, you cougar.” He cackled.
“Go away,” Ruby snapped.
“I was only funning. Sheesh!”
The drunk slumped back into a semi-comatose state. Ruby turned back to the bartender.
“Last chance.”
The bartender shook his head, more of a jerk back and forth, his body trembling a little.
He’s still half a kid, Ruby realized. Scared to death.
Ruby felt a bit of pity for him, but only a bit. He had gotten into a bad situation and found himself in over his head. But anyone who helped out the cartels and someone like Carlos Cazador had to take some responsibility for their actions.
Ruby treated him to a level gaze.
“Serve the drinks and keep your mouth shut. And don’t even think of moving from this spot or telling anyone anything. You do, I’ll make you pay. You do as I tell you, and I’ll make sure you don’t take the blame for anything.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” the bartender whispered as she walked away.
She scanned the crowd. Besides the drunk at the bar, the only other male customer in the place was that older tourist, a stocky man with a sunburn and salt and pepper buzzcut who spoke with a German accent to a gorgeous Bahamian woman in an emerald dress.
Ruby tensed. Was this one of the ladies who attacked Bridget and Helen? Wait, no. She didn’t have cornrows and her jewelry was gold, not green.
“Go reserve a room, honey. Take the door over there,” the call girl said, indicating the door that wasn’t covered by the CCTV. The man eagerly left.
Ruby sat at a free table near the back where she could see everyone in the room. There were five ladies sitting at various tables—three Bahamian, one who looked Chinese or Korean, and a Hispanic woman. All were alluring and dressed good enough for the finest resorts.
Neither of the two unoccupied Bahamian women was the suspect Ruby was looking for. One was too tall, although her cornrows looked professionally done, and the other, while the right height, didn’t have cornrows. Plus, neither had all green jewelry. Of course that could have been just a style for that night, but judging from the rest of Dirty Dancer’s description Ruby could be pretty sure these women weren’t the murderer.