Enforcer (53 page)

“Dracul,” Connor said, a flash of fear rising in him that somehow Dracul had crawled away, killed someone and dragged the body back to the industrial park before escaping into the nether.

“Dracul… does he have a last name?” Kline asked, both men tapping at their tablets.

“I don’t know. He’s some special killer, secret police and trained in Russia or something.”

“Spetsnaz? Romanian Securitatea?” Gauthier asked.

“Something like that,” Connor said.

“We’ll run prints and DNA through Interpol and the Russian Federation’s criminal unit,” Kline said, swiping his finger across his tablet’s screen.

“Do you have a picture of him?” Connor asked suddenly, once again afraid the Romanian would appear from thin air one day to exact revenge.

The two agents exchanged glances before Gauthier pulled up the crime scene pictures on his tablet. He rotated the screen around for Connor and swiped through a couple of images. He glanced at Kline again when Connor let out a heavy breath and visibly sunk into his mattress.

“I take it that it was him?” Kline asked.

“Yeah. Thank God.”

“The guy must have put the fear of God in you,” Gauthier asked more than said. Connor nodded. “He must have been one scary mother to make
you
afraid.”

“The guy is dead and I’m still afraid of him,” Connor said.

“What about these others? What do you know about them, besides Ojacarcu?” Kline asked.

“Ovidiu and Pavel were running the apartments. Block captains.”

“What was going on at the apartments?” Gauthier asked.

Connor felt like the man already knew and was testing him. He had no doubt all of Ojacarcu’s empire had been thoroughly raided by now.

“Prostitution. They’d set up the appointments and keep the girls in line. Gave them dope to keep them from thinking about being forced to slave on their backs. Rape them or force them to do weird shit for kicks when nothing else was going on.”

“What about Vadim?” Kline asked.

“Vadim,” Connor said, remembering the man as his friend, not as close as Petre was, but someone he’d spent time with away from
work
once in a while. He closed his eyes, thinking of the man’s surrender, trusting Petre that they’d get away and follow Connor around to wherever his hockey career took them.

“You liked him?” Gauthier asked.

“Yeah. He was a good one. He didn’t deserve to die.”

“What about the girl?” Kline asked, beginning to annoy Connor with his business-like approach.

“She was just some whore,” Connor said, looking away from the two agents. “Got caught up in some shit she shouldn’t have.”

“Connor,” Gauthier said, his voice sympathetic, “we know you used to drive her around. Was she a prostitute, or one of Ojacarcu’s
special
girls?”

“You followed me?” Connor asked, fear spreading through him as he wondered when they’d get to Travis Benkula and Larry Fallon.

“We kept a tab or two on you, but no, we didn’t dedicate serious surveillance to you,” Gauthier said.

“She was just a prostitute. Ojacarcu gave me the job of driving her around to her appointments.”

“Like a pimp?”

“More like a chauffeur and bodyguard.”

“She wasn’t one of the good ones?” Kline asked.

Connor wanted to jump out of the bed and slug the agent in the guts as hard as he could.

“No.” Connor looked away again.

“Where is Petre Diaconescu?” Gauthier asked.

“He’s dead.”

“Are you sure?” Kline asked.

“He seemed like he was headed that way.”

“Headed that way?” Gauthier asked him.

“Yeah. He was shot up pretty bad. He dragged me out of there and made me drive him to the hospital.”

The two agents exchanged worried looks, both of them tapping away at their tablets again.

“Connor, would this man come after you?” Gauthier asked.

“What? No. Maybe to kick my ass for making him… no. He wouldn’t.”

“Are you sure?” Gauthier asked.

“Making him what?” Kline asked at the same time.

“I’m sure,” Connor assured Agent Gauthier. “Fuck off,” he told Agent Kline.

“Do you have any idea of what kind of trouble you’re wrapped up in?” Kline said, his voice full of anger at Connor’s disrespect. “You’ve got six dead bodies tied to you right now—”

“Enough,” Gauthier interrupted, putting his hand up. He glared at Kline until the agent focused on his tablet. “You aren’t in any trouble as of right now. We just want to make sure this man won’t try to come after you, not that he’s in any shape for that. We’ll keep him isolated so he can’t call in to any of the brotherhood and have you bagged.”

“He’s not going to… is he alive?”

“He’s in ICU still. Two in the gut, one in the shoulder. The guy is a beast. A lucky one at that. We’ve got him as the shooter to four of the others so far. The entrance wound in the girl’s head appears to be from a different gun. She probably took a stray from one of the .45’s. Ojacarcu escaped all of that, but ended up with about twenty stab wounds.”

“Yeah. I killed him, like I told you.”

Gauthier leaned in toward Connor. “We’ll have no trouble sticking that to Diaconescu if you would be willing to help us out.”

“I’ll help you, but don’t put that one on him,” Connor said. “I killed him. I’ll own that one.”

Gauthier leaned back, shooting another look at his partner. Kline shrugged.

“We’ll cover all of that later,” Gauthier said. “You should probably get some more rest. Is there anything you want to know before we leave?”

“Don’t deport Petre,” Connor said.

“Why not?” Kline asked.

“Rohozeanu will get him. Trust me, you don’t want to live with what they’ll do to him on your conscience.”

*****

Connor stared at the ceiling after the agents left. He tried to clear his racing thoughts using a technique one of his old coaches had taught him. Before the accident, Connor’s nerves before a game, any game, not just the important ones, were a jumbled, chaotic mess, a wild roller coaster ride that sometimes led to him throwing up. Coach Porters had taught the entire team his zen trick, and it had helped tremendously, allowing Connor to become a solid rock of concentration, peace, and harmony.

He wanted to scream after ten minutes. The zen trick couldn’t shut down the final image of Jera from his mind. He felt the phantom sensation of the small hole above her ear in his fingertips. Connor could see the blood, both the pool of it under her, as well as the expanding cone of splotches and droplets behind her from the bullet’s exit, sticky and quickly cooling. His nose caught the tang of copper and gunpowder mixed with the familiar scent of dusty sagebrush. Jera’s beautiful face, her dark eyes, perfect nose and cheekbones. Her scent as they tumbled in bed together, the faint hint of musk that hung in the air when they were finished.

Connor felt the tears spill down his cheeks. His rage, his sadness, his utter helplessness threatened to consume him. He cried until he fell asleep. His nightmares only had Jera in them. The one in his mind before he woke up had the two of them riding motorcycles in the desert, the taste of dirt in his mouth and wind through his hair as real as the constant bumps and vibrations of the bike. He realized she’d stopped and slowed his own bike down, finding a small patch between rocks to turn around and ride back. Jera was staring at the sky, only shifting her eyes to his long enough to gesture to look behind him. His fear came in waves, knowing that Dracul or Ojacarcu would be behind him somehow. When he looked back, the fear left him as he watched the sun set behind a sheer rock cliff in the distance, the sky a thousand shades of orange.

Connor woke to the sounds of nurses and doctors discussing patients and football scores in the hallway. He turned on his side, careful to keep his injured arm tight to his chest. The door to his room was open, and he could see almost to the nurses’ desk. A short, thin nurse with what looked like short black hair had her back to him, discussing something with either a doctor or a physician’s assistant. He was sure it was her.

“Jera.” His voice was barely a whisper. He swallowed and tried again. “Jera!”

The sound of his voice ricocheted off the walls and into the hallway. The startled nurse turned and came at a jog into Connor’s room, followed by the doctor and another male nurse.

“Mr. Dunsmore, are you okay?” the dark-skinned woman asked in a light Indian accent. “Do you need assistance?”

“No,” Connor said, turning his head away. “I’m sorry. I was just having a bad dream.”

The three standing at his bed looked at each other. The woman reached out and put her hand on Connor’s forearm, smiling at him.

“If you need anything, just hit the button, or call out to us,” she said with a wink. She gave his forearm a light squeeze before turning away, herding the other two out of the room with her. When she got to the door, she looked back, a sympathetic smile on her lips that didn’t match the sadness in her eyes. “It was just a dream. You’re safe here.”

She gave Connor a small wave before closing his door, cutting off the sounds of the hospital beyond his room. He rolled onto his back again, wincing as his arm was jarred by the bed. He replayed memories of Jera in his mind until he fell asleep again.

EPILOGUE

Summer

Connor flipped the shade down as the Audi came out of the mountain’s shadow, but it did little good with the sun reflecting from the water below him. He squinted at the upcoming curve, nervous as he wondered if another crazy Romanian in a beat up jalopy or a brand new BMW would wipe him out with a head-on collision. He’d had at least thirty close calls since leaving the airport in Bucharest.

“Want me to drive?” Dana asked from the passenger seat.

“You drive worse than these people,” Connor complained, trying to focus on the approaching curve.

“You sexist bastard.” she said, punching him in the arm.

Connor almost drove into the guardrail. He tried to glare at her without taking his eyes off the road. Whatever face he was trying for must have missed the mark as Dana burst into laughter. She reached over and squeezed his thigh, her fingers tracing along the inside of his jeans. He nearly drove into the guardrail again, barely avoiding a speeding Toyota that looked like it had been stuffed with teenage joyriders.

The road finally straightened out as it came into a valley. Connor relaxed his death-grip on the steering wheel. A few minutes later they passed a sign that told them they were forty-two kilometers from Constanta.

“Do you think we’ll find her?” Dana asked.

“I hope so. I owe him everything. This is the only way I can think of to pay him back.”

“So if I saved your life, you’d travel to the ends of the Earth to find the love of my life?” she teased.

“If you saved my life, I better at least get a sympathy lay before I run off to find your true love.”

“Well, you saved my life in a way,” she said, her hand back on his leg.

“Actually, I think that was Petre as well.”

“He seems pretty good at that sort of thing.”

“Yeah, we are talking about starting up a business together. I’ll sit in an office and take calls while he’s out getting all of the glory pulling cats out of trees, saving babies from burning buildings, keeping computer nerds safe by whisking them out of harm’s way.”

Dana frowned at him, sure the “nerds” remark was aimed at her. Connor reached down and linked his fingers through hers. The road was straight enough that he could take his eyes from it for a few extra seconds to get a good look at her. Sunlight streamed in through the windshield, illuminating her face.

He had a moment of sadness as a fleeting memory of Jera flashed through his mind. The nightmares still came with regularity, a horrifying mix of murder, sex, and endless panic as he ran from those who wanted to kill him, including Jera. The nightmares that wouldn’t fade for days were the ones in which Jera tortured and eventually murdered Dana. They were the worst for the fact that Connor almost always ended up having sex with her next to Dana’s corpse, unable or unwilling to allow her lifeless, staring eyes to shame him as he climaxed in his dream before waking up to the frightening sounds of his own screams.

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, holding back the urge to cry one more time. Dana squeezed his hand, recognizing the bitter torment flooding across his features, hoping she wouldn’t begin crying as well. Connor sighed heavily as one last image of Jera’s smile, the tilt of her head, her short black hair matching the black, lacy collar around her neck, traveled through his memories. It was quickly replaced by the happiness that he still felt from the day he woke up to the sound of his doorbell, unable to believe it was Dana standing on the other side of the peephole.

*****

Costache Ojacarcu’s demise had made national news. The majority of the amazement about the whole affair seemed to be more about how such a criminal organization could set up shop in a place like Boise, Idaho, than it was about the fact six Romanian mobsters and a prostitute had died in a hail of gunfire at an abandoned construction site just outside the city limits.