The Dead Don't Lie Read online

  The Dead Don’t Lie

  By Anne Russo

  Published by JMS Books LLC

  Visit jms-books.com for more information.

  Copyright 2021 Anne Russo

  ISBN 9781646567126

  Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

  Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

  All rights reserved.

  WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published in the United States of America.

  * * * *

  For Lori, my bright light in this dark world.

  * * * *

  The Dead Don’t Lie

  By Anne Russo

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 1

  October 2015

  Packed to the rafters, the club was in full swing as throngs of twenty-somethings gilded in tandem. Together they swirled in a kaleidoscope of color and sound. The air electric as it pulsated with the booming beat of the music. Shrieks of delight from the crowd ebbed and flowed with every timed drop of the bass. Off to the side of the dance floor sat a long steel bar. People gathered in clusters and pairs, giggling and flirting as they plied back one colorful cocktail after the other. At the farthest end of the bar, tucked in the shadows, stood a striking couple. The two attempted to blend in despite the many appreciative stares they’d received since their arrival.

  “Quit fidgeting. You look beautiful,” Ian Abbott told his partner, Mei, with the barest hint of a smirk.

  Mei paused, tugging her short dress over her thighs to flash Ian a death glare in response. “Fuck you,” she answered. “Next time, you can wear a dress.”

  “Not with my legs,” he countered.

  Mei favored Ian with a customary eye roll before turning to the bar to slug the rest of her drink. When finished, she slammed the glass onto the counter, flagging the bartender.

  “Remind me to kill Regan later for making me wear these stupid boots!”

  “The boots are as lovely as the rest of you,” Ian responded, reaching for his drink, scanning the room’s faces.

  Out of habit, he caught the eye of a handsome young man in the crowd, holding it for several seconds past casual. The kid offered him a shy smile and blushed, overwhelmed by Ian’s fervent stare.

  Mei noted the exchange between them and shook her head. “Business first. Twinks later.”

  Blessed with dark, rugged good looks, Ian usually had little trouble attracting men and women. He shrugged and concentrated on blending in instead of getting laid. Mei was right. They had more immediate matters to attend to tonight. Like maintaining their cover so they could extract information from Morgan Dwyer, the shady criminal who owned and operated the club. Since Dwyer only made the occasional rare appearance, it was essential they not miss their chance. Intel had placed him here at seven o’clock, and he had yet to leave. They decided to wait until the crowds thinned out before making their move. In the meantime, they busied themselves sipping a few drinks and people watching.

  Ian checked his watch. Almost two A.M. Time to make their move. “The two by the back entrance.”

  “Too little firepower if you ask me.”

  Ian agreed but added. “He keeps the heavy hitters in the back.”

  “What’s the play?” Mei asked as they leaned into each other’s space.

  “Dance floor. Think you can manage in those boots?”

  “I think I could manage to kick your ass,” she retorted under her breath.

  She reached up, tucking a lock of chin-length ebony hair behind her ear, finishing the last of her drink. Ian led her onto the dance floor before spinning her with a flourish, pulling her slender body into his arms.

  “Show off,” she huffed, letting him lead. In sync, they weaved through the crowd, moving with practiced ease born from years of working together.

  “Ready?”

  “Always.”

  Mei let Ian spin her off the dance floor and into the two guards’ path at the rear entrance. The ridiculous boots she hated helped sell her performance. She wobbled on ludicrous heels and landed in the arms of the burly fellow stationed on the right. Both he and his partner were far more intrigued than suspicious by the scantily clad partygoer.

  “Hey there,” Bodyguard One exclaimed with a lascivious grin.

  “Oh, excuse me,” Mei purred, blinking innocent brown eyes up at him. “Is the ladies’ room over here?” A slow, sweet laugh and she had him hooked.

  “Sorry, baby, you got the wrong door.”

  “Do I?”

  Mei crowded in close, her smile now deadly as she pressed a pocket-sized blade under his chin. He tried to take a step backward, but Mei followed, digging in the tip to draw the tiniest bead of blood. By the time his companion figured out what was happening, Ian stepped behind him, gun shoved into his lower back.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Ian told the guard as he made a feeble attempt of going for his weapon. “Get us inside now,” Ian hissed, digging the gun’s muzzle deeper for emphasis.

  The guard obeyed and typed in his code on a panel by the door. Meanwhile, his partner tried out his tough guy routine.

  “You and your Jap bitch are gonna die for this,” he snarled, shooting them both daggers.

  Ian’s eyes narrowed, temper rising over the comment. He ushered them through the now open door. Once it shut behind them, Ian turned and grabbed the guard with the smart mouth by the back of his neck. He hurled him headfirst into the cement wall, leaving him a broken heap on the ground.

  “She’s Chinese, you hick piece of shit.” Ian sneered and kicked the guard. Once, twice for good measure before he turned to the one standing next to Mei. “You want to add something?”

  The guard shook his head and inched back from the spreading pool of blood.

  “How many of you are back here?” Ian demanded, sniffing the air, disgusted with the stink of mildew and stale beer, getting his first glimpse of the place.

  A long murky corridor seemingly stretched out forever in both directions. Sick yellow walls stood covered in posters and obscene graffiti. The narrow space stacked with liquor crates as a series of low hanging lights cast a dingy pallor over the proceedings.

  “Two more by the office. On the other side.”

  “Ian?” Mei piped up from beside him, redirecting his attention. “They know we’re here.”

  Glancing up, he caught the red light of the security camera observing them.
Distracted, Ian didn’t hear the door at the end of the hall open before gunfire erupted. A shot exploded by Ian’s face, ricocheting off the wall. On instinct, he grabbed the guard in front of Mei and threw him forward as another round assailed them.

  Mei side-stepped the falling body and slid her weapon out, firing, sending them scurrying for cover. Once the smoke cleared, two guards dashed across the narrow hall to an opposite door. Mei, now ready for them, she hit the one closest in the kneecap, sending him tumbling to the ground, cursing. His counterpart, stunned, tried to aim, but Ian was quicker. He was on him in two long strides, seizing him by the throat. With the other hand, he snatched the gun outright, fingers snapping as he spun him headfirst into the wall.

  “Where the fuck is Dwyer?”

  “Please, man, I got a wife and kids.”

  Ian glanced over at Mei. She rolled her eyes, making a face.

  “That won’t work with me,” Ian answered, pulling him back only to slam him face first into the wall again.

  “Please—”

  “Where is he?”

  “I don’t—” The guard didn’t finish. They were interrupted by a door opening and a blurred figure making a mad, frantic dash for the end of the hall.

  “Sonofabitch!” Ian swore as the door slammed shut behind their intended target.

  There was no telling how long Dwyer planned to barricade himself in the room at the end of the hall. Or if he was calling in for backup? Ian needed a plan and fast. First, the bodyguard pinned in his grasp. Done with him, he slammed him into the concrete wall, leaving the man a crumpled but still breathing pile on the floor. Now, what to do with Dwyer? Ian glanced around his gaze falling on the cases of liquor shoved against the walls. Inspiration struck. He smashed his boot into the closest crate as Mei watched, curious, eyebrows raised.

  “You need a drink now?”

  Ian threw her a look before breaking open several more. The sting of alcohol wafted into the tight space, pungent and sharp.

  “Hey!” Ian called into the camera. “See this?” He reached into his jacket for the book of matches he’d pocketed from the bar. “Yeah, that’s right,” Ian explained, twirling them in hand. “You have thirty seconds to open this door before I burn you and everyone else in this building alive.”

  “How is this part of the plan?” Mei grumbled from beside him.

  Ian ignored her and waited before adding. “Twenty seconds. What’s it going to be?”

  As seconds dragged on, Ian started to consider the possibility Dwyer might call his bluff. When, to his relief, the lock turned, and the door opened, Mei’s weapon leveled as the terrified figure of Dwyer emerged, shaky revolver in hand.

  “You are one sick fuck, know that?” Dwyer remarked in baffled wonder, his gun trained on Ian.

  “You have no idea,” Ian replied. He crowded into Dwyer’s space with Mei stepping in from behind, keeping an eye out on the hallway for any surprises.

  “What the hell do you people want?”

  “Information,” Ian replied, all business, gesturing for him to lower his weapon. “But first, get your gun out of my face before I have my friend here put a bullet in you for the hell of it.”

  Dwyer lowered the weapon to his side, keeping his gaze fixed on Ian. He panted for breath as sweat dripped down his brow, and his large gut shook as he struggled and gasped for air.

  “Now, will you cooperate, or do we have to hurt you?”

  “If I tell you what you want, you won’t kill me?”

  Ian smirked, chuckling under his breath. “Oddly enough, asshole. You have a few friends. Don’t fuck me, and you’ll limp out of here. Understood?”

  Dwyer bobbed his head up and down, eying Ian uneasily as he continued. “Mallory. The word is he’s bought himself a new heart. I need the hospital doing the transplant.”

  “What makes you think I know anything about that?” Dwyer protested, paling over Mallory’s name. “You have your—”

  Ian didn’t offer him a chance to finish; without a word, he slammed the butt of his gun into his nose. Dwyer screamed, reaching for his face, hands scrambling.

  “You sonofabitch—” Dwyer glared at him as blood gushed through his fat fingers.

  “Enough games.” Ian wanted answers, and he wanted them now. He held the weapon to Dwyer’s kneecap, intent clear. “Tell me now,” he demanded, pressing the muzzle in deeper.

  “Go to hell!”

  Ian pulled the trigger, and Dwyer shrieked, high and shrill. The veins in his neck corded, and red as he struggled to curse Ian through the pain.

  “You want another?” Ian threatened. “Name! Now!” He swung the revolver to Dwyer’s other knee and bore down, catching his eye. “Last chance.”

  “St. Vincent, okay? They got him at St. Vincent. Don’t shoot!” Dwyer shouted, in hysterics.

  “Was that so hard?” Ian asked as he turned to Mei as if to include her. She shook her head, appearing bored with the entire situation.

  “Come on, let’s go.” They left Dwyer on the floor, screaming and cursing as he bled out on the floor.

  * * * *

  Ten minutes or ten hours. Adam Morrow wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing in front of the kitchen stove, half-awake. The aroma of fresh coffee and the timer’s ding pulled him from a light doze he’d been indulging. That he’d fallen asleep while standing he’d concern himself with at another time. Adam did the math as rapidly as his sleep addled brain allowed him. He figured he’d gotten eight hours of sleep in the last three days. The effects were plain now in the dreary predawn. Every bone, every muscle in his overworked body groaned in protest at having to be awake at such an ungodly hour.

  Mornings such as this, Adam had to remind himself how hard he’d worked and how much he’d sacrificed. After graduating high school at seventeen, he’d gone on to college and medical school at twenty. At twenty-five, he’d graduated ready to pursue a specialty in cardiothoracic surgery. Now only a few months shy of his twenty-sixth birthday, he’d won a place interning at one of the most prestigious cardiac centers in the United States.

  He checked the time. Four A.M. Which meant today he’d have to run on two hours of broken sleep. When Adam had returned last night, he’d checked in on Allison, found her sound asleep. He took a quick shower before sliding in next to her, out for the count. But his rest lasted a scant few hours before his blaring alarm awakened him. Half-asleep, he slapped his hand on it, hoping not to rouse his slumbering fiancé. She mumbled something unintelligible and rolled over into her pillow.

  Adam rubbed the sleep from his eyes and reached for the coffee pot, pouring a large mug, black and steaming. The welcomed heat was warming up his icy fingers. He made his way over to check the thermostat, raising the mug to his lips. A move he regretted when he burned himself on the scalding liquid.

  “Shit,” he swore under his breath as he struggled to read the thermostat in the dark. Maybe some light from the street to aid him, he thought, pressing his tongue to his mouth’s roof. He moved aside the flowing curtains from the bay window, winding up the tattered blinds. Outside, his Brooklyn neighborhood woke up below him, the faint rumbling of garbage trucks. A few awake pigeons squawked in the distance. The skies inky black.

  Footsteps out in the hallway caught his attention. Allison poked her head into the room, clad in her nightgown, robe, her feet bare. She paused, tucking a lock of curly red hair behind her ear, lovely face, stark white as she searched for him in the gloom.

  “Adam?”

  “Did I wake you?”

  “Are you leaving already?” Allison asked, ignoring his question.

  “I have a shift starting at six.”

  She sighed, frowning. “When did you come in last night?”

  “A little after one,” Adam answered, adding. “It’s so early, babe. Why are you up?”

  “I couldn’t sleep. I’m worried sick over my dad.”

  “Oh,” he mumbled, racking his brain and failing.

  “You remembered, rig
ht?” Allison insisted. “I told you last week.”

  “I remembered,” he lied.

  She shook her head, disappointed. “You didn’t. Jesus, Adam, it’s like I’m not even here. Do you only stop home to change your clothes? Shower?”

  “It’s not like that,” he tried reasoning, sweeping his hands over his face, groaning. “I’ve been running ragged day in and day out. I’m sorry I can’t remember—”

  “My father having a lung removed today isn’t worth remembering?” Clearly furious now, tears falling. “Well, I suppose since he’s not one of your patients it doesn’t matter, does it?”

  “That’s not fair—”

  “I’m not sure what I expected,” she vented, fed up with his excuses. “You don’t even take the time to see your mother, let alone call her.”

  “We’re not—not that kind of family,” he defended, but protests fell on deaf ears.

  “I don’t care. It’s why you can’t possibly understand,” Allison wiped away her tears. “You’re not close to anyone, not even me.”

  The remark stung. Adam struggled to brush aside the comment, finishing his coffee in a single gulp. All he wanted now was to put as much space between himself and her as he could. A habit that had led to this same argument time and time again but one he was unwilling to break.

  “That’s not true,” he asserted, hoping to pacify her by leaning in for a kiss goodbye. But she turned away, leaving him to brush her cheek instead.

  “Allie, come on,” he tried. “Look, I’ve got to go but I promise I’ll try to get time off. We’ll go see your parents once your father is home from surgery. We’ll make an entire day of it.”

  “Forgive me but your promises have been for shit.”

  “I’m doing my best,” Adam exclaimed, flinging his hands in the air. “I am. We’ll talk later, okay?”

  He waited until she agreed before going to grab his coat and shoes. Allison dropped onto the love seat, a frail vision in a worn flowered bathrobe. Adam was overcome by a burst of affection for her. So strong and so deep, he almost turned around and went back to her, wanting to fold her into his arms. Instead, he did nothing as she bent forward, crying into her palms. With one last glance of her forlorn figure, he gathered his things, letting the door shut behind him.