Slay it with Flowers (36 page)

I glanced around and spotted a bench. Quickly, I threw off the towel and half carried, half dragged it across the tiles to the shower, trying not to make noise. I stood on one narrow end and examined the showerhead, which appeared to be held to the base by a thick nut. I wrapped my hand around it and tried to turn it, but it wouldn’t budge. I finally wrapped an end of the damp towel around it and used that as my grip. After practically hanging on it, slowly it began to turn. I doubled my efforts and finally the head broke loose, nearly clattering to the hard floor.

With the heavy piece of chrome in one hand, I leaped off the bench and scurried to the door, trying not to slip on the way. I started pounding on the wood and calling for help. If Chou was the one who responded, I’d stand behind the door and strike him as hard as I could.

Within minutes I heard footsteps running toward the room, then the lock turned and the door swung open. My heart was beating so hard, the blood hammered in my ears. I held my breath, the chrome head raised high, clamped in my sweaty hands. I didn’t dare miss or I was as good as dead.

“Abby?” Marco called, looking around the door.

The showerhead had started its descent when I realized who it was. Marco jumped out of the way just as I aborted my attack. I dropped the metal and ran into his arms. It clattered noisily on the tiles, but I hardly heard it for all the crying going on.

“It’s okay, sunshine,” Marco said, stroking my hair as I burrowed into his shirt. “You’re safe now. Don’t cry.”

Was that me crying? I gave him a final hug and stepped back, wiping my eyes, not wanting him to think I was a wimp. “Did you come all by yourself?”

“Reilly is here with five of the town’s finest. They’re taking away the old man and the girls right now, including one with a mustache and European accent. I think she was their front lady—or man, as the case may be.”

“Did you find my Vette? Is it okay?”

“Your baby is fine, and your purse is locked in my car. I found the Vette parked behind the deserted car wash down the street. The yellow paint stood out like a beacon. That’s when I knew you’d been had.”

I gestured toward the pool, feeling a fresh batch of tears build. “Th-they t-tried to dr-drown me.”

He went for a dry towel, wrapped it around my shoulders, and hugged me close to stop my shivering. All that male warmth soaked through to my damp skin, relaxing my tensed muscles and soothing my jitters. “How’s that? Is that better?”

“My neck hurts,” I said, hinting for a rub. Marco, ever the gentleman, complied, his fingers working deep into the muscles at the nape.

Reilly came around the door and cleared his throat. I looked up, surprised to see him in a cotton shirt and jeans. He must have been off duty. “Am I interrupting anything?” he asked.

“Just a little TLC,” Marco replied. “Abby went for an unplanned dip in the pool.”

“You okay?” Reilly asked me.

“Sure . . . now. What took you guys so long?”

Reilly held up his hands. “Blame the legal system. We had to get a search warrant.”

“Where was the judge? In Alaska?”

“Listen, you ought to be grateful we got it as quickly as we did, and that’s due to Mr. Salvare here.” Reilly nodded toward Marco. “He kept insisting that you’d been kidnapped. If he hadn’t found your car with your purse inside, we wouldn’t have had much to go on.”

“It was a team effort,” Marco said modestly.

Reilly aimed his index finger at me. “Maybe next time you’ll leave the investigations to us.”

“Take the
maybe
out of it,” Marco said. “Didn’t I warn you it was a trap? Didn’t I say to get out of there? Did you listen?”

“Yes, yes, and no, and I’m very sorry about all of it. But at least I found Punch’s murderer, and probably the FBI agent’s, too. It’s the old man, and don’t be fooled by his size. He’s as strong as an ox. I have the bruises to prove it. He murdered Punch to stop him from eloping with one of the girls.” My teeth started to chatter again, so Marco suggested I save my story for later so I could go home and put on dry clothes.

Reilly started to leave, so I said, “Hey, Reilly, the youngest girl in that group—her name is Passion Flower. Go easy on her, okay? She was trying very hard to get out of here.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

I massaged my wrists and said to Marco, “You know what I could use?”

“A psychiatrist?”

“Chocolate. Dark chocolate. Any form. That’s what I could use.”

“How about a nice glass of wine to go with it?”

I flung the towel across the room. “I’m ready.”

Marco wrapped an arm around my sodden shoulders and ushered me to the back door. “Let’s go get your car.”

 

We rounded up my Vette, a bar of dark chocolate, and Nikki. I changed into jeans and a T-shirt, then we gathered in the last booth at the Down the Hatch, where Marco treated us to a perfectly chilled bottle of Clos du Bois chardonnay with a side of french fries, the latter because Nikki had just gotten off work and was famished. Reilly stopped in to give us an update on the spa investigation and ended up joining us for a beer.

“The feds had been looking into this massage parlor for about a month,” Reilly told us. “The owner, Kuon-Liu, heads a crime organization in China that, among other things, buys girls from brokers to ship overseas and use as prostitutes. They’re watched closely so they don’t escape and are beaten if they try. Most simply resign themselves to their fate, but some take their chances with sympathetic men who are willing to help them. Unfortunately, most men are afraid to get involved because they have wives at home. They want to see these girls as exotic playthings, not as frightened little girls who need help.”

“I can’t believe parents willingly sell off their daughters,” Nikki said in disgust.

“Money talks,” Marco said, “especially in a poor country.”

“In all fairness,” Reilly said, “they might not know what’s in store for their daughters. I’m sure they’re painted a rosy picture of the wonderful life they’ll have here.”

“What’s going to happen to Chou?” I asked.

“Once the feds are done with him, he’ll be prosecuted and sent to prison. When his term is up, he’ll be deported. Kuon has several massage parlors in the Chicago area that are still under investigation. This is the first time he has branched out our way.”

“And the last, I hope,” I said.

Reilly took a pull of his beer. “Don’t bet on it.”

“I just remembered something,” Marco mused. “Two days ago a sign went up in the window of an old house down on Lincoln Street, right next to my barber.”

“And the sign said?” Nikki prompted, when he wasn’t immediately forthcoming.

“
Massages.
With a phone number underneath. The way they slipped that business in—no advertising, no grand opening—I’ll bet it’s the same kind of place.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “Maybe I’ll make an appointment to check it out.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Salvare,” I said, trying to keep a straight face, “are you planning to do some meddling?”

I could almost hear the wheels spinning in Marco’s brain as he tried to come up with a better explanation. But the best he could do was, “It’s not the same thing.”

Nikki, Reilly, and I burst out laughing.

Marco scowled at me. “You’re a bad influence.”

“How bad?” I asked with a flirtatious bat of my eyelashes. The electrified look he sent me made me tingle all over. I glanced at Nikki to see if she’d caught it, but she was deep in thought.

“Poor Punch,” she said with a sigh. “He finally did a good deed and got murdered for it.”

I broke a piece off the chocolate bar and nibbled it. “Why wouldn’t the police look into the spa, Reilly? Was someone at the top bought off?”

“Not bought off. Warned off. The FBI wanted to handle the investigation. When you started poking around, they got nervous, afraid you might tip their hand. They’re the ones who took your photos and squashed the newspaper story. They didn’t want their guy exposed. But it happened anyway.”

“Why did the FBI wait so long to inform you?” I asked.

“They’re territorial,” Marco said. “It happens all the time.”

Reilly took another pull of beer. “From what I gather, he’d been tailing the old man, and when the old man started watching you, so did the agent.”

“See there?” Nikki said to me. “You’re not paranoid after all.”

“Thanks. I feel so much better. Someone refill my glass.”

“I think you would have been left alone if you hadn’t kept trying to contact Passion Flower,” Reilly said. “She was very helpful, by the way. She told us about the old man following her to the dunes and killing Punch. She also said the old man strangled the federal agent after discovering his true identity.”

“That must have been just after the agent called to warn me,” I said.

“How did Passion Flower get to the dunes?” Nikki asked Reilly.

“Taxi. Punch had apparently paid a driver in advance to pick her up.”

“How did the old man get there?” I asked.

“He’s not talking.”

“Then the third set of prints on the camera should match the old man’s,” I said.

“Correct.”

“And Flip is in the clear.”

“You got it.”

“Will the old man be charged with murder?” I asked.

“Among other things. As will the woman who lured you to the salon.”

“What about the girls?” Nikki asked.

“INS will deport them,” Reilly said.

“Poor things,” Nikki said sadly. “Their parents abandoned them, and now we’re sending them back to who knows what kind of life.”

“Think of it this way, Nikki,” Marco said. “Whatever is waiting for them there can’t be worse than what they’ve been through here. And they speak the language.”

My cell phone rang. I turned away to answer, while the others continued to talk.

“Abby?” Jillian cried excitedly. “Claymore just called. Is it true? Has Flip been cleared?”

“Yes. In fact, we were just—”

“That’s wonderful!” she gushed. “Now I can get married. Too bad I still have
no place to hold the reception.
”

I held the phone away from my ear while Jillian ranted. Nikki laughed at something Marco said, and I had missed it, so I told Jill good-bye and ended the call.

Marco held up his glass. “It’s time for a toast.”

We raised our glasses to his and he said, “Here’s to murderers being caught, slave rings being broken, and Abby returning safely back to us.”

“Hear, hear,” we all said, then clinked rims, took sips, and sat back with satisfied sighs.

“Who was on the phone?” Marco asked, reaching for a chunk of chocolate.

No need to spoil the party with Jillian’s complaints, especially since I hoped to talk Marco into having a private celebration with me afterward.

I looked him straight in the eye and said with a mysterious lift of an eyebrow, “Wong numbah.”