Worth Dying For Part 1

Worth Dying For.

Trin Denise.

Acknowledgements.

A special thanks to Claire Chilton for doing such a great job on the new cover a I love it!

A special thanks to Eileen Gormley a You are the queen of creating book blurbs and I appreciate your help immensely!

Author Bio.

Special Edition with a sneak peak of a She Left Me Breathless.

A Note from the Author.

Chapter 1.

Using the cover of darkness, several figures dressed in black moved stealthily around the perimeter of the building. At first glance and to the outside world, the warehouse nestled between groups of smaller buildings conveyed the outward appearance of years of neglect and abandonment. Located just a short distance from Pier 38 along San Francis...o...b..y, the Danco Steel warehouse provided the perfect location for the covert activities going on inside the building.

Special Agent Carl Stevens took his position next to the entrance door. He inhaled deeply and waited for the last members of his team to take their places atop the four-story roof. He was tired of this. After thirty years of service with the FBI, he should have been the one sitting in a posh cozy office in Was.h.i.+ngton. He should have been the one directing the raids, not running them. Since the implementation of affirmative action, he had seen agents of color and s.e.xual orientation promoted over him. His time of service and dedication meant nothing to the suits in Was.h.i.+ngton. Instead, here he was again, running another p.i.s.s-ant raid. He tried to look on the bright side.

Reputed Mob Boss Capo Anthony Big Tony Castrucci owned the warehouse, and his foot soldier, Johnny Scala, had been the one to provide the tip leading to tonight's raid.

Johnny, a longtime FBI informant, had relayed a message to his handler that Castrucci was expecting an important s.h.i.+pment tonight. Johnny didn't know what was coming, but he knew it was big, and depending on what they found, it might just be enough to get Stevens his promotion. As far as he was concerned, it would be a promotion long overdue.

Inside the warehouse, a flurry of activity was taking place as several heavily armed men unloaded wooden crates of Florida oranges from the back of a tractor-trailer. Nearby, two forklift drivers took turns stacking the crates along the wall closest to Eugene Vega and Johnny. Each man, with a crowbar in hand began prying off the lids. Johnny pushed the straw packing material over to the side, revealing a stack of new military-issued AK 47 rifles.

Eugene carefully removed a military concussion grenade and turned it over in his hand. He held it up for Johnny to see. "Isn't this the prettiest little baby you ever saw?" he asked.

"Yeah and be careful with it. If that pretty little baby goes off in here, you'll blow us to smithereens."

Eugene chuckled and tossed the grenade back into the crate. He turned toward a group of workers standing near the tractor-trailer. "Get the rest of these crates opened and repacked. We're already behind the deadline, and they go out on the boat tonight no matter what!" he yelled loud enough for everyone in the warehouse to hear.

Outside the building, Stevens raised his hand to the tiny microphone attached to his headgear. He nodded at the agent standing opposite him as he spoke into the microphone. "On my mark: one, two, three, mark!" On his command, the agents on the ground and roof simultaneously launched their bodies through the windows and doors, sending wood and gla.s.s flying.

"FBI, Freeze!" Stevens yelled from a crouched position just inside the door.

In a flash, the warehouse erupted in an earsplitting hailstorm of gunfire. Stevens dove for cover behind a stack of skids. He glanced to his left and saw the agent closest to him stagger, drop to his knees, and fall forward onto the concrete floor.

Stevens flattened himself against the floor and crawled over to the agent. He reached out and grabbed the agent by the wrists. In a half-crouched position, he gave one big tug, and pulled the agent safely behind a stack of oil drums.

He peered around the drum before hurrying back to his original position. He leaned back against the crates and took a deep breath. Using his sleeve, he angrily wiped off the sweat running down his face. He peered around the crate and fired off several rounds, striking two workers.

A glance at the agent told him that it was not good. He forced his mind to focus and made his way to the far side of the skids so he could look out into the warehouse. Through the haze of smoke, he saw Eugene reach into a crate and pull out a grenade. Without hesitation, he pulled the trigger-striking Eugene just below the ear.

Eugene stumbled; his body fell forward, covering the crate. He raised his head, turning slightly to look at Stevens. He smiled and pulled the pin.

"Ah, s.h.i.+t!" Stevens yelled as the pin hit the floor. Instinctively, he turned and lunged forward, covering the wounded agent's body with his own.

He glanced up just as the grenade tore through Eugene's body like paper, instantly igniting the contents of the crate and those next to it in rapid succession.

"Retreat, retreat," Stevens yelled into the microphone, though doubtful anyone could hear him through the roaring sound. He slid his arms under the agent's shoulders and pulled him through the open door just as the side interior wall exploded.

Stevens looked around the parking lot, now littered with chunks of wood and gla.s.s. He dropped his head as another explosion blew out the back wall near the dock doors. Through the drone, he could hear the pinging sounds of ammunition igniting inside the building. He wrapped his fingers around the outer edges of the agent's Kevlar vest and tugged with all his might. His leg muscles strained with each step as he drug the dead weight across the parking lot. Just to his right and less than two feet away, a piece of leg, torn off at the knee with its shoe intact, landed on the ground with a thud. He turned his head to keep from hurling on the spot.

He glanced back at the building, now engulfed in flames. Large billows of smoke poured into the sky, effectively casting an eerie glow over the parking lot and he knew there would be very little to salvage from the building. It's a total loss, he thought as he continued dragging the agent to safety. All around him, the scene was utter chaos. Charred bodies littered the ground and those who were lucky enough to survive the explosions scrambled to get out of the way of falling debris. He involuntarily gagged when he spotted the owner of the missing leg.

Off in the distance, the sound of thumping grew increasingly loud. Stevens looked up to see a helicopter come into view. It circled above the parking lot, its spotlight making large sweeps over the pavement. The pilot swung around and hovered above a group of workers standing with their arms behind their backs, their wrists in handcuffs.

Stevens cradled the agent's head in his lap and looked at the nametag affixed to the front of his vest. "Ah, Jesus; Rollins, hang in there buddy. You hear me? Where's a medic? d.a.m.n it, get a medic over here now!" he yelled, half sobbing. He removed Rollins' headgear and knew instantly that he was gone by the fixed position of his eyes. He used his thumb and forefinger to pull down the agent's eyelids.

Stevens got to his feet, jerked his headgear off, and slammed it to the ground. He looked around the parking lot. He shook his head in disgust. It never ceased to amaze him how quickly reporters arrived on scene. Half the time, they were there before the ambulance. He watched them set up their equipment as fast as they could. He knew each one wanted to be the first with the latest breaking story and it made him sick.

His attention turned to a young woman talking with a uniformed officer. She was dressed in a skirt that was too short for his taste. They turned and looked at Stevens and then she, along with her camera operator, started across the parking lot toward him.

"Agent Stevens, can you confirm that an anonymous tip led to the raid on this warehouse tonight?" she asked, cramming the microphone in his face.

"No comment."

Undeterred by his brusqueness, she asked, "Is it also true that this building is tied to Mob Boss Anthony Castrucci?"

"I said no comment," he snarled and brushed her aside with his arm. He walked over to two uniformed officers chatting next to one of the news vans and stopped in front of them. "Do you two think you can get these G.o.d d.a.m.n reporters back behind the lines?" He clenched his fists so tight that his nails were digging into his palms.

Chapter 2.

Johnny Scala sat with his hands tied behind his back, his body shaking uncontrollably against the rickety wooden chair. He looked around the dingy, windowless room, and tried to remember how long he had been there. It could have been as short as one hour or as long as ten hours. He couldn't remember.

Sonny Valachi grabbed Johnny's hair. He snapped his head back, causing Johnny to groan unconsciously.

Johnny's eyes darted fearfully back and forth between the two men. It had been a few weeks since the warehouse explosion, and he had made a grave mistake in thinking he was in the clear. He couldn't have been more wrong, and he knew there was no way out. He was going to die-period! It was the La Cosa Nostra way of life. He broke the number one rule. He broke Omerta-the vow of silence.

Big Tony knelt down in front of him. He reached up and patted Johnny on the cheek. His voice was low, controlled, and tinged with the slightest Italian accent. "What's the most important thing to me, Johnny? I'll tell ya. It's loyalty. f.u.c.king loyalty." He stood upright. His six-foot-two-inch frame towered over Johnny.

"I ... I am loyal to you, Mr. Castrucci," Johnny said, his voice quivering with fear.

With well-manicured hands, Big Tony slid his hands down the front of his tailored jacket. He clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth. "I treated you like my own son and this is how you repay me?"

"I swear, Mr. Castrucci, I would never betray you," Johnny protested as tears ran down his b.l.o.o.d.y cheeks.

Sonny leaned against the wall and laced his arms across his chest. He tried to remember how many times he had seen grown men cry and beg for their lives. Too many times to count, he thought as he watched Big Tony pace back and forth in front of Johnny.

Big Tony stopped and leaned forward. He brought his face within an inch of Johnny's. "Don't lie to me, you little c.o.c.ksucker!" he yelled in Italian, all niceties gone.

With a move quicker than Sonny thought possible, Big Tony slammed his fist into Johnny's mouth. The impact sent blood spewing against the wall.

Johnny coughed and spit his front tooth out. His head dropped against his chest, his eyes closing as he drifted in and out of consciousness. He wished he could do it all over again. He thought about that night four weeks ago and remembered how he felt standing in the warehouse with Eugene. He had been on edge. He shouldn't have done it. If only he could take it all back.

Big Tony's voice snapped him from his thoughts. "What do we do with rats? Huh, Johnny, what do we do?" he calmly asked. It was a question that Johnny undeniably knew the answer too.

Sonny, unable to control himself, doubled over with laughter. He pointed at Johnny's crotch. "The little s.h.i.+thead p.i.s.sed his pants." He continued to laugh as the dark spot spread rapidly across the front of Johnny's jeans.

"I need to know what else you told them, Johnny."

Johnny shook his head vehemently back and forth. "I swear, I didn't tell aem anything."

Big Tony ran his fingers through his hair. He looked at Johnny. It was crucial that he know just how much damage had been done. He smiled. "That's not what I heard, Johnny. I heard you had plenty to say. I want the f.u.c.king truth. If you tell me everything, I'll think about giving you a pa.s.s. I'm not promising anything, but I just might be inclined to cut you a break, but that solely depends on how truthful you are." He watched Johnny's facial expression begin to change. He almost had him.

"Please, Mr. Castrucci, please!" he begged. "I only told about the s.h.i.+pment at Danco. That's all, I swear!"

Big Tony looked at Johnny with dark, cold, and unfeeling eyes. He took a couple steps back, turned and nodded to Sonny before turning back to Johnny. "Thank you, Johnny," he said casually.

Sonny pushed away from the wall and walked over to Johnny.

Johnny sobbed loudly as he watched Sonny reach inside his jacket pocket, remove a semiautomatic, and then slowly screw on a silencer.

Very calmly and without any emotion whatsoever, Sonny pulled the trigger. The gun made a swoosh sound as the bullet-along with pieces of Johnny's brain-exploded out the side of his head. With the same calmness, Sonny pulled a knife from his pocket and clicked the blade in place. He pried Johnny's mouth open and pulled out his tongue. With a flick of his wrist, he sliced it off. He pulled Johnny's s.h.i.+rt pocket open and dropped it in.

Chapter 3.

A knock on the door caused FBI a.s.sistant Deputy Director Kyle Edwards to look up from the stack of papers on his desk.

"Come in," he said and closed the cover on the top file.

Ron Astor pushed the door open. "I'm sorry to bother you, but I have the doc.u.ments you asked for."

"No bother at all. Please have a seat," Edwards said, motioning toward the chair. He took the folder from Ron's hand and laid it down on the desk.

"How are you doing, Ron?"

"Some days are better than others."

"How's Lynn?"

Ron shook his head. "Not too good. Six months, maybe a year at the most."

"I'm so sorry, Ron. If there's anything I can do, just let me know," Edwards said with sincerity.

"Thank you. I appreciate it more than you know."

Edwards looked at him thoughtfully. "Are you sure that you want to be included in this? Because if not-"

Ron held his hand up to stop him. "Really, Kyle, I'm fine and yes, I'm sure. Right now, this job is the only thing helping me keep my sanity."

Edwards nodded and opened the folder. "Okay, Ron. I won't ask again, but I do have one other question I'd like your opinion on."

"Sure."

"What do you think about Agent Sorento? Do you think I made the right decision?"

"I think she's the perfect candidate for this a.s.signment," Ron answered without hesitation.

"Good. I was hoping you'd say that, because I think she is, too." Edwards glanced down at the papers in the folder. "Is there anything in here I should be worried about?"

Ron shook his head. "Not really. I did an extensive check on their bank accounts, credit ratings, past job reviews, just like you asked, and anything else I could find. They're all clean. The only thing worth noting is Artie's wife, Alice. She's an alcoholic, which I'm sure you already know."

Edwards nodded. "Yeah, I've heard the rumors." He leaned back in the chair and laced his hands behind his head. "Do you think it's enough to sc.r.a.p him?"

Ron shook his head. "Maybe Artie needs his job as much I do right now."

"All right, but keep an eye on his situation and let me know if you change your mind about him."

"I will."

"Okay, how about our other matter?"

"I finally received the corresponding data tied to the informants and let me tell you, we have tons. It won't be an easy task."

Edwards ma.s.saged the sides of his temples with his index fingers. "What's your plan of action?" he asked.

"I've written a new program to search for a common link between the men."