The Will Trent Series 5-Book Bundle

by Karin Slaughter

  Faith closed her eyes and mumbled a prayer of relief. She finished going to the bathroom, flushed the toilet, then hiked her purse back onto her shoulder. The stall door didn’t exactly lock. The thumb latch was missing. She had to stick her pinky into the square opening and twist the metal spindle to get the door open.

  “Hola.”

  Instantly, Faith catalogued everything she could about the man standing in front of her. Medium build, a few inches taller than Faith, around one hundred eighty pounds. Brown skin. Dark hair. Blue eyes. Band-Aid around his left index finger. Tattoo of a snake on the right side of his neck. Faded blue jeans with holes at the knees. Black warm-up jacket with a bulge at the front that could only be a gun. The brim of his black baseball cap was pulled low. She could still see his face. The smattering of facial hair. The mole on his cheek. He was about Jeremy’s age, but as far from her docile, loving son as could be. Hate seemed to radiate off him. Faith knew his type, had dealt with it many times before. Hair-trigger finger. Full of spite. Too young to be smart, too stupid to grow old.

  Faith put her hand in her purse.

  He pressed the bulge under his jacket. “Wouldn’t do that if I was you.”

  Faith could feel the cold steel of the Walther. The muzzle was pointing toward the man. Her finger was close to the trigger. She could shoot the gun through her purse before he even thought to lift his jacket. “Where is my mother?”

  “ ‘My mother,’ ” he repeated. “You say that like she only belongs to you.”

  “Leave my family out of this.”

  “You ain’t the one in the driver’s seat here.”

  “I need to know that she’s alive.”

  He tilted up his chin and clicked his tongue once against the back of his teeth. The gesture was familiar, the same response Faith had gotten from just about every thug she’d ever arrested. “She’s safe.”

  “How do I know that?”

  He laughed. “You don’t, bitch. You don’t know nothin’.”

  “What do you want?”

  He rubbed his fingers against his thumb. “Money.”

  Faith didn’t know if she could pull the bluff again. “Just tell me where she is and we’ll end this. No one has to get hurt.”

  He laughed again. “Yo, you think I’m that stupid?”

  “How much do you want?”

  “All of it.”

  A stream of curses came to mind. “She never took any money.”

  “She done spun me out this story, bitch. We past that. Gimme the fucking money, and I’ll give you what’s left of her.”

  “Is she alive?”

  “Not for long, you don’t do what I say.”

  Faith felt a bead of sweat roll down her back. “I can have the money tomorrow. By noon.”

  “What, you waitin’ for the bank to open?”

  “Safe deposit box.” She was making this up as she went along. “Boxes. There are three of them. All over the city. I need time.”

  He smiled. One of his teeth was capped in a silver-colored metal. Platinum, probably worth more money than Faith had in her checking account. “I knew you’d deal. I told Mommy that little baby girl wouldn’t throw her over.”

  “I need to know she’s alive. None of this happens unless I know for sure that she’s okay.”

  “I wouldn’t say she’s okay, but the bitch is still breathing last time I checked.” He took an iPhone out of his pocket, a newer model than she could afford for Jeremy. He held his tongue between his teeth as his thumbs worked across the screen. He found what he was looking for and showed Faith the phone. The screen showed the image of her mother holding a newspaper.

  Faith stared at the photo. Her mother’s face was swollen, barely recognizable. Her hand had a bloody rag wrapped around it. Faith pressed her lips together. Bile stung the back of her throat. She fought against the tears stinging her eyes. “I can’t tell what she’s holding.”

  He used his fingers to enlarge the image. “It’s a newspaper.”

  “I know it’s a USA Today,” she snapped. “That doesn’t prove she’s alive right now. It just proves that sometime after the papers were delivered this morning, you made her hold one up.”

  He looked at the screen. She could tell he was worried. He bit his bottom lip the same way Jeremy did when she’d caught him doing something wrong.

  The man said, “This is proof of life. You need to deal with me if you wanna keep it that way.”

  Faith noticed that his grammar had improved. His voice had gone up an octave, too. There was something familiar about his tone, but she couldn’t place it. She just needed to keep him talking. “You think I’m stupid?” she demanded. “This doesn’t prove anything. My mother could already be dead. I’m not going to just hand you a pile of money because you have some stupid picture. You could’ve Photoshopped that. I don’t even know if it’s really her.”

  He stepped closer, puffing out his chest. His eyes were almond shaped, deep blue with speckles of green. Again, she had the sensation of knowing him.

  “I’ve arrested you before.”

  “Shit,” he snorted. “You don’t know me, bitch. You don’t know a goddamn thing about me.”

  “I need proof that my mother’s alive.”

  “She won’t be for long if you keep this shit up.”

  Faith felt that familiar snap inside of her. All the anger and frustration of the last few days came rushing out. “Have you ever even done this before? Are you some kind of amateur? You don’t show up like this without real proof. I’ve been a fucking cop for sixteen years. You think I’m going to buy this cheap trick?” She pushed him back hard enough to let him know she meant it. “I’m leaving.”

  He slammed her face into the door. Faith was stunned by the blow. He jerked her around. His left arm pressed into her throat. His right hand gripped her face, fingers pressing into her skull. Spit flew from his mouth. “You want me to leave another present under your pillow? Maybe her eyes?” He pressed his thumb harder against her eye socket. “Maybe her tits?”

  The door pushed against Faith’s back. Someone was trying to get into the restroom.

  “Excuse me?” a woman said. “Hello? Is this open?”

  The man stared at Faith, a hyena studying its prey. His hand shook from the effort of gripping her face. Her teeth cut into the inside of her cheek. Her nose started to bleed. He could break her skull if he wanted to.

  “Tomorrow morning,” he said. “I’ll send you instructions.” He leaned in so close that Faith’s eyes blurred on his features. “You don’t tell anybody about this. You don’t tell your boss. You don’t tell that freak you work with. You don’t tell your brother, or anyone else in your precious family. Nobody. You hear me?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes.”

  Impossibly, his grip tightened. “I won’t kill you first,” he warned her. “I’ll cut off your eyelids. Are you listening to me?” Faith nodded. “I’ll make you watch while I skin your son. Piece by piece, I’ll cut away his flesh until all you see is his muscles and bones and all you hear is him crying like the bitch little spoiled baby that he is. And then I’ll go to work on your daughter. Her skin’ll be easier, like wet paper peeling back. Do you understand me? You get what I’m saying?” She nodded again. “Don’t push me, bitch. You have no idea how little I’ve got left to lose.”

  He let go of her as quickly as he’d grabbed her. Faith fell to the floor. She coughed, tasting blood in her throat. He kicked her out of the way so that he could open the door. She reached out to her purse. Her fingers felt the impression of the gun. She should get up. She had to get up.

  “Ma’am?” a woman said. She peered around the door, looking down at Faith. “Do you want me to call a doctor?”

  “No,” Faith whispered. She swallowed the blood in her mouth. The inside of her jaw was ripped open. More blood trickled from her nose.

  “Are you sure? I could call—”

  “No,” Faith repeated. There was no one to call.


  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Will pulled into his driveway and waited for the garage door to open. All the lights were off in his house. Betty was probably floating on her full bladder like a balloon in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade. At least he hoped she was. Will was in no mood to clean up a mess.

  He felt like he had killed Amanda. Not literally, not with his bare hands like he’d dreamed of doing for most of the day. Telling her what Roger Ling said, that Evelyn Mitchell was dead, was just as good as shooting her in the chest. She had deflated in front of him. All of her bravado was gone. All the arrogance and meanness and pettiness had rushed out of her, and the woman in front of him had been nothing but a shell.

  Will had had the sense to wait until they were outside the prison building to relay the news. She hadn’t cried. Instead, to his horror, her knees had buckled. That was when he put his arm around her. She was surprisingly bony. Her hip was sharp under his hand. Her shoulders were frail. She seemed ten, twenty years older by the time he fastened her seatbelt around her lap and closed the car door.

  The trip back had been excruciating. Will’s silence on the way down paled in comparison. He had offered to pull over but she’d told him not to stop. Just outside of Atlanta, he’d seen her hand grip the door. Will had never been to her house before. She lived in a condo in the middle of Buckhead. It was a gated community. The buildings were all regal looking with keyed corners and large, heavily trimmed windows. She had directed him to a unit in the back.

  Will had idled the car, but she didn’t get out. He was debating whether or not to help her again when she said, “Don’t tell Faith.”

  He’d stared at her front door. She had a flag hanging from the front post. Spring flowers. A seasonal motif. Amanda had never struck him as a flag person. He couldn’t imagine her standing on the porch in her heels and suit, leaning on tippy-toe to clip the appropriate flag onto the pole.

  “We have to verify this,” she’d said, though what Roger Ling had told Will was merely a confirmation of a truth Will realized he had been sensing for most of the day.

  Amanda must’ve known it, too. That was the only explanation for her earlier capitulation inside the prison waiting room. She had admitted that Evelyn was tainted because she’d known there was no reason to protect her anymore. The twenty-four-hour mark had come and gone. There had been no contact from the kidnappers. There was blood all over Evelyn’s kitchen floor, a lot of it—maybe most of it—from Evelyn. The young men they were dealing with had proven themselves to be remorseless killers, nothing more than assassins, even when it was against members of their own crew.

  The odds that Evelyn Mitchell had even made it through the night were close to nil.

  Will had told her, “Faith has to know.”

  “I’ll tell her when I know for sure.” Her voice sounded flat, lifeless. “We meet at seven tomorrow morning. The whole team. If you’re a minute late, then don’t bother coming.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “We’re going to find her. I have to see her with my own eyes.”

  “Okay.”

  “And if what Roger said is true, we’ll find the boys who did this, and we will rain down hell on them. Every last one. We will hound them into the ground.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Her voice was so low and tired he could barely hear her. “I will not rest until every single one of them is put to death. I want to watch them slip the needle in and see their feet twitch and their eyes roll and their chests freeze. And if the state won’t kill them, then I’ll do it myself.” Amanda had pushed open the door and gotten out of the car. Will could see the effort it took her to keep her back straight as she walked up the stairs. If it were up to Amanda, if there was a way for her to will her friend to be alive, then there would be no question of Evelyn’s survival.

  But that just wasn’t the case.

  The garage door finally finished opening. Will pulled in and pressed the button to close the door. The garage had not been an original part of the house. Will had added on the structure in the neighborhood’s more transitional days, back when junkies knocked on his door wondering if this was still a crack den. The entrance was awkward and led into the spare bedroom. Betty raised her head from the pillow when she saw Will. There was a puddle in the corner that neither one of them was ready to talk about.

  Will turned on the lights as he walked through the house. There was a chill in the air. He cracked open the kitchen door so Betty could go outside. She hesitated.

  “It’s all right,” he told her, using as soothing a tone as he could muster. Her injuries were healing, but the dog still remembered last week when a hawk had swooped into the yard and tried to pick her up. And Will could still remember the groomer’s uncontrollable laughter when he’d told the man that a hawk had mistaken his dog for a rat.

  Betty finally went outside, but not without a wary glance over her shoulder. Will put his car key on the hook and placed his wallet and gun on the kitchen table. The pizza from yesterday was still in the refrigerator. Will took out the box but couldn’t do anything more than stare at the gelatinous slices.

  He wanted to call Sara, but this time his motivations were purely selfish. He wanted to tell her what had happened today. He wanted to ask her if it was right to wait to tell Faith that her mother was dead. He wanted to describe to her the way it felt to see Amanda brought so low. That it scared him to see her fallen so far from her pedestal.

  Instead, he returned the pizza box to the fridge, made sure the back door was still cracked open, and went to take a shower. It was almost midnight. He’d been up since five this morning, having slept only a few hours the night before. Will stood under the stream of hot water, trying to wash away his day. The grime of Valdosta State Prison. The warehouse where he’d been shot at. Grady, where he’d felt dizzy with fear. Coastal, where he’d sweated so much that rings were still under the arms of his shirt.

  Will thought about Betty while he dried his hair. She’d been stuck in the house all day. The puddle was a responsibility they both shared. As late as it was, he couldn’t see himself sleeping. He should take her for a walk. They could both do with stretching their legs.

  He pulled on a pair of jeans and a dress shirt that was too worn to wear to work anymore. The collar was frayed. One of the buttons was broken, dangling by a thread.

  He walked into the kitchen to get Betty’s leash.

  Angie was sitting at the table. “Welcome home, baby. How was your day?”

  Will would’ve rather driven to Coastal and faced Roger Ling again than have to talk to his wife right now.

  She stood. Her arms went around his shoulders. She put her mouth close to his. “Aren’t you going to tell me hello?”

  Her hands stroking his neck felt nothing like Sara’s. “Stop.”

  She pulled away, feigning a pout. “Is that any kind of welcome for your wife?”

  “Where have you been?”

  “Since when do you care?”

  He thought about it. She had posed a legitimate question. “I don’t, really. I just—” The words came out easier than he’d thought. “I don’t want you here.”

  “Hmm.” She tucked her chin down, crossed her arms. “Well, I suppose this was inevitable. I can’t leave you alone after all.”

  She had closed the back door. He opened it. Betty ran in. She saw Angie and growled.

  Angie said, “Looks like none of the women in your life are happy to see me.”

  He felt the hair on the back of his neck go up. “What are you talking about?”

  “Sara didn’t tell you?” Angie paused, but he couldn’t answer her. “It’s Sara, right? That’s her name?” She gave a breathy laugh. “I have to say, Will, but she’s a little plain for you. I mean she’s all right up top, but she’s got no ass to speak of and she’s almost taller than you are. I thought you liked your women more womanly.”

  Will still couldn’t talk. His blood had frozen in his veins.

  �
��She was here when I got home yesterday. Lingering in the bedroom. Didn’t she tell you?”

  Sara hadn’t told him. Why hadn’t she told him?

  “She colors her hair. You know that, right? Those highlights aren’t natural.”

  “What did you …?”

  “I’m just letting you know she’s not the perfect little angel you think she is.”

  Will forced the words out of his mouth. “What did you say to her?”

  “I asked her why she was fucking my husband.”

  His heart stopped. This was the reason Sara had been crying yesterday afternoon. This explained her initial coldness when he showed up at her house last night. Will’s heart clenched like a vise was around it. “You are not allowed to talk to her ever again.”

  “You’re trying to protect her?” She laughed. “Jesus, Will. That’s hilarious considering I’m trying to protect you.”

  “You don’t—”

  “She’s got a thing for cops. You know that, right?” She shook her head at his stupidity. “I looked into her husband. He was quite a catch. Fucked anything that moved.”

  “Like you.”

  “Oh, come on. Try harder than that, baby.”

  “I don’t want to try.” He finally said the words that he’d been thinking for the last year. “I just want it over. I want you out of my life.”

  She laughed in his face. “I am your life.”

  Will stared at her. She was smiling. Her eyes practically glowed. Why was it that she only ever seemed happy when she was trying to hurt him? “I can’t do this anymore.”

  “His name was Jeffrey. Did you know that?” Will didn’t answer. Of course he knew Sara’s husband’s name. “He was smart. Went to college—a real one, not some correspondence school where they charge extra to mail your diploma. He ran a whole police department. They were so fucking in love that she looks cross-eyed in the pictures.” Angie grabbed her purse out of the chair. “You wanna see them? They were in the newspaper in that shithole town every other week. They did a fucking collage on the front page when he died.”