by Jonas Saul
Collins set the pen down on his desk. Sarah sipped her cold coffee.
“Are you off then?” Collins asked.
“As soon as I get my bike. It looks like you have everything sewn up here.”
“We’ll need you if this thing goes to trial.”
“I’ll be around. You’ve got my cell.”
“What do you mean by around?”
“In the United States somewhere.”
“Do you have anywhere in mind?”
“Why?” Sarah narrowed her eyes. “Do you need to keep tabs on me?”
Collins raised his hands in defense. “Not at all. It was simple curiosity.”
Sarah watched his face for a moment longer and then nodded subtly. “I was thinking of heading to Maine to meet up with a friend. A cop friend.”
“Parkman?”
She leaned forward. “How do you know that name?”
“I looked into you. Did a little research. He’s quite the guy.”
“Been through a lot with him. I’d be dead without him.”
“What’s he doing in Maine?”
“Don’t ask.”
“Okay,” Collins said and got up from his chair.
“It’s a toothpick thing.” Sarah placed her half-full coffee cup on the desk and stood.
“Toothpicks? Like the kind you put in your mouth?”
“Is there any other kind?”
“I guess not.”
“Parkman’s got a fetish for them. Makes him cuter.”
“I’ll remember that when heading out on the town. Girls like guys with toothpicks.”
They chuckled and started for the door to the stairs.
“You sure you don’t mind giving me a lift to my bike?”
“Not a problem,” Collins said. Then he hollered for Munro, who was in a cubicle an aisle over. “Munro, I’ll be back in half an hour. Just giving Sarah a ride to the west side.”
Munro got up and stood in the door of the cubicle. “See ya, Sarah, and thanks.”
Minutes later they were walking out of the police station and heading toward Collins’ vehicle.
A yellow cab parked three rows over caught Sarah’s eye. When she glanced that way, something moved in the front seat. She stopped and took a better look, but the cab was empty as far as she could see.
“What’s up?” Collins asked.
“Oh, nothing. Thought I saw something.”
They got in the car and drove off.
Chapter 26
Sarah said goodbye to Collins at her motorcycle, which was parked exactly where she had left it. He promised to stay in touch and call her as soon as he learned anything on the whereabouts of Russell Anderson or if he learned something of value when digging up Russell’s history. Collins said he planned to do a family tree from all the government files he could get his hands on and see if Russell was his real name or not, and if his family intersected with hers in any way.
Collins drove off, leaving her standing alone by her bike. Upon inspection, everything was exactly where she had left it. Even the helmet still sat on the back of the seat.
The only thing she had lost since arriving here a few nights ago was her gun.
Down the alley and across the road was the warehouse where Mark Stead had been tortured. It was early afternoon right now. Maybe it was open again since that part of the investigation was over. She could walk in the side door, go to the aisle where she stashed the weapon and at least check to see if it was still there. What would it hurt? Otherwise she would have to go through the approval process to get another.
Sarah felt naked without her weapon.
She set her helmet down on the bike and walked to the end of the alley. The road was empty of pedestrian traffic. The fabric warehouse looked like it was still closed. Yellow tape stuck to a bush on the edge of the parking lot blew in the soft breeze. The area was too quiet. In the distance, the highway rumbled softly. She took a deep breath and listened to her surroundings.
They hadn’t located Maxwell or Amanda. Could they still be inside Vegas city limits? Would Maxwell take that kind of risk, knowing the police were looking for him? And where was Russell? Was their disappearance connected?
Would any of them be in the warehouse?
She doubted it. Where would they have hidden while the cops roamed the place during their investigation?
She hopped off the curb and started across the parking lot as she recalled the taxi at the police station. Could someone have been inside the cab, watching her? Waiting to report back to Maxwell her whereabouts?
Halfway across the dusty parking lot, she stopped and thought about it. Were they waiting for her inside and she had no way to defend herself, or was she being paranoid? No gun, no knife, no pepper spray, and no backup. As far as the cops were concerned, she was on her bike already on the highway heading north toward Maine.
She should turn around, get on the bike, and leave. Choose the safer bet this time. No more fighting to stay alive.
But what fun would there be in that?
Fuck it. I want my gun back.
A bird cooed. A minivan raced by on the street behind her. She looked back. An older woman drove it, and Sarah watched until it was out of sight.
She had no reason to suspect anything was wrong, yet her stomach told her something else entirely. She hated being jumpy, but Vegas hadn’t really gone as well as she had expected.
At the side door, she stopped to listen. Nothing but a subtle wind. One last look at the road and then she tried the door.
Locked or just stuck?
She pulled harder and it popped open.
After a moment, with no one running at her, she opened the door wide and stepped inside the cavernous warehouse, softly shutting the door behind her.
The place looked deserted. So why was the door unlocked? Something was wrong with this. Maybe she should call Collins back. He could walk through the building, check that no one was here.
With her cell phone in her hand, she brought Collins’ number up on her screen and hovered her thumb over it for a second.
How would she explain trying the door? He would want to know why she was in here. Just hanging out, having a look around, wouldn’t cut it.
She slipped her phone into her back pocket. Better to get her property from its hiding place and leave town. Her presence in Vegas was no longer needed. What was needed was a little Sarah time. Vivian had been quiet for the last few days. Maine looked good right about now.
The gun was an aisle over and down a little. Her foot scraped the floor as she took her first step toward it.
Something else responded to her noise. Was it an echo? A bird in the rafters?
She dropped low and scanned the immediate area. Nothing moved except the hair on the back of her neck.
Someone was in the building. She could feel it.
If something was wrong here, how come Vivian didn’t let her in on it? Then she remembered. Vivian can offer predictions and give Sarah a glimpse of the future knowing Sarah will survive whatever it is Vivian’s message entailed. But Vivian never told Sarah about her own future, whether directly or indirectly. If Sarah was meant to walk inside the warehouse and whether she found trouble or not, it wasn’t Vivian’s place to step in. She was only allowed, by some celestial law, to direct Sarah to help others. Sure, she was harmed at times and beat up, but she would never perish by performing Vivian’s messages. At least she hadn’t yet, so that remained her belief.
The noise came again. A grunting sound, coming from the back corner where Mark had been tortured a few nights ago.
What the hell is that?
It was probably nothing, but if Maxwell or Russell were here, she needed to know.
Maybe she should retrieve her weapon first and then find out. But she was already closer to the back than to her gun, so she moved that way, watching everything, waiting for someone to jump out like in the movies. She had sworn to herself she would never be the stupid girl who knowingly walks
into the dark basement or stumbles through the wet forest, slipping and falling while she screamed. But she knew who she was, and sometimes walking into the dark basement was the only way to root out the evil down there. If anyone was going to do it, Sarah wanted to be the one. She needed to be. She had Vivian to back her up.
Saving Mary Bennett from being kidnapped five years ago was her first big save. She would never forget Mary. The feelings of saving Mary would last a lifetime. It only happened because Sarah was the one willing to walk into that dark forest.
At the corner of the last aisle, she slowed. No other noises emanated from anywhere in the warehouse. It was eerily quiet. In minutes, she would have her gun and ten minutes later the wind would be resisting her as she raced along the highway out of Las Vegas.
A smile crossed her lips.
“Paranoia much?” she whispered to herself as she stepped out from behind the aisle.
“What the …”
Russell Anderson, if that was his real name, was caught between two large columns of fabric on the second shelf of the back wall rack, at least twelve feet up. From what she could tell, the rolls had moved into him, securing his legs by their weight alone. With a little maneuvering he might be able to pull his legs out, but if they were broken, he couldn’t.
“Russell?”
His eyes fluttered. Then he opened them and tried to focus on her.
She started toward him. “Russell, how did you get caught like that? Are you okay?”
He shook his head and nodded toward the exit sign.
“What?” she asked as she slowed.
“Oh, Sarah. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry, Sarah.”
Something scuffled behind her. She spun around and raised her hands in defense, but she was too late.
Something big and hard crossed her vision. Flashes of light streaked through her eyes as whatever it was crashed into the side of her face.
Chapter 27
Consciousness flowed back as if she swam up from the depths of the darkest waters. Her hands were trapped, unable to move, and her legs cramped. She opened her eyes, fluttering her lids. The floor had the faint copper smell of blood. Her blood.
A gash on her face had leaked out onto the hard cement floor of the warehouse.
She moved her head slowly in case something was broken and looked around. Russell was still stuck between the two rolls of fabric. Ten feet from her on the left, a man with ugly dreadlocks and a tattoo on his face sat in a wooden chair, chewing on his nails. He pulled his hand away from his mouth, inspected his fingers and then spit on the floor.
“Sarah Roberts,” he said. “So glad you could join us.”
“Maxwell Ramsey.”
He placed his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. “You are good. You’ve been in Vegas all of three or four days and you’ve managed to royally fuck me up. Can’t say anyone else has accomplished that much before. At least not in such a short span of time.”
She tried to shrug, but the restraints forbid that much movement. “Nothing personal.”
Her cheek still ached. It felt like the wound had sealed, but she worried talking would open it again. She hated facial wounds. Scars she could cover with clothing was one thing, but facial scars changed how a woman looked.
“Nothing personal?” he echoed her words as he got up from the chair. “Nothing personal?” He nodded to himself and stared up at the ceiling. “So then, I guess I should just let you go?” Now he turned and faced her. “Since it’s nothing personal, I don’t have a beef with you, now do I?”
While he worked himself up, Sarah tried to see how she was tied. Ropes bound her wrists and ankles and those ropes were connected together behind her. An amateur hogtie.
“Don’t you worry about that,” he said. “You’re not going anywhere until someone unties you.”
Russell grunted and tried to push on the roll holding his lower leg.
Maxwell turned toward Russell. “How long have you been up there? Twenty-four hours now?”
Russell stopped pushing and stared down at Sarah. No one expected the two of them to be subdued in the warehouse with Maxwell as their captor. Everything was supposed to be over. Sarah wasn’t even supposed to be here, and the police were going to find Maxwell and arrest him. How did things get so far out of hand?
Russell’s eyes were bloodshot and moist. He’d been crying again. It didn’t sit well with getting them out of the warehouse alive.
“Have you ever jabbed someone with a fork?” Maxwell asked.
Sarah looked back at him. “What?”
“Have you ever jabbed someone with a fork? I mean actually take the fork …” He reached inside the back pocket of his jean and pulled out a regular looking kitchen fork, holding the prongs away from him, “… and jab someone in the head with it, over and over until they bleed out.” He made stabbing motions in the air with the fork.
“Can’t say I have,” Sarah said. The warehouse wasn’t extra hot, but sweat beaded up and then rolled down her face, tickling her as it went. She lowered the uninjured part of her face and rubbed it on the floor.
“Sarah Roberts,” Maxwell continued talking as if he liked the sound of his own voice, “this is Las Vegas.”
“I know where I am.”
“You came to the gambling mecca of the world and you rolled the dice.”
“Well, actually, I didn’t.”
“Oh yes, you did,” he said, nodding his head. “You gambled with more than you have. And it looks like you can’t cover the debt.”
“I don’t gamble because I can’t bluff very well.”
“What?”
“I don’t bluff, so gambling doesn’t work for me.”
“So what are you saying? You think you’re going to walk away from this?”
“Absolutely.”
He set his hands on his hips, made a grunting sound and stared down at her. “Pray tell.”
“When this is all over, Russell and I will walk away. You on the other hand, will either be dead or in jail. That depends on how angry you make me.”
Maxwell tossed his head back and laughed. A startled bird in the rafters went airborne at the sound, flapping its wings inside the warehouse somewhere out of sight.
After a minute, Maxwell lowered his head and got his laughter under control. She pegged him as a show off. Someone who needed drama in his life. He would have made it big on Broadway.
“I have men hidden everywhere. I knew you were approaching as soon as you set your helmet back down on your bike and looked this way. Those men are going to radio me if there’s even a hint that someone is coming. As long as my radio stays silent, no one is coming to save you. You’re tied up. Russell is secured, and I have a gun. So, tell me, how are you planning on walking out of here?” Maxwell asked.
“Telling you that would be akin to showing you my cards. We’re gambling. I think I’ll keep that information close to my chest.”
“Then I call your bluff and raise you.” Maxwell pulled a silver gun out from behind his pants.
Shit. Not good.
She struggled against her binds with renewed fervor, but to no avail.
Maxwell walked closer to Russell and raised his gun.
“I will save the fork for you, Sarah.”
“Wait!” Sarah yelled. “What is it you want?”
Her wrists and ankles were chaffing. She had no choice but to continue to try to get out of her restraints.
“I only want one thing.”
“What’s that?” Sarah asked as she twisted to see Maxwell standing under Russell.
“I want you two dead for what you have cost me. Then I will kill the girl who plans to testify against me, Kristi Raine, and after that, I will begin the arduous process of rebuilding. If they don’t have witnesses, they don’t have a case. With you two crackerjack psychics out of my life, things will go back to the way they were.”
“What about—
”
The gun fired, cutting her off. Russell jolted as the bullet hit him in the chest. A small squirt of red popped out, surrounding the new black hole in his hoodie. Russell’s face lost all color as his mouth formed a circle and his eyes widened.