Losing Sarah (A Sarah Roberts Thriller Book 16)

by Jonas Saul

  Fitzgerald shook her head. “We’re unofficially here until that call comes in and makes us official.”

  “Where do I piss then?”

  “Hold it.”

  “Can’t.”

  Fitzgerald cast a pained glance her way. “I have to go, too. Shit, sometimes I hate stakeouts.”

  “Is that what this is? A stakeout?”

  The phone rang. Fitzgerald grabbed at it so fast, she dropped it under her feet.

  “Shit.”

  By the third ring, she answered.

  “Fitzgerald.”

  King watched her partner as she nodded and listened to the speaker on the phone. After a moment, Fitzgerald brought the phone down, clicked it off and slipped it inside her pocket.

  “Paperwork’s being faxed over to the station as we speak.” She smacked King’s hand. “Let’s go get our boy. The okay came from high up the Mexican food chain. No way they can refuse us.”

  King hopped from the cruiser, squinting at the protest her bladder offered her.

  “Before the release of the prisoner, I need to release my bladder.”

  “Me too.”

  At the front doors, King pulled on Fitzgerald’s sleeve.

  “We talking to this kid here?”

  “Never. Too many ears.” Fitzgerald opened the doors and slipped inside the police station.

  King followed. “Where then?” she mumbled as she pulled out her FBI ID.

  Fitzgerald was already at the counter. She had identified herself and asked to see Blair Turner.

  The Mexican officer behind the counter was overweight, his shirt undone at the top. A mustard or taco sauce stain covered at least an inch of the fabric on his collar. King wondered why that wasn’t addressed. Don’t they have superiors that fixed these things if the staff’s standards weren’t high enough?

  The cop responded in Spanish, which wasn’t King’s strong suit. Knowing a few nouns and names wasn’t enough to string sentences together. Without Fitzgerald, if they didn’t speak English, King was done.

  She stepped in beside Fitzgerald.

  A few more words were exchanged in Spanish before Fitzgerald turned to King, her ire evident.

  “They’re saying Turner’s gone. He was released fifteen minutes ago. You believe him?”

  “Fuck no. We were outside the whole time. We didn’t take a piss break on purpose.” She faced the Mexican, thinking he didn’t speak English. “Don’t tell me I held my piss for nothing.” Even as the words came out, she remembered that he was a cop and that there was a high chance he did speak English.

  “FBI come looking for Turner,” he said. “Must be important.”

  “None of your concern.” Fitzgerald’s anger showed through. “Where is he?”

  “Not here.” The Mexican cop raised his hands then set them back down. After a moment, he grabbed a pen and started writing something on a form in front of him.

  King snatched the pen from his grasp.

  Startled, he looked up at her.

  “The paperwork was faxed to this station. Blair Turner is to be handed over to our custody. Stop writing on that paper and go get him. Or better yet, bring him to us.”

  The Mexican cop lowered down to rest on his elbows. “The man you seek has left the building with his fancy lawyer and that girl. Call his lawyer. Go to his house. He is not here so there is no one to hand over.”

  “What girl?” Fitzgerald asked.

  King felt her mind reel at the possibility that the cop would say the name Sarah Roberts. There was no way. There just had to be no way she was involved or their investigation was going to fall apart.

  “That American girl, Sarah Roberts. The bitch of Tijuana.” He grunted, like he laughed on the inside. “Lucky she left. She might not have made it another day in here.”

  Chapter 26

  Parkman jogged most of the way to the police station with Aaron following close behind. He detailed his phone call with Casper to Aaron, even the part about Drake Bellamy and how Casper couldn’t get anything on the guy. At this point, Drake was a mystery and until that mystery was solved, he had to be considered a threat.

  Aaron had no problem with that.

  Parkman slowed down as the police station came into view. Between breaths, he said, “Casper’s working on getting her released today. We’ll take her back to my hotel. It’ll make it harder for anyone looking for her. She can rest. You guys can talk.”

  “We need to talk.” Aaron was right beside him.

  Up ahead, two well-dressed women stepped from what looked like an unmarked American police cruiser. To Parkman’s trained eye, if he wasn’t mistaken, those two women were Feds.

  “Aaron, after what happened in Tijuana, there’s a lot of interest in Sarah.”

  “I know. That’s what I’m worried about.”

  “Bad interest.”

  The grim look on Aaron’s face said it all. He was quite aware of the gravity of the situation. Sarah’s safety was in question. If a cop wanted to take a shot at her, who would stop him? Vivian? Parkman knew Vivian was pretty powerful, but could she stop a bullet?

  They made it to the front doors a minute later and entered the building.

  The two women who had entered ahead of them were arguing with a large Mexican cop at the front counter.

  One of the women said something Parkman couldn’t make out. As he drew closer, the Mexican said, “The man you seek has left the building with his fancy lawyer and that girl. Call his lawyer. Go to his house. He is not here so there is no one to hand over.”

  “What girl?” the woman on the right asked.

  Parkman stopped five feet behind them, Aaron at his side.

  “That American girl, Sarah Roberts. The bitch of Tijuana.” The cop grunted, a deep rumble in his distended belly. “Lucky she left. She might not have made it another day in here.”

  Aaron leaped at the counter. “What the fuck did you just say?”

  The woman on Parkman’s right reacted fast, grabbing Aaron’s arm and yanking him back, but Aaron was faster. His arm swung in a circle, spun back down and had the woman in his grasp, twisting her arm away from him.

  “Don’t touch me,” Aaron barked.

  The woman on the left stepped closer as she opened her blazer to expose the weapon strapped to her waist. “FBI. Release her.”

  Aaron let go.

  “Sorry about that.” Parkman moved in. “Sarah’s boyfriend can get fired up.”

  “Aaron Stevens?” the Mexican cop said, standing up straighter. “The guy kidnapped by the Enzo Cartel? Here? In my police station?”

  “Hey, Aaron,” Parkman said. “Maybe it’s time we leave.”

  “Not until they tell me where Sarah is.”

  “Aaron Stevens,” the Mexican cop yelled loud enough for everyone in the building to hear. “Right here. Right now.”

  Tables moved. Chairs shifted. Cops came out of cubicles, from behind desks, and out of rooms where doors were closed. Within seconds, a wall of cops moved toward Aaron, Parkman, and the two women.

  The woman on the right massaged her wrist where Aaron had twisted it. “I think it’s time we leave.”

  “Aaron, you heard the lady,” Parkman said. “Let’s go. Nothing we can do here.”

  Parkman was proud of Aaron in that moment. He listened without protest. He simply started walking backwards, fell behind Parkman, who stayed behind the Feds, and walked outside close knit, as if an imaginary rope surrounded them.

  Once outside, the agent let go of her wrist, pulled cuffs from her belt and held them up in Aaron’s face.

  “If you ever touch me again like that, I’ll be using these.”

  Aaron nodded his understanding. Again, Parkman was proud of him. If he’d opened his mouth, regret would follow.

  The agent put her cuffs away and introduced herself and her partner.

  “What are you two doing here?” Fitzgerald asked.

  Parkman moved in front of her. “Came to pick Sarah up. It
was all a misunderstanding. She shouldn’t have been in there. How about you two? Here for Sarah as well?”

  “We can’t discuss why we’re here. But I will tell you we have no interest in Sarah. Actually, we’d prefer it if she’d just go home. Leave this alone. Get out of Mexico before something happens to her.”

  “What’s going to happen to her?” Aaron said too sharply.

  “You got a leash for him?” King asked Parkman. “One more bite out of him and he won’t wish the trouble he’ll be in on anybody.”

  “Look, he took your comment as a threat. Before something happens to her sounds ominous, like you know something.”

  “After what just happened in Tijuana?” Fitzgerald moved closer to Parkman. “All those cops killed in a hotel? You’re kidding, right? Sarah was there. She survived. They were organized together, waiting to extract him.” She pointed at Aaron. “And she just shows up in this police station the day after the Enzo Cartel is destroyed. Then he walks in,” she pointed at Aaron again, “the bandage on his missing finger. You two have some balls being upset with us. It’s you two and your little psychic girl that are fucking everything up.”

  She walked away, her hands balled into fists.

  “Where’s Sarah?” Parkman called after her.

  “I have no idea. The sooner we find her, the sooner we can leave Mexico.”

  Fitzgerald stopped at the open door of her car. King opened hers and looked back. It was as if Fitzgerald was watching the clouds as they lazily roamed the sky, but Parkman knew she was debating what to offer and what to leave out. After a few moments, with Aaron breathing heavily behind him, Fitzgerald lowered her eyes and met Parkman’s.

  “I’ll tell you where Sarah is.”

  “Where?” Aaron shouted.

  “Sarah is in trouble. That’s where she is.”

  Fitzgerald dropped into her car and slammed the door.

  “Fuck you,” Aaron yelled.

  The FBI cruiser turned on, dropped in gear, and squealed away, leaving a black rubber mark behind it. Parkman watched the vehicle until they turned a corner.

  “What now?” Aaron asked. “What the fuck now?”

  “Back to the hotel. Call Casper.”

  “Then what?” He advanced on Parkman. “Huh, tell me, Parkman, what next? Sit around the hotel room, drinking coffee, calling people, waiting for Casper to call us back? All the while Sarah’s out there somewhere.”

  “It is what it is.” Parkman didn’t want to say the next part but felt Aaron needed to be reminded. “This is part and parcel of knowing Sarah. Part of being in her life.”

  “Fuck that,” Aaron shouted. The front door to the police station opened. Cops filed out the door. “Is being lied to part of knowing Sarah? Is being deceived part of knowing Sarah? You know what’s the hardest part, Parkman?”

  “What?” He avoided looking over at the throng of officers easing out of the building to his right.

  “The hardest part about being lied to,” Aaron said, his tone calming, quieter, “is knowing you weren’t worth the truth.”

  He looked the other way, his eyes clouding over, and headed down the road the way they had come.

  A red car eased by him as he stood in the middle of the street. It slowed, stopped five feet away, then moved again. Parkman noted the color and bent down to look inside. It sped away, the back of the driver’s head all he could see.

  “Does everyone have a problem here?” Parkman said to the back of the car. He turned to face the line of cops. “Damn. I need a toothpick. For shit’s sake.” Parkman started after Aaron, hoping none of the officers would follow them. “Wait up.”

  Chapter 27

  The inside of the car was so immaculate, Sarah wondered if she would be allowed in at first. She had spent the previous night lying on the floor of a dirty holding cell. She needed a shower and new clothes. She was bruised, sore all over, and fatigued in a way that only a ten-hour sleep would satisfy.

  “Sarah Roberts,” Blair’s mother said. “I’m Jane Turner. Please, call me Jane.”

  They shook hands—more of a touch with Jane’s hand limp—before Jane appeared to wipe her hand on the seat beside her leg.

  Jane Turner was in her fifties but didn’t look it. Late thirties, early forties was an easy sell. The wrinkles around her eyes gave away her true age. No amount of makeup could disguise that from this range. The aura she emitted was the stereotypical rich woman, the regal bitch feel, the I-can-have-anything-I-want expression on her face.

  Sarah pondered the reason this woman would help her out of that holding cell and couldn’t come up with anything solid.

  Unless she wanted a girlfriend for her wayward drug dealer of a son. If that was the case, Sarah wasn’t interested.

  Jane Turner didn’t strike Sarah as a criminal. Anything but. So why did Vivian want her to go with Jane? Was Jane’s life in danger? Was she being blackmailed, stalked by a creeper, or something worse? Was meeting Blair a bid to get her close to the mother?

  Is that all this is, Sis?

  “Blair tells me you helped him out last night.”

  She glanced at Blair, paused when she saw the anguish on his face, then turned back to Jane. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say I helped him. He wasn’t involved in what happened last night at the casino.” A thought struck her. Maybe that’s what had Blair in turmoil. She turned his way. “Or were you?”

  He shook his head back and forth in a jerking motion to dispel that idea quickly. “You could’ve told the police why you were in the parking lot. You could’ve told them about me and what we were going to do in my car—”

  “But you didn’t,” Jane finished for him. “Please, as a thank you, you’re invited to my house for dinner. We’ll get you new clothes, fix you up. After that, my driver will take you wherever you want to go.”

  Something about that sounded so good. Decent food, a shower, new clothes. She needed to get back to Aaron. He was going to be pissed she was gone all night and now all day without even a phone call. He probably called Parkman already. Soon, all her friends would be back in Mexico looking for her and it would be all her fault.

  “I appreciate your offer,” Sarah said. “But I didn’t do anything special.” Her mouth seemed perpetually dry. She wasn’t feeling well at all. The seat was comfortable, but the driver seemed to be going too fast. “I just need to go back to my hotel and continue my vacation. Could your driver head that way?”

  Jane watched traffic pass by the window. She placed one hand over the other as if it was a signal for something.

  It was.

  Blair reached under the car’s seat and came up with a bag of heroin. “All yours. The bag you wanted to buy last night. It’s free. A thank you from my family to you.”

  Even as her body rebelled against rational thought and the desire to snatch that bag out of Blair’s hand reared up in her consciousness, she heard herself say, “I couldn’t.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Blair leaned closer. “Take it. You need it. The ache is written all over your face.”

  “I can’t.” The timbre of her voice scared her. She hadn’t been this weak since her teenage days. Wasn’t she a strong woman? Didn’t she fight, take shots, stand up for what was right, and do the right thing? “I can’t.” Tears welled up in her eyes as Blair set the baggie beside her. “I can’t.” Her voice broke this time. She crossed her legs, then uncrossed them as she drew back into the car seat, making herself as small as she felt.

  “Then just take one hit. After that, you’ll be stronger, able to beat it for good.”

  “Really?” She met Blair’s eyes, hoping there was truth in them, but all she saw was pain and anguish. A hopeless young man who had let his dreams fade. Selling drugs on the street didn’t have a retirement savings plan. The only people who retired from the streets, died on the streets. Blair was smart. He could read people. She saw that in him right away. But somewhere along the way, he let that go. Why? With the riches his mother possessed, why
wasn’t he in school studying to be a chemist, a lawyer or a doctor?

  She touched the baggie before she knew her hand was reaching, before she understood the depth of her longing. That simple touch had the same effect on her body as if she was touching Aaron. Stimulation coursed through her at the thought of one shot of the stuff in her grip. The excitement made her realize she couldn’t walk away from it now. To come this close to a hit and walk away was maddening. Staying away was one thing. Out of sight, out of mind. But holding it in her hand was something completely different.