by Jonas Saul
“Official interviews by law enforcement officers going back to when you first saved Mary Bennett. I’ve read everything in every file all the way up to and including Vegas. Quite impressive. Don’t get me wrong, I admire you. But I want to meet the real Sarah, not the one who doesn’t know who she is.”
He had raised enough questions that she needed time to go over it. She asked for another coffee. Kierian got up to order her one. His partner didn’t say a word while he was gone.
Both AOV members watched Kierian the whole time. Sarah was starting to get the feeling they were here for them or her, not visiting a member in jail across the street.
Her thoughts were drawn back to the questions Kierian had raised. What if it were true? Would the messages change? If she was the psychic one and there really wasn’t a dead sister involved, could she evolve and do more? Instead of just stopping criminals or putting herself in danger, could she help people in their time of need? Mothers who had lost children. Children who had lost parents. Could she talk to the dead and ease the pain of the living?
Why did Vivian go silent for the last five months? It wasn’t like crimes weren’t happening in and around Toronto. It would make sense if it was just Sarah all this time. The five-month hiatus was so she could explore her relationship with Aaron. Was it self-imposed? Or was Vivian protecting her from these men?
She wondered what was on Kierian’s agenda. He was still leading her somewhere. Maybe he was trying to get her to admit something. Her suspicion of his motives grew.
Maybe I should have a lawyer present.
He returned to the table and placed a steaming coffee in front of her. She sipped it twice and then recoiled.
Too much coffee today.
“Are you friend or foe?” she asked.
“Friend.”
“And how am I supposed to know that? Just because you tell me?”
“You’re psychic. Figure it out.”
She looked between the two of them. “Are we done here?”
“No. I have a couple more questions.”
“I need to make a call first,” Sarah said. “Lend me your cell phone.”
Kierian reached in his breast pocket and produced one. “You’re not going to take off, are you?”
“Of course not. You’re my ride. I need to be at the Toronto Airport in an hour.”
“Good. We’ll take you.”
She grabbed the phone and stepped away. “I’ll be in the ladies room. Back in a sec.”
Kierian nodded. Clint’s attention was on the AOV men who seemed intent on staring back at them.
In the bathroom, she called Aaron. He picked up immediately.
“Aaron …”
“Sarah! Where are you? No one is telling me anything.”
“I’m fine. There was a little problem at the massage parlor, but I expected that. Why else would Vivian send me there?”
“A little problem. The news channels are saying a gang member was shot in the leg by an unknown assailant. The police aren’t releasing names.”
“A gang member?” Her mind raced. “Did they say the gang’s name?”
“Something violence. Or Hell’s Angels.”
“Could it have been the Angels of Violence?”
“Yeah, that’s it. Why?”
“No reason.” She leaned into the wall by the hand dryer and stared at herself in the mirror, her stomach acid mixing at the thought the AOV men in the coffee shop were there for her.
“Sarah, I’ve got news for you.”
“What?”
“Your voice … are you okay?”
“Yeah, go ahead. Tell me.”
“Russell called.”
That perked her up. “My cousin?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
Aaron told her what Russell said about the fire and bomb and how if she didn’t stop now, she would die.
“If I stopped every time I was warned, I should never have started in the first place.”
“But Sarah, you told me about Vegas and how Russell was instrumental in saving your life. Sounds to me like he’s trying to do that again.”
“Fire? Bombs? Well then, I guess I’m fucked because I have no other choice.”
“Sarah, you do have a choice …”
“No,” she shouted in the small room, her voice echoing off the walls. “I will not let a man take a thirteen-year-old girl from the airport to rape her. I will not let the Leap Year Killer continue his killing spree if I can stop him. Not while I’m alive and kicking. I’ll do my best to not work with the police because they all seem to be serious assholes, but I’ll continue doing what Vivian tells me to do.”
A moment of doubt wondered if it was Vivian after all.
“Sarah, seriously—”
“Aaron, I’ll be home tonight. We’ll talk then.” She hit end and tightened her fist around the phone. “Shit.”
The messages had been specific. Visit the crisis center and lie about the abuse, then blame herself for it. Apply for a job at that massage parlor.
Then the message from a few days ago supplied her with an address on Keele Street North. And a time she had to be there. Vivian had called it the end game. But the instructions were to keep the building clear. That meant the police, too. Don’t visit early. Nothing. Go there at the time in the message but do not enter the building.
At least that’s how she interpreted what Vivian had written through Sarah’s pen.
When she walked out to the table, Kierian had finished his coffee. They appeared ready to go.
“Everything good?” he asked.
She nodded and handed Kierian’s phone back.
“You look pissed off.”
“I am. Vivian and I had a chat,” she lied. Whether he believed in her sister or not, she was going to give Vivian the credit on this one.
“And?” Kierian asked.
“When we’re done at the airport, I need you to introduce yourself to a bomb-sniffing dog. Meet his handler. Then use your power as a high-ranking FBI guy and commandeer his services for the later part of this week.”
“And why would I do that?”
“For my cooperation. I will work with you under certain conditions if you work with me. Deal?”
“Deal. What conditions? And why a bomb-sniffing dog?”
“So I don’t get killed at the end of this. It’s shaping up to be a horrible week and I was just told that I die at the end and there’s nothing I can do about it. Great, huh?”
Chapter 22
Colin James took off late for his lunch. He had wanted to stay in his office long enough to see if the Canadian Protection Services Range Rover came back to the warehouse across the street.
When he arrived for work this morning and glanced across the street, he had seen fresh tracks in the snow that cut a path to the hole in the fence. But he had responsibilities, a job to do and playing neighborhood security man would only see him without a job and standing on the unemployment line. Bruce had seemed nice enough, looked educated and drove a Range Rover.
What could be the trouble?
Only that he was in an abandoned building and CPS was a defunct company. When he looked them up, he discovered Canadian Protection Services was the old name for a new company formed many years ago called Group 4. When he called them, he learned that no one was charged to patrol the building across the street. He had been tempted to call the police at that time. Even had the phone in his hand, suspended in the air, but he had replaced the phone, intent on asking Bruce himself. Maybe there was something else going on and Colin James wasn’t so much of a Nosy Parker that he could spoil it for Bruce.
But those new tracks in the snow bothered him. And now that it was mid-afternoon and the Range Rover hadn’t made an appearance, maybe it was time for a reconnaissance mission.
With the Range Rover not there, this might be his best chance to see what Bruce was up to.
Colin pushed away from his desk, removed his headset
and walked down the row of cubicles to the water cooler. He had to remove three jackets to get to his on the coat rack.
He stuck his head in his boss’ office. “Barb?”
She stopped writing and looked up from the mess of papers on her desk.
“Taking a fifteen-minute break. That okay?”
She nodded and went back to her work.
Colin slipped on his winter boots and stepped outside. The cold air hit him hard after spending the last five plus hours in the warm office.
He took in a deep breath and started down the salted path toward the company parking lot. Once across the street, he checked both ways and waited for a moment in case Bruce showed up.
The road remained empty.
From this close, the path in the snow looked messed up on purpose. The snow on either side was almost two feet high and untouched. But in the center of the path it was packed down with the sides brushed back and forth as if someone did it with their boot.
He didn’t like that. Every suspicious bone in his body called out. Something was wrong here. Very wrong.
He started along beside the path, lifting his feet high to break new snow. If Bruce was up to something illegal, he didn’t want to mar the evidence for the authorities.
He squeezed through the hole in the fence with ease and continued on to the side door of the old warehouse. He opened the door cautiously, almost expecting something to be waiting for him.
“Too many horror movies,” he whispered to himself.
Once inside, he undid his jacket and scanned the area. Nothing seemed to have been moved or changed.
Maybe it’s in the lower floor where Bruce came from the other day.
He started for the stairs that led to the floor below, his stomach a ball of knots in anticipation of what he would find.
Something clanged inside the building somewhere, and he stopped so suddenly he almost lost his balance. Hairs rose on the back of his neck.
What the hell was that?
The metallic clanging came again.
Sounds like it’s coming from up ahead.
He wasn’t so sure he wanted to see what was down there. The Range Rover driver might have a pet alligator he’s keeping alive or an ape of some kind, two living creatures Colin James never wanted to see live. Alligators were too fast and their mouths were half the size of their bodies and with all those teeth—apes were strong and fast and could dangle from anything and their screech was enough to chill his bones and—
The clanging came again. This time it happened twice. It wasn’t Morse code. Too slow. It was almost as if someone was doing it out of boredom.
Maybe that’s all it is. Boredom.
He put one foot in front of the other and started down the stairs. The floor below didn’t get as much sun, but there was enough light to navigate. He walked across the length of the floor, listening to the clanging the whole way.
The clanging came from behind the closed door to the back room. It drew him like a beacon, a lighthouse on a stormy sea, hypnotized by the sound.
He stood beside the door, listening.
Someone moaned. He was sure of it. Maybe they were having a meeting inside and he would be in trouble for trespassing. Why did he think he could just walk into this abandoned warehouse when a security guard named Bruce told him to stay out?
The clanging again, like a rock on a piece of metal.
Why would someone do that in a meeting?
Something loud banged upstairs. He almost jumped out of his winter boots.
Someone was running across the floor above him, no doubt headed for the stairs that led to where he stood in the open, by the last door on the basement level.
He pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911.
The reception was low down here, but a woman came on the line and asked if he needed police, fire, or ambulance.
“Police.”
There was a click and a man answered.
The person above was on the stairs now. The clanging inside the room intensified.
Colin James opened the door with his right hand and walked inside.
“Officer, I’m on Keele Street north at—” then he saw the cage. Two women were inside it, naked, on the cold floor. The open door cast light on their faces. What looked like dried blood had crusted on and around their open mouths. They were huddled in the corner of the cage, one of them had her arm out, tapping the bar beside her head.
“Sir, what is the emergency?” the officer asked on his cell phone.
But Colin couldn’t find his voice. The horror in front of him had shocked him into paralysis. Footsteps bounded up behind him.
In that second, he knew he was a dead man if he didn’t speak soon. Bruce was bad. Bruce had women as pets, locked away in a cage. Who knew what horror he had preyed upon them.
And the blood.
But now Bruce was running up behind him and would kill him for seeing his secret. Colin had watched enough movies to know how it all worked.
He never did find his voice. The officer yelled in his ear, but then clicked off, most likely thinking the call was a prank.
Then Colin James lost consciousness.
The last thing he heard before going under was the clanging of metal, loud, fast and sharp.
Chapter 23
Sarah walked behind Kierian with Clint behind her as they left the coffee shop. The AOV members watched them leave, a stupid grin on their faces. Both of them looked like accomplished street fighters with an energy bouncing out of their skin. As Kierian hit the door, the gang members got up to follow.
Once outside, Kierian grabbed Sarah and pulled her back to the wall. Both FBI men shielded her until the two AOV men emerged from the shop.
Kierian put his hand on the butt of his weapon. “I’m Special Agent Kierian with the FBI. Why are you following us?”
Both members only had eyes for Sarah. They stared at her past Kierian’s shoulder.
“I asked you a question.”
The alpha of the two looked to Kierian slowly. He twisted his neck sideways and cracked it. He smiled, with at least three missing teeth. He had either spent some serious time in jail or fought bare-knuckle matches for fun.
“Not following you, ese. Just admiring that pretty thing you got.”
“Then move along. Nothing to see here.”
No one moved for a moment. The alpha raised his arm and pointed at Sarah. “We’ll see you later when your dogs are sleeping. We have a debt to settle.”
They backed away for twenty feet, then turned and walked with a mock limp until they disappeared around the corner.
“What the hell was that all about?” Kierian asked.
“Probably about that guy I shot this morning.”
Kierian faced her. “You don’t want to owe a debt to AOV. When they collect, you’re either in the hospital for a few weeks, paralyzed for life, or in the morgue.”
“I’ll be fine. Just get me to the airport.”
Sarah still had Kierian’s jacket wrapped around her shoulders as they walked down the sidewalk to the Impala. Traffic was light and getting out of downtown proved easy.
Once on the Gardiner Expressway, they made good time to the 427 and onto the airport exit.
“Tell us more about what you’ve got to do here,” Kierian said.
“All I know is a man has been luring a thirteen-year-old girl. He’s on a 5:25 p.m. flight from Detroit. The girl ran away from her school this morning and took the bus to get here, as per the instructions this man gave her. No one knows she’s going to be here. Her parents will only start to be worried by the time their daughter will be meeting this pig.”
“Anything else?”
“If I don’t stop the meeting, that girl will never come home.”
“And you got all this in a note from Vivian?”
“No, I found it in a box of Cracker Jacks.”
Kierian met her eyes in the rearview and then looked away. He parked in the drop off part of departures a
nd showed his ID to a cop on duty.
The cop nodded and continued to wave traffic through.
The trio got out and walked through the sliding doors.
“It’s close to five,” Clint said. “We still have time.”