The Sarah Roberts Series Vol. 7-9

by Jonas Saul

  “What would she be doing in Caleb’s house?”

  “Let’s find her and ask. I’ll go that way.”

  They split up. Before Parkman got five feet, someone grunted and gasped about three rows over.

  The rows were too long to run to the end and then run down the next, even if he knew which one to go down in the dark. There had to be a way to sneak under.

  He got on his hands and knees and touched the base of the stakes attached to the vines, but most of them were too close for him to fit through.

  Another grunt close by.

  “Stop it,” a woman said. A voice he recognized. She was moving closer to him. “We have to leave together.” Then in a lower voice. “I’m not the enemy. We, together, can fix this.”

  Violeta.

  Parkman continued his search and found a spot he could fit his shoulders through. He got down and pushed.

  Then stopped.

  Someone was standing above him.

  Violeta had made it down half the length of the first row she ran into, but her breath coming out in fits and starts slowed her pace. She could never outrun her teenage daughter.

  Footsteps approached in the dark and slowed. The silhouette of Tam’s head was easy to see with the lights of the Roberts’ house behind her.

  Violeta walked backwards, trying to imagine what she could say to Tam to calm her down.

  Why was she fighting me, anyway? I’m her mother.

  What stories could Oliver have implanted in her head?

  Suddenly Tam reached out and tugged on Violeta’s jacket. But it wasn’t a tug. It was the hammer coming down, barely missing her skin.

  Her bones chilled at the thought of being whacked with a hammer.

  Tam swung again.

  “Stop it,” Violeta said. “We have to leave together.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’m not the enemy. We, together, can fix this.”

  “Yes you are an enemy.” Tam swung again. “You’re a horrible person. You’re cruel and mean. All you do is hurt people unless they’re useful to you. You’re like Caligula. Some insane ruler who wants to be fed grapes while the people around you are murdered and raped and violated. You take pleasure from other people’s pain and you have taken pleasure from my pain.” Tam stepped closer. “Not anymore.” She lunged.

  Violeta saw the glint of light off the business end of the hammer. In the blink of an instant, she saw how close it was and knew she wouldn’t be able to jump back in time.

  But then something was under her and she was falling.

  And thankfully, the hammer missed.

  Parkman had managed to climb between the stakes, but stayed low to not be detected. They were only steps away.

  Something about nabbing Violeta himself felt right after all that had happened. She would serve a long prison sentence when everything was tied back to her.

  But Tam was advancing on her mother. She had a weapon in her hand and was trying to hit her mother with it.

  Parkman remained on his hands and knees and waited quietly, watching as the dark figures took one more step.

  Tam cussed her mother out and lunged.

  Parkman hopped to his right about a foot and bumped the back of Violeta’s legs.

  She fell over him and hit the grass on her back.

  Tam had lunged so fast and so hard that she too ran into Parkman’s side and fell over him, landing on her mother.

  In the darkness on the ground, he lost sight of them. The scuffling and grunts were close, but he couldn’t tell if he was at their feet or their heads.

  He got up and advanced forward, using the toe of his shoe to guide him.

  Something soft brushed against his foot.

  In order to break up the fight, he held onto a vine and kicked.

  One of them moaned loud and the scuffling stopped.

  Five feet away, a head popped up, silhouetted by the houses.

  Violeta.

  Somehow she had managed to crawl away.

  She turned and ran.

  Chapter 42

  The dreams were painful. They hurt like a bone had broken inside her head. Someone was screaming. There was a pounding on a metal door. Or maybe it was something made of aluminum. The pounding became excruciating.

  Her sister’s voice shouted at her.

  (Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up)

  Sarah snapped awake, blinking rapidly in the darkness to see through the inky black, but it was nearly impossible.

  She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. The headache throbbed behind her eyes.

  Someone shouted something unintelligible off to her left.

  She jerked in reflex, the pain in her head flaring.

  More noises. Someone running approximately two rows over. The authorities were here. Looking for her. She had to leave. She had to get up and walk away. Come back another day. Sort everything out then. She was in danger until she had time to heal and a chance to regain her memories.

  Violeta Payne.

  The name angered her. She had sent those men to Parkman’s apartment and when they found her, Violeta had told them to hurt her. Do whatever they wanted, Violeta had said.

  Sarah had to get to Violeta first. Once that cockroach was crushed she could sleep. Maybe she’d sleep for a week.

  Or a month.

  She got to her feet gingerly, moving her head slowly.

  Whoever they were, they were close. More than one person.

  A grunt, then a moan. Quiet murmuring.

  What the hell are they doing? Fighting while searching for me?

  Unless they weren’t searching for her.

  Sarah looked at the back of her parent’s house. Flashing lights bounced off the walls of the nearby houses. Several police vehicles were parked out front.

  It came together slowly in her sleepy mind. Whatever had happened in her parent’s house had spilled into the vineyard.

  She crouched down and started along her row.

  Someone was running close by. Footsteps pounded down, but they sounded lazy, strained.

  Nearing the end of her row, Sarah saw the top of a woman’s head ten feet away, running toward her.

  Someone yelled for Violeta to come back and to stop running.

  Sarah got ready.

  Violeta ran, fumbling along in the dark, knowing she wouldn’t run into anything as the tops of the rows were barely discernible in the dark.

  Parkman was behind her but he would be delayed. He was a righteous man. He would tend to Tam first, losing precious seconds, then come after her. That would be too late.

  She would be free from this mess in minutes and would call for Martin to come and pick her up.

  It was over. She had made it. Her word against theirs. She had money, lawyers, and a reputation. They had only their word. She had leverage, they had nothing.

  The excitement, the fighting, the running, made her feel youthful again. Maybe when this was all over and she was a richer woman for it, living by herself in her large home, she would take up yoga or some other pastime to feel youthful.

  At the end of her row of grapevines, she turned and headed away from the carnage behind. Someone shouted her name back from the area of the house. Flashlights bobbed as men ran toward the vineyard.

  I’m leaving just in time.

  She made another turn toward the open street and ran right into something. Pinwheeling her arms to maintain her balance didn’t work. Violeta fell backwards and landed on her spine, knocking the wind out of her lungs. She gasped, trying to catch a breath, and looked up at what she had run into.

  A woman stood over her, a not so distant streetlight glinting off an object extended in her hand. There was enough light to see half her face. The woman was young and beautiful with long flowing blonde hair and an intense, even intelligent stare. A white bandage was pasted on her scalp above one ear.

  The impossibility of it made Violeta gasp. The improbability of it caused her to laugh as her breathing began to normalize.
/>   Standing over her, a gun in her hand, was none other than her mortal enemy. The woman she had recently vowed to destroy could now become an ally in their escape because she had a gun.

  She grinned and got ready to persuade Sarah Roberts to hand over the gun or be hunted down and murdered in her sleep.

  Either that, or she would offer to give her one million dollars. Everyone had a price. All she had to do was learn what Sarah’s was.

  Sarah ignored the pain in her head, leaned closer to the woman at her feet, and said, “Violeta Payne. You’re like a root canal.”

  “A …” Violeta gasped and tried again. “A what?”

  It was hard to tell if Violeta was smiling or about to laugh, but her words had that quality about them.

  “A root canal. Always digging into things, mucking about, on the pretense that you’re doing something right. With people like you, it’s never going to be right. Even once that tooth is fixed, it’ll break within months. You’re like a fucking root canal and I hate the dentist.”

  Before Sarah said another word, someone materialized from the darkness and dove from between a row of vines on Violeta’s side, startling Sarah to the point where she almost fired her weapon.

  The person landed on Violeta and slammed something down hard. A loud thump, followed by a whistle of air sound, and then the movement at Sarah’s feet stopped.

  Sarah kicked at the new person. It was still so dark, she couldn’t tell if it was a male or female.

  The newcomer rolled over after the second kick and lay out on the grass.

  “It’s truly over,” a soft girl’s voice said. “My mom is dead.”

  Someone else ran up. Thick shoulders, the bulky gait of a man.

  Sarah kept her gun in front of her.

  “Oh shit,” the man said, looking down at Violeta. “No way, Tam. You didn’t.”

  Parkman. I would recognize that voice anywhere.

  “How did you get away from me?” Parkman asked. “Shit, Tam, what have you done?”

  “On your knees, Parkman,” Sarah said through gritted teeth.

  The image of him firing his weapon from close range in Toronto flooded back. The time for calm was over. Her head hurt, her body was stiff from sitting against the vines for too long. Men were moving through the vineyard a few dozen yards over with flashlights. Time was short.

  “Sarah?” he said, his voice sounding hopeful.

  Maybe she wouldn’t kill him in cold blood in front of Tam or whoever it was on the ground at Parkman’s feet. Maybe just wound him. Wound for wound. That would work. A fast shot to the head.

  She raised the gun higher. “We meet again,” she said. “This time the shoe is on the other foot. Look who’s holding the gun now, traitor. I won’t tell you a second time.” She breathed out through her teeth and took in another long breath. “Get. On. Your. Knees.”

  Parkman dropped.

  “Sarah, listen—” he said, his voice soft, pleading.

  “Shut up. I’m done listening. You were my friend. A dear friend. Shooting me was the ultimate betrayal.”

  “I love you, Sarah, and I would never do anything to hurt you.”

  “Bullshit. I saw you pull your weapon and fire. I got hit in the head. I can’t believe I’m still alive. Why even call the ambulance if your aim was to kill me?”

  “That wasn’t my aim.”

  “More bullshit.” She tightened her grip on the gun as her eyes glazed over. “I saw you,” emotion choked her throat, “pull the gun.”

  “Sarah?”

  A male voice from behind the vines. A voice she recognized. A voice that warmed her on the inside and made her feel loved.

  “Aaron?”

  “Baby, put the gun down. Don’t do this.”

  The warm feeling disappeared and rage filled the void.

  “You’re on his side? What is this?”

  Tam leaned up from her prone position on the ground. “Shoot me, then,” she said. “It was meant as a warning shot. I messed up and hit you by accident.” The girl sobbed. “I thought I’d killed you and now my mom is dead. I killed her because she was insane. Shoot me. I don’t deserve to live.”

  Thoroughly confused, Sarah changed gun hands.

  “Nothing makes sense.” She faced Parkman who remained on his knees.

  “Sarah,” he said. “If you truly believe I would hurt you, then go ahead, make your peace with it. After all we’ve been through, the people we have lost together, the trips to Europe, fighting in those crypts together …” He trailed off. “If you believe in your heart that I would betray you, there’s nothing left. For you, Sarah, I would do anything. Even die if it came to it. But one thing I won’t do is beg Sarah Roberts for my life. She wouldn’t respect me and her last memory has to be the right one.”

  Before she had more time to think on it, she took one step back so no one could get the jump on her in the dark. If what they were saying was true, then how come she saw it differently in her head?

  “Sarah?” Aaron again. “Did the doctor talk to you about your head wound?”

  “What has that got to do with anything?” she snapped.

  “Where was Parkman when you got shot?” he asked.

  “Standing in front of me. I saw the gun. Heard it fire. Felt the impact of the bullet.” She wiped at her eyes and took a step closer to Parkman. The gun’s barrel was only two inches from his forehead now.

  “The bullet entered your skull from behind,” Aaron said.

  Something clicked in her consciousness. She blinked, looked to the side where Aaron’s voice was, and waited for him to speak again.

  But there was nothing left for him to say.

  “I pulled the gun, Sarah,” Parkman said. “To fire back at the person behind us. We now know it was her.” His arm moved to point at the girl on the ground. “Tam Rood, Violeta Payne’s daughter.” Parkman looked back at Sarah. “That was probably the reason Vivian told you if you were going to quit the vigilante business to not meet me, but talk to Tam Rood. Meeting me kept you involved. Talking to Tam might have cooled the situation down. Is it all coming together for you?”

  A palpable silence fell over them. The men with flashlights were almost there.

  The image of Parkman crucified on the cross in that church in Italy came back to her. She suddenly realized why it bothered her so much. Parkman had been like a brother to her. They had fought side by side so many times, got out of jams and survived together. When she saw him hurt the way he was on that cross in a little town called Montone, she had become enraged. She remembered how later, when she had come up from the crypt below the church, Parkman had been taken down. He wasn’t in the church anymore. A woman named Rosalie told Sarah that Parkman had picked up a gun and was outside, hunting the people responsible.

  Her legs trembled with weakness. Her emotions were like the deluge of a monsoon flooding the banks of a river on an arid land, threatening her lavishly built home on its shores, her safety, her existence, where she felt one with the world and understood herself and her motivations without question. Emotional, spent, and disgusted with what she had been about to do, Sarah lowered the gun, unsure if she could ever trust herself again around the people she loved.

  The bullet had entered from behind. On that fateful night, Parkman was standing in front of her. It couldn’t have been him. He had done nothing wrong.

  But what had she done? How could she have come so close to hurting him? How could she have come so far? And it was all because she didn’t correlate the entry wound to where Parkman was standing in her memory.

  She pivoted toward Tam Rood. The girl who had actually shot her. The gun was up again.

  “No, Sarah,” Parkman whispered. “Don’t. She’s seventeen. It’s not her fault.”

  The flashlights were closer still, the men running their way.

  People have to pay for their wrongdoings. They have to be accountable.

  The men’s voices carried over the darkened vineyard.

&nb
sp; Sarah felt Aaron’s eyes on her. Parkman watched from his knees. Tam waited for the bullet, defiance on her face, her one good eye, unwounded and unyielding.

  Sarah lowered the gun and slipped it away. The only person who needed to be accountable for their actions was her.