Losing Sarah (A Sarah Roberts Thriller Book 16) Page 13

  “I’m resigned to the fact that my mother will hate me as long as she lives because I’ll never change.”

  “That’s a hard thing to deal with. A mother hating their child is harsh. Are you sure it’s hatred?”

  “She used a leather strap on me when I told her. Fifty lashes, meted out over five days, ten lashes per day. Said if I was back in India where she met my father, the punishment would be worse. She thought she could beat the disease out of me.”

  “That’s frustrating. Lower educated thinking.”

  “I’ve had to lie, keep it from her in order to live here. She suspects I’m still gay, though. Until she’s sure I’m hetero, I’m off the books. Can you believe that?”

  Sarah rolled her head back and forth with great effort as the fatigue fought to make her sleep.

  “Well, fuck her. As soon as Hank is well enough, I’m going to tell her and let’s see what happens if she tries to give me a single lash. She’s the one who will get a beat down.”

  Sarah drifted deeper. She couldn’t keep this conversation going. Sleep was winning.

  “Even if I have to kill her,” Blair added.

  Kill her? Who is he talking about again?

  “I’ll murder her in her sleep and you could help me.”

  Murder her? In her sleep?

  “If we don’t, she’ll kill you, too. Whatever she has planned for you, Sarah, you won’t like it. I think she aims to have you killed.”

  Then she dropped further and left the conversation where it was.

  Chapter 32

  Parkman woke in the backseat of a car as it bounced along a pothole-filled road. Both shoulders ached with his hands cuffed tightly behind his back. He groaned as the car bounced over rough terrain. Pain sliced up his spine. For some reason his right cheek was inflamed, too.

  What had they done to him?

  He thought of Aaron and hoped he was still alive.

  He tried to sit up but found it too difficult with his hands bound at the small of his back.

  From his twisted position in the backseat, he watched the star-filled night sky out the back window. Two heads moved slightly with the motion of the car in the front seat.

  After several minutes, the car’s tires hit smooth ground and glided for a bit, making it easier on him. Sweat rolled down his swollen face and he blinked the drops out of his eyes.

  The Mexican authorities had him. They had Aaron if he was still alive. Spencer was coming from Toronto and Casper had sent three men to watch over them.

  But it was all too little, too late.

  They would be dead long before anyone could intervene. Unless either one of them figured a way to fight back. This couldn’t be the end. Vivian would have seen this coming and gotten Sarah involved somehow. At least he hoped that was the case.

  His hands had lost most of their feeling. He fiddled with them in an attempt to examine what bound his wrists so tight. Cold steel. The cuffs were placed low on the wrist, limiting his hand movement. He got as comfortable as he could and waited.

  Would they drive him out of town just to release him? No, they hadn’t covered their faces. This was a one-way ticket.

  He stopped trying to convince himself of some other motive. The police were going to execute Aaron and Parkman for their role in losing so many of their colleagues in that hotel attack in Tijuana. It wasn’t their fault, directly, but because the authorities were gathered there to deal with Aaron’s abduction, it was indirectly their fault. At least to the men in the front of the car, they were responsible. And it seemed these men wanted someone to pay for the loss they had to endure.

  Quite a few of the authorities worked for local cartels. It wouldn’t be a stretch to think the cops in the front seat weren’t acting alone. It could be any number of cartels happy to avenge the Enzo destruction with their heads on the end of a stake, or their bodies dangling from a bridge over a busy highway.

  What shouldn’t concern Parkman as much was what they were going to do. What should be of utmost concern to him was what he was going to do.

  It had been stupid to allow Sarah and Aaron to remain in Mexico within days of the Enzo Cartel’s destruction. No matter how much Sarah protested, they should’ve forced the issue and taken her across the border. Better to have her pissed off than dead.

  It was reckless and careless to have thought this was a sane move. The car accident at the casino, Casper making calls and getting return calls from people concerned with what he was up to, and now Sarah missing. Nothing good at all had come from staying in Mexico.

  The vehicle slowed, then stopped. The men in the front seat exited the car, leaving their doors open. Parkman waited, listening. A crazy thought struck him. What if these were Casper’s men and the only way to get Aaron and him to safety was to abduct them? If that were the case, they didn’t have to be so rough during the abduction.

  No, these were hit men. Their day jobs were officers of the law, but hit men just the same. They had one objective and Parkman wasn’t disillusioned as to what it was. That left him with a fight and flight option. Or die bound and gagged, and something told him this wasn’t his time to go.

  The passenger door opened behind his head. He looked up as someone grabbed him under the shoulders and pulled. His butt dropped to the ground hard, then his feet, which weren’t tied together. A grunt escaped his lips upon impact.

  The man rolled him over and stepped away.

  “Get up.”

  Parkman had put hundreds of men in handcuffs in his time on the police force but never really considered how uncomfortable it was, or how hard it was to maneuver with his hands bound. A leg under him, balance corrected, he pushed upward and got to his feet.

  “Got any toothpicks?” he asked.

  He didn’t get an answer.

  There was enough moonlight to see wide open countryside in all directions. Not a single street light or sign of civilization offered him hope. To the right of the beat-up car stood a small rundown, sun-weathered shack. It had seen better days. The roof sloped in where it appeared to be about to collapse and the walls had graffiti and holes where the windows once were.

  Inside the shack, several candles flickered, sending a chill through him. He hadn’t thought it would come to this for a long time and could come up with no reasonable way to get out of this situation. These kind of men didn’t listen to pleading or begging. No amount of money would dissuade them. Whatever their plan, they’d done it before and would do it again.

  “Where’s Aaron?” Parkman asked, his voice stronger than he expected in this situation.

  “Inside,” the man closest to him answered. He was one of the men that had held onto Aaron back in the hotel room.

  Parkman didn’t know what the man meant by inside. Is Aaron inside the shack? Or was he ordering Parkman to go inside?

  “I don’t see another car,” Parkman persisted. “Is Aaron here?”

  The man nodded. “He’s inside.” He grabbed Parkman’s arm and shoved him toward the shack. “Go. Now.”

  Parkman stumbled, caught himself, and walked to the half-open door of the wooden structure. Was this what a life’s work amounted to? Was this where he would die? In a broken-down building in a barren part of Mexico?

  He ducked his head and entered. Aaron sat in a chair facing the door, untied. A gun rested sideways on his thigh, gripped in his right hand. The tip of the weapon aimed at the empty chair across from him.

  A thick candle burned on a small, square table in front of Aaron. Under the table sat a black case with a red digital readout that looked strangely like a bomb setting. The digits sat unmoving at five seconds.

  The other empty chair in front of Aaron was presumably placed there for Parkman.

  In the yellow light, Aaron’s eyes were red and glazed. He’d been crying and probably stressing about what to do.

  Someone shoved Parkman forward. He managed to stay on his feet as he neared the empty chair.

  “Sit,” the man behind him said.
“We’re going to play a little game. I understand you Americans like games, no? Am I right?”

  Parkman looked at Aaron and felt sorry for him at that moment. He didn’t ask for this. Sarah’s life, and the violence that came with it, had been thrust upon him. He wasn’t prepared. Even being the fighter he was, he couldn’t handle it. It wasn’t fair. Life wasn’t fair. If it was, they’d be dining with the Royals at Buckingham Palace and spending money like the Warren Buffetts of the world.

  He took a seat opposite Aaron. After a moment, Aaron’s eyes met his. The torment in them caused Parkman to shiver. What had they done to him while Parkman was unconscious?

  “Where are we?” Parkman asked.

  Only one man entered the shack behind Parkman. He held up a key for Parkman to see. Then he leaned behind Parkman and worked on the cuffs.

  “There is a sensor on the chair,” the man said. “Now that you have sat down, you cannot get up. When these cuffs come off,” the man stopped what he was doing, leaned forward to look Parkman in the eye, then said, “you will be free. I will give you a gun.”

  Audibly, the cuffs unlocked and Parkman’s hands fell away from each other. Relief coursed through his arms as blood flowed to places lacking it. He leaned forward and groaned. He knew he should be attacking the man beside him, but he needed a moment as his arms regained feeling. Aaron had a gun. Now was the time to fight back.

  But why send one man inside the cabin with them? It was too risky with Aaron armed?

  The man moved until he stood next to the small table.

  “Under each chair is an explosive device, like a landmine. Stand up and you will be blown apart.”

  Parkman shivered under a cool sheen of sweat. Beneath Aaron’s chair, something was clamped under it, behind the top of his calf muscles.

  “If for some reason you both decide to leap from your chairs at the same time and miraculously survive, the unit under this little table here, the one with the five-second counter, will begin its countdown. I assure you, this bomb is big enough to flatten this shack. Our insurance.”

  Parkman took in the scene for what it was. He had a chance to escape before he sat down and now he didn’t. But how could he have known that? Why didn’t Aaron warn him?

  It was over for them and Aaron knew it. Sometimes a man’s luck runs out and there’s nothing a man can do about it. It’s just the way it was.

  The man produced a weapon, checked its safety was off, and leaned close to Parkman.

  “See here,” he said. “One bullet in the chamber. Just one.” He handed the gun, butt first, to Parkman. “That bullet is for Aaron. Your friend here has his gun with one bullet. For you.”

  Parkman took the gun and thought about shooting the man on the spot. He took a huge risk handing him a loaded weapon.

  “You’re probably thinking you’re in a dismal situation and want to shoot me. I know I would. But there is a chance to walk out of this alive.” He looked at both men. “Shoot me and you both die.”

  Tears ran down Aaron’s cheeks. He was resigned to his fate. But Parkman wouldn’t buy it. There had to be a way for both of them. There always was.

  Or he’d give his life for Aaron to live. Sarah would understand.

  “The game is this. When we hear a gunshot, that means one of you will be dead. You cannot win by suicide. One of you has to kill the other.” Parkman couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Once either one of you is dead, we will release the other.”

  “Bullshit,” Parkman muttered.

  “It isn’t bullshit. You have our word. There is a time limit, though. The candle on the table will burn out. The wick is attached to the five-second bomb under the table. We estimate you have an hour or so to decide who dies, otherwise, you both die in the explosion.” He stepped back toward the door. “The two windows on each side and this door will be covered by armed men. For some reason if you are able to avoid death by chair and hop out a window, you will be shot. There is no escape here. Only the death of one of you releases the other.”

  “What happens to the man who lives?” Parkman shouted. “You just drive him back to the hotel?”

  The man moved outside before he answered. “I won’t lie to you.” The sound of his voice diminished as he walked away from the cabin. “The man who lives will be brought to the police station and charged in the murder of the man who died. He will live. You have our word. But he will live with the torment of what he did and spend the rest of his years doing hard time for his crime.” The man’s voice was almost too far to hear unless he shouted. “There really is no escape here.”

  Was this a joke? A nightmare?

  Parkman sat across from Aaron, who hadn’t uttered a word the whole time, while he cried and stared back. Aaron’s hand jittered, the gun moving slightly with the movement.

  “Aaron? You okay?”

  He nodded once, his eyes locked on Parkman.

  “We can’t do this,” Parkman said. “I can’t kill you. I won’t. I’d rather die than spend the rest of my life in a Mexican prison.”

  Aaron lifted the gun in his hand and aimed it at Parkman.

  “Hey wait, that wasn’t an invitation. Look man, the candle. We have time. A half hour at least.” The gun steadied. “Hey,” Parkman yelled. “What has gotten into you? Put that thing down.”

  “It’s the—” Aaron choked, sobbed, swallowed something and said, “It’s the only way. Just don’t fall off the chair. I’d hate both of us to die because you’re careless.”

  To Parkman’s surprise, he detected the movement of Aaron’s finger. The gun discharged its only bullet, loud and shocking in the small shack.

  Parkman jolted as the bullet hit his body.

  Chapter 33

  Drake Bellamy, no longer known by that name, had waited outside Parkman’s hotel after he heard from Spencer. He had wondered how long it would take for Spencer to learn of his whereabouts. Spencer couldn’t raise too many alarms to look for a missing colleague named John Whitman when that name was fake.

  Sure they’d given Drake—John Whitman—new ID and a new passport, but John had never tested the passport by traveling out of Canada. With the money he’d saved and the will to help Sarah, he’d raced to Mexico, rented a car and prepared to aid in any way he could.

  Sarah had finished off the Enzo Cartel in a startling fashion, killing most of Enzo’s men, including Enzo himself, and destroying the compound all in one spectacular helicopter crash before Whitman arrived.

  John had located the RV Sarah was traveling in on the perimeter of the property as they were about to leave. It had been quite a few years since he’d seen Sarah. He felt nothing when he saw Aaron with her. They were a couple now. He had no place. What he did want was to return the favor she had offered him, by being there for her if she needed a hand.

  Without Sarah, Drake would have died during a baseball game in Toronto. Angry Hungarians were hunting Drake after he had successfully repelled their initial attack on him. He didn’t ask for it, nor was he involved in the original slight. But nonetheless, the Hungarians didn’t stop their onslaught.

  After several more attempts on his life, he begged Spencer, the Toronto cop who had worked hard at saving Drake’s life, to put him in some kind of witness protection housing. But Spencer had a different plan so a new ID was created. Drake’s “body” was located in the lake and for all intents and purposes, it was ID’d, bagged and buried with an authentic death certificate thereby dissolving the Hungarians still hunting him.

  Drake Bellamy became John Whitman, a police informant. After a few years of schooling, he was brought on full time to work with Spencer, behind the scenes, cracking whatever case they had trouble with. Whitman kept a low profile, preferring to work alone and at odd hours of the night. Oftentimes, Spencer would wake to text messages with the information he was looking for, or the detail they needed to arrest a perp. John Whitman hid in plain sight and had turned into an asset for the Toronto Police Department as a detective of a different ki
nd. One that thought outside the box. One that had no history on paper. He was a man even the bad guys couldn’t find or figure out, even if they got his name. An asset to Spencer.

  It was highly unlikely Sarah had any idea—unless Vivian told her—what Drake’s new name was or what he was doing with Spencer in Toronto. In fact, when she saw him, he was pretty sure she had thought him dead all this time.

  When Whitman heard of Sarah’s plight, he got to Mexico when it was all over. Thinking he’d have dinner with the couple, get to meet Aaron, he’d followed them in the taxi they hired to take them to Rosarito. He watched them hesitate on the front steps of the hotel with Sarah’s keen eye picking him out as a tail.