The Sarah Roberts Series Vol. 7-9 Read online

  “It could be construed that Jennifer is the common denominator and not Martin.” Lyson sounded like he was thinking out loud. “That alone does not make anyone a murderer.”

  “I tried to call our medical examiner today and can’t get through to him. He’s not answering his cell or his home line. No one’s seen Martin Rankin for at least twenty-four hours.”

  “What does he drive?”

  “A Range Rover, same color and make as our witness said was parked out front of that abandoned warehouse. I suspect it's the same Range Rover that Martin drives.”

  “Sounds like you’re on to something,” Lyson said as he brushed a hand through his hair. “That’s our ME,” he said, almost to himself. “He’s been with us for years without a single red flag.”

  “Hide in plain sight, sir. Ted Bundy.”

  “Okay, we’ll find him and bring him in.”

  Lyson hung up and turned to Justin. “Do what you can to locate our medical examiner.” He turned back to Aaron. “Was there anything else?”

  “Yes. Russell called.”

  “Who is Russell?”

  “Sarah’s cousin.”

  “What did he want?”

  “He had a warning.”

  “A warning?”

  “He said it all ends with fire or bombs and Sarah won’t make it. She’s too determined to do the right thing, he said. It’s what’ll kill her in the end.”

  Someone knocked on the door.

  “So much for do not disturb,” Lyson muttered. “Hold on, Aaron. I want to hear more.”

  A uniformed officer entered, walked over to Lyson’s desk and handed him a sealed envelope. “For you, sir. It just arrived at the front desk.”

  Lyson took it and examined the envelope as the officer retreated. “Just my name.”

  He set the envelope on the desk and pulled gloves out of a drawer. Using tweezers in each hand, he slit the envelope open and pulled the paper out. After reading it, he gestured for Justin to come to his desk and read it, too.

  “What?” Aaron asked. “What does it say?”

  “Looks like our serial killer wants to meet me on leap day just before midnight at the building where he had his victims caged.”

  “What for?” Aaron asked, feeling out of his depth.

  “Probably wants to kill me.”

  Justin added, “The note says the building should be cleared of all police personnel. If even one officer other than Lyson is within a mile of the building the meeting will not take place and our killer will disappear.”

  “Building cleared?” Aaron said. “Sounds like Sarah’s note. Wait. Is this building on Keele Street?”

  Both officers looked at each other and then back at Aaron.

  They nodded.

  “That’s it. Same as Sarah’s note. Vivian said it ends there.”

  Justin looked down at the note again. “The perp says he wants to surrender but will only surrender to Lyson.” Justin stared at the page a moment longer. “Did you read the bottom?” He looked at Lyson.

  “I did.”

  “What’s the bottom say?” Aaron asked.

  “It says Lyson has to bring one other person with him or the surrender deal is off.”

  “Who?” Aaron asked but already knew the answer.

  “Sarah Roberts.”

  Chapter 26

  Someone shouted. Loud music vibrated the floor.

  Her arms were on fire. The ache was so intense she dared not move, lest she screamed in pain.

  Sarah opened her eyes to a slit and took in the room. The bits of furniture were ruined. Holes littered a couch, the fabric pulled up as if a large dog used it as a chew toy. The small doors of a cabinet against the back wall had broken glass still attached to the door’s frame. Garbage was strewn about. A red McDonald’s fries container, ripped candy bar sleeve, gum packages and cigarette boxes. It looked like a crack house. It was musky and smelled like a dank cottage that hadn’t been opened in years.

  Her hands were bound by chains bolted into a brick wall. They were suspended above her head, white in the sunlight filtering through the stained sheet they used as a curtain.

  Sunlight? She must’ve been out since last night. It all came back to her in a torrent. Kierian lying on the cement, knocked out, blood everywhere. Clint’s throat being sliced open like a watermelon.

  She shuddered, pain running along her arms. She wanted to cry for them, but couldn’t. She needed to get out of here first. Stay alive now, grieve later.

  She probed her mouth with her tongue and felt her teeth where they were supposed to be. Her bottom lip had swollen from the slaps, but it was the side of her face that hurt the most. That boot had come down hard and fast. It must’ve rammed the other side of her face into the floor of the van. She could have a concussion and shouldn’t be sleeping, but she doubted her captors would care.

  What did they have planned for her if she was still alive? Killing an FBI agent could bring every cop in North America after them. Maybe that was why they had kept her alive. To serve as a hostage.

  The thumping music quieted as the song changed and then started up again. Her head pounded with it.

  Someone walked by the door to the living-room-like area they had her suspended in. They peeked in at her.

  “Hey!” he shouted. “Turn that shit down. You woke the bitch up.”

  He stepped into the room. The music died. Footsteps ran down the hall toward her room. Tattooed men filed in, one after another until there were at least fifteen of them.

  The alpha male weaved through to the front.

  “Do you know why you’re here?” he asked.

  “Hostage?” she mumbled through her dry mouth. “Negotiate with the police?”

  He turned to his gang members and laughed, holding his stomach.

  “You hold yourself in high regard. No, you are not our hostage. You are our prisoner. We don’t negotiate with anybody. Do you know why that is?”

  “No,” Sarah whispered. Talking made her headache flare. The pain in her shoulders was so constant they had gone numb.

  “You’re here because you shot one of ours in the leg.”

  “That asshole at the massage parlor?”

  He stepped close enough that his breath caressed her skin. He wrapped his large hands on each of her breasts and started to squeeze from outside her sweater.

  “Ripe peaches here,” he said. “Ripe for the taking.”

  He continued to squeeze until Sarah couldn’t contain her pain-filled moan. His hands tightened into fists, her breasts caught in the trap of his palm.

  She screamed.

  “That’s right,” he yelled loud enough to be heard over her. “Scream bitch, scream.”

  He dug in harder if that were possible.

  A few of the men behind him cheered and shouted, egging him on.

  Sarah screamed and pulled on the chains that bound her. It felt like her breasts were literally being torn from her body as her head threatened to explode in pain.

  Her legs were not secured. It took everything in her to keep her feet rooted. Thoughts of wrapping her legs around the man’s waist and locking him in the scissor hold Aaron had taught her. The asshole wouldn’t be able to take a breath as she assaulted his diaphragm. Kicking him in the groin hard enough to send his balls into his neck was another thought.

  But lifting her legs meant all her weight would drop onto her arms which were already numb with pain. Even if she tried to fight, she would never make it out of this building alive.

  The pressure on her chest released. The man dropped his hands to his side and stepped back.

  Her screaming was replaced with moaning as the pain subsided. Slowly.

  “Insult one of us again and I will remove your tits with a knife. I understand women can still live wonderful lives with no fucking tits. Don’t test my patience. I don’t have any.”

  Sarah mumbled.

  “What was that?”

  “I’m sorry,” Sarah said, rea
lizing that she would have to manage these people as best she could if she intended to walk away from this as a whole person. She understood people like this. To only fight back when there was three of them or less and fight to kill. Hurting these men, even breaking a bone, would only anger them further.

  He didn’t acknowledge her apology.

  “You’re here because the man you shot wants his revenge. That’s what we do for each other. He should be out of his holding cell within a few days. Then he will come here and he will make you pay for what you did to him.”

  “Can I have some water?”

  He motioned for one of the men to leave the room and fetch water. Then he turned to the assembled gang. “Everyone, go back to what you were doing. We’re going to talk in here. I want you all out.”

  A few moments later, the leader and Sarah were alone in the living room. Her breathing normalized as the pain in her chest and head dulled. No doubt the bruises would look horrible.

  Just wait ’til Aaron sees it.

  “Do you know why Juan was after that whore at the massage parlor?”

  Sarah shook her head.

  “Because she wanted into AOV. Have you heard of us?”

  “Those men in the alley told me.”

  “The Angels of Violence. Respect that.”

  Sarah looked away. She wanted to tear him apart, but was paralyzed as long as her arms were locked behind her.

  He pulled the sheet aside to look out the window. “You know, people from all over North America want to join AOV.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  He dropped the sheet back in place and leaned against the wall by the window, examining a fingernail. The first two knuckles were bloody and crusted over with scabs. He had two cuts on each forearm and at least three scars on his face and forehead. Just looking at him, his build and his tats, she could tell he was a brawler, a street fighter.

  “We have over seventy-thousand members in the States, Mexico and now Canada. Think of us as tailor-made for urban terrorism for hire. Killing cops is a good business—our specialty.” He pushed off the wall and paced in front of her. “We engraved the name of a pig on a bullet and left it on his doorstep. We almost always locate any witnesses who even think to testify against us and execute them.” He stopped pacing and stepped close, his eyes black. He smiled in a feral way. “We protect turf, our members, and our cash with our lives. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” Sarah said.

  “That is why you are here. You hurt one of us even though he betrayed the unit.”

  “Betrayed?”

  “We have initiation rites to become one of us.”

  A man entered with water and brought it to Sarah. It was in an empty Coke bottle with a straw. Tap water. She didn’t care, drinking hard and fast. It reminded her she had to pee, but wasn’t going to do it in front of any of these men.

  The bottle was pulled away and the man left the room.

  “To become a member of AOV, the first initiation is called Walk The Line. You must commit an extremely violent act against an innocent victim such as a severe beating, a violent rape or murder.” He moved to her left, keeping his eyes on her.

  She decided if he touched her again she probably wouldn’t be able to control herself. She would attack with intent to kill, just like Aaron had taught her.

  Screw the consequences. This man isn’t human.

  “The second rite is called Jump In. That can be terrifying for most. The recruit himself is beaten to a pulp for fifteen seconds by five of our strongest members. The rest stand back and count to fifteen. We start the recruiting age at nine-years old. Laws in Canada don’t charge anyone under twelve. See the math?”

  Sarah nodded.

  “We get our recruits under twelve to perform as many execution orders as we can because they can’t be processed in the system.”

  He checked the hallway. Then he walked to her side.

  “In one instance, I watched a ten-year-old boy placed in a circle of five large men and then get stomped on. After fifteen seconds there wasn’t much left of him. Sometimes members don’t make it through initiation. But that’s what it’s for.”

  It had to be untrue. Could AOV be that animalistic? She had heard similar things in the past and listened to the news of what the drug cartels had done in South America, but she had never met a gang so brutal that nothing humane mattered.

  Nothing scared these people. Not even cops.

  “The third rite is for girls who want to join. It’s called, Sexed In. They must endure a gang rape by at least fifteen members in one hour and it has to be violent.” He moved to her other side. “That girl you tried to save at the massage parlor had a bruised face. Mostly around the eyes. Do you remember?”

  Sarah nodded.

  “And she left a statement with the police blaming everything on you?”

  Sarah nodded again.

  “She knew to protect Juan, her man. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t make the night. Betrayal is the worst crime and it is dealt with in the most brutal fashion.” He raised his index finger. “But we are getting off track. Juan’s woman was set to handle her initiation. We got started, but she fought back after only three members had pumped her. Juan was at the parlor to bring her back here to finish her initiation and you fucked that up. Do you know what that means?”

  “No,” Sarah muttered, sure it meant this man was going to kill her now while she was tied up and unable to defend herself.

  “It means, when Juan gets out of jail in a few days, you have to do the initiation rite for the girl you saved, starting with Juan. And since you shot him, and he’s really upset about that, you may not survive the first gang banger of the fifteen men who are to pump you hard.” He leaned in close and smiled. “Do you think you’ll enjoy that, tough girl?”

  She raised her face and met his eyes. They were dark orbs of hate.

  “Tell Juan I’m waiting. Bring it on.”

  He laughed as he walked to the door.

  “After Juan, you will be fucked by Death.”

  “That’ll ruin it for the rest of the fifteen,” she said, not caring anymore.

  “My name is Death. That is the name I got when I entered AOV because of all the people I had killed.” He smiled like he was proud of murder. “When Juan is done with you, I get you. When I’m done, there won’t be anything left of you.”

  He walked away, his laughter echoing down the hall, trailing him in blackness.

  Chapter 27

  It was nearly two in the morning by the time Lyson had made a dozen calls and got Aaron in his cruiser. He had instructed everyone on the task force and the crime-scene technicians to finish what they were doing double time and get out of that warehouse on Keele Street. It was to be roped off and no one would be allowed to enter the building again until the first of March.

  “I might even get a makeshift fence constructed around the exterior to seal it off,” Lyson said.

  “How do you know the letter was actually from the Leap Year Killer?” Aaron asked.

  “It’s at the lab being analyzed right now. But this is the second one. Same stationery, same envelope, same cursive handwriting. The odds are higher than ninety percent it’s our guy.”

  The streets were quiet at this late hour on a cold February evening. Even highway 401, a usually bustling stop-and-go parking lot in the day, was nearly empty. They took the Keele Street exit and headed north.

  “You want coffee?” Aaron asked.

  “Sure. I’ll pull over up here at the Timmy’s.”

  They took two to go and got back in the car. Lyson sat and sipped from his cup without starting the car.

  “What happened with that cop Folley and your sister’s case?” Lyson asked.

  Aaron turned away and stared out the window. “Folley was a good cop when he wanted to be. Found my parents for me even though I didn’t want him to.”

  “What do you mean ‘when he wanted to be’?”

  “He found my p
arents but he couldn’t find my sister when it counted. Although, even if he had, it would’ve been too late.”

  Lyson set his cup in the holder. “Was your sister one of the bodies recovered in Casa Loma?”

  Aaron nodded.