Losing Sarah (A Sarah Roberts Thriller Book 16) Page 17

  Sarah stepped back from the door. She examined the walls, looking for pinholes where cameras might be. Her anger—familiar, comfortable—came back. She felt herself again. Somehow, even being captive in this room was bringing her back to who she always was.

  “Why do you hate your son?” Sarah asked.

  There was no immediate response.

  Hit a nerve?

  “I don’t hate my son.”

  “Sure you do.” Sarah walked back to the window. There had to be a way out. “With all this money, why is he selling drugs in casinos?”

  “His choice. He wants to be an entrepreneur. As any good parent would, I allow him to make his own choices.” After a moment, she added, “But we’re not here to discuss my son or my relationship with him. We’re here to discuss you and my offer.”

  Sarah pulled the curtains aside and watched as the sun crested the Mexican terrain in the distance. As she thought of Aaron and what personal hell he was probably going through having no idea where she was and who was probably involved in locating her, she realized her headache had all but vanished.

  “Go on. What offer?”

  “I have a very important deal coming up. I want you to travel with me and help me make this deal.”

  Sarah frowned, sure Jane couldn’t see her face as long as she continued to stare out the bedroom window. “Why me? I have no experience in making deals at the level you’re used to. I don’t come from a family of this kind of wealth.”

  “I want you as my personal security.”

  Vivian rushed in to her consciousness with two words: Do it.

  “Not interested,” Sarah said.

  Vivian whirled around inside her head, shouted something unintelligible. Sarah jerked slightly, then Vivian shot away, leaving Sarah’s mind.

  “You will be interested when I explain my terms.”

  “And what are they?” Sarah gripped the curtains on both sides and tightened her fists. “Come on, hit me with it. I’m ready.”

  “One million dollars in untraceable cash. Half up front, the other half when my deal has been completed.”

  One million dollars. That would finance her for years to come. Act as security for a woman making a prearranged deal? For one million dollars? There had to be a snag somewhere. It smelled bad no matter how she looked at it.

  “What’s the catch?” Sarah asked.

  “There is no catch. One million to act as security for approximately one hour.”

  “There’s a catch. There always is. Why would you hire me, a drug addict, to protect you when you could hire dozens of professionals for that kind of money?”

  “I want you.”

  “Why me? Answer that to my satisfaction and I’ll give you my decision.”

  “Because I think the people I’m arranging this deal with want to kill me and everyone with me. Since you’re Sarah Roberts and you have Vivian in your ear, she won’t let you die so easily. If I bring you to the deal, my chances of making it out alive rise a few hundred percent.” Jane paused. “I don’t want to die on their terms, Sarah. I want to die on mine.”

  Chapter 41

  The violent thunder of a helicopter startled Whitman awake. He jumped to his feet and looked around the room frantically to orientate himself. Parkman slept on the bed, but otherwise, the room was empty. Aaron hadn’t come back yet.

  He ran for the window and peeked out. A large helicopter with an American flag on the tail had landed in the clearing on the other side of the road. The sun had just risen above the horizon, behind the chopper. The rotors of the chopper sliced through the early morning rays.

  Whitman turned from the window to see Parkman getting up off the bed.

  “Help me,” he said. “Little weak this morning.”

  They couldn’t have gotten more than two hours sleep. Whitman felt the grogginess like a weight throughout his body. Considering the blood loss and the wound, he imagined Parkman would feel a lot worse than him.

  He grabbed Parkman’s good arm and helped him to his feet. At the door, Parkman put a hand on the wall to stop them.

  “Where’s Aaron?”

  Whitman shook his head. “No idea. He left the room after I’d stitched you up.”

  “Without saying a word on where he was going?”

  “Not a word.”

  Someone knocked on the door. “Parkman? Aaron? You in there?”

  “Yeah,” Parkman shouted back.

  When Whitman opened the door, they were greeted by three men in full uniform as if they were on a raid, sporting machine guns.

  The man closest to the door leaned in to Parkman. “Agent Buck Schaffer is waiting in the chopper. We need to double time it. We need to be in the air five minutes ago. Mexican authorities are tracking us.” The man started running toward the helicopter, shouting over his shoulder. “Go, go. Go.”

  For a wounded man, Parkman made running for the chopper look easy. Whitman was at least fifteen years younger and had to turn it up to stay on his tail. The side door was open as they approached. Two of the soldiers helped Parkman in, then Whitman.

  A man in the corner—probably the Buck Schaffer the soldier had said was waiting in the chopper—leaned forward and shouted at Parkman, “Where’s Aaron?”

  Parkman sat beside Schaffer. “No idea. He left the room a few hours ago. Didn’t come back.”

  A stern look crossed Schaffer’s face as he leaned back on the bench seat he occupied. The soldiers piled in and slammed the door shut. The leader twirled his hand in the air, index finger aiming skyward, and the chopper lifted off almost immediately.

  One of the men handed Whitman headphones. By the time he got them on, and the mouth piece dropped in place, Parkman was wearing a set as well. Through the extreme noise the rotors made only a few feet above their heads, he could now hear the men talking clearly.

  “Parkman, who is this?” Schaffer asked.

  They all looked at him.

  “My name is John Whitman. I’m a friend of Sarah’s.”

  Parkman nodded at Schaffer. “He’s clean. Saved our life earlier tonight. Did a damn fine stitch job on my bullet wound too.” Parkman pulled his arm up to show Schaffer.

  “Do you know who shot you?” Schaffer asked.

  Parkman nodded. “Yeah. Aaron.”

  Schaffer frowned, lines on his face converging, then smoothed out as the frown melted away. “What?”

  “Long story. I’ll tell you about it later.”

  “We can’t fly back to the States right now. Too much heat.”

  “Heat?” It was Parkman’s turn to frown.

  “Four Mexican cops have been found murdered. Bludgeoned to death and shot to be exact. The authorities down here are looking for three men, two of which look exactly like you,” he gestured at Parkman, “and Aaron. We’re flying to our embassy so at least for now we’ll be on American soil.”

  Whitman exchanged a glance with Parkman. “It was necessary, sir.”

  Schaffer turned his way. “Explain why it was necessary to murder four Mexican police officers. As far as I can tell, all four work at the same police station where Sarah Roberts was held for several hours. The media will ride this wave to the moon and back. But a man I just met tells me it was necessary. Back that claim up.”

  Whitman, without missing a beat, said, “I witnessed five Mexican police officers enter Parkman’s hotel. Ten minutes later, three of them escorted Aaron out to a car and drove off. The other two of them carried the unconscious Parkman to a car and left the hotel. I decided to follow at a safe distance. I tracked them to a remote area south of the city where they had placed Aaron and Parkman in a shack to execute them. I had to stop it. Killing them was my only option. Sorry for the noise this is causing, but I regret nothing when it comes to saving their lives. I did it once, I would do it again.”

  If Schaffer had the capacity to be surprised, that’s what Whitman read on his face. After a moment, Schaffer turned to Parkman.

  “I like this guy. We shoul
d keep him.”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  The chopper took a sharp right and began to descend. Whitman looked out the window and watched the land get closer, the sun go higher, and wondered where Sarah was and what she was doing.

  And where was Aaron? He would die on the streets in Mexico with every cop in the country looking for him. He needed to find sanctuary and find it fast.

  Whitman had Aaron and now he was gone. If something happened to Aaron, Sarah would never forgive him. Since the Mexican authorities had Parkman’s and Aaron’s descriptions, but not his, he was the natural choice to start looking for Aaron as soon as they landed.

  He had come back to see Sarah, help Sarah if she needed it. Not make mistakes and lose her boyfriend.

  Even if Aaron didn’t want to be found, Whitman had no choice. It was either find Aaron or never be able to face Sarah.

  The helicopter landed softly as did Whitman’s decision.

  It was time to go hunting in Mexico, and he would need a big gun.

  Chapter 42

  Food was delivered through the use of a slot behind a picture in the wall. Jane gave her instructions on the speaker system and Sarah followed them. Eating and getting her strength up was a mutual goal of theirs.

  After she’d eaten the chicken, potatoes, and broccoli, she lifted the picture aside and placed the dirty dinner plate back in the slot. Minutes later the picture locked into place as the plate was retrieved from the other side.

  Sated, she lay on the bed and thought she’d nap. There was nothing else to do in the rich woman’s house unless she agreed to her terms and Sarah wouldn’t. The woman had a deal to conclude, an arrangement. If she wanted security for it, hire a security firm. Pay the right people who do that sort of thing for a living.

  Even though Vivian told Sarah she was here for that purpose, Sarah refused to go along. This was a first of many firsts. It was time to set things right. She told Vivian that she needed to be brought in on the planning. It had to be that way. If there was a blueprint, then let Sarah read it as it pertained to her life, her well-being. Wouldn’t it have been easier to explain that she needed to meet Blair and impress him so Sarah could win Jane’s trust? Wouldn’t that have been a better plan than getting her addicted to heroin and then making her withdraw from it? And to what extent did Sarah’s body pay for the methods Vivian undertook?

  What about Aaron? How did he fare into all this? He had no idea where Sarah was. Because of the drugs, she had deceived him. Sent him down for Advil when all she wanted to do was meet a drug dealer. Sarah was Vivian’s pawn, and it had to stop.

  If it was only Sarah, then maybe she could come to an arrangement with Vivian. But this involved her family, her loved ones. Because of events Vivian set in motion, Aaron had lost a finger.

  To be fair, Vivian had forewarned Sarah about Aaron’s abduction, but it didn’t happen in time. Had she stopped what she was doing in Europe to save Aaron, a lot of young girls would still be trafficked. In the end, a finger was a lower price to pay.

  Tell Aaron that.

  Sarah wondered what Vivian would do next. They had never really gone to this place in the past with each other. Ever since Sarah was eighteen she had been blindly listening to Vivian, doing as she asked.

  Vivian whispered, And staying alive because of it.

  That was the internal conflict. Sarah had grown to love her sister in ways she never thought possible. She trusted her, and over the last year or so, they had gotten even closer as Vivian could talk directly to her. Sarah would never deny that she loved having Vivian in her head. It was a comfort, and she preferred this over the original days when Sarah had to write all of Vivian’s messages down.

  If you’re listening, Vivian, which I think you are, all I’m asking for is forethought. You already have the big picture. Offer that to me, and we’ll move forward together as a team. Right now, I feel like a little silver ball inside a large pinball machine as I get buzzed around, banging into one life moment after the next, never knowing where I’ll end up, but at least knowing I’ll get to the finish line. That’s not enough anymore. That’s just not enough. I get hurt. The people around me get hurt. And what if I want to marry Aaron, have a baby one day? She rolled onto her side and stared at the curtains by the window. What if we have a baby one day? she repeated for Vivian’s sake. What would happen to my baby if you suddenly needed me to take off and fight some terrorist fundamentalists? Vivian, I need assurances. I need more than you’ve been giving me. I’ll be turning twenty-seven next April. We have evolved to this new place where you’re in my head. Evolve a little more and I would be honored to do your bidding. If trust is your problem, you have no reason to not trust me.

  Sarah waited for an answer, but none was forthcoming.

  The door clicked. Sarah glanced over as the door swung open. Her one chance to bolt from this fancy prison cell and she’s lying on the bed.

  Jane Turner entered the room followed by two tall men. The men took positions on either side of the door as it was closed from the other side, the lock falling back into place. The men had handguns on either side of their waists, along with what looked like an Uzi in their hands. The man on the right had to be almost seven feet tall and over three hundred pounds. Definitely someone she didn’t want to tussle with. The man on the left was smaller, leaner. He reminded her of Aaron’s physique. Strong, tight, like a black belt fighter should be. The Uzi in his hands didn’t fit his image. He would be more menacing without it.

  Turner walked to the window, an ugly smirk on her face. She was rich and got what she wanted out of the people in her life or she ostracized them. Just look at her son. This woman wasn’t used to not getting her own way.

  “I came in here to tell you a story,” Turner said. She pulled the curtains aside and leaned on the windowsill. “One that will shock and disgust you. When I’m done, I will ask for your help again. If you refuse, you will stay here as my guest until the deal is done. When I return, you will be free to go. I have lawyers and papers drawn up that show you asked to stay here to aid in your withdrawal symptoms.” She turned from the window. “My doctor and my son will testify to that fact if you choose to take legal action against me for this,” she waved a hand in the air, “forcible confinement.”

  Sarah sat up on the bed. “Coffee? Let’s talk over coffee.”

  Jane appeared surprised. She probably didn’t expect that response after her little speech. She gestured at the two men at the door. The lithe one on the left slipped a hand inside his pocket and pushed something. The door clicked and began sliding open. He moved sideways and disappeared into the hall as the door closed behind him.

  “If you decide to work with me, I have papers drawn up to offer you the one million in cash as I mentioned before.”

  “Fair enough.” Sarah lay back on the bed. “Your story?”

  Without pause, Jane stated, “I was very young when I got married. I was raised in India even though I don’t look Indian. My marriage was arranged when I was ten years old. It’s different here and in America. But that sort of thing still goes on in India.”

  “I’ve heard of that. Isn’t it a custom, a way of life over there?” Sarah could listen, have coffee, and wait for her sister to respond to her plea. Whatever happened, she would leave this room doing her sister’s bidding or dropping the vigilante stuff for good. If Vivian couldn’t see that Sarah was ready for the big picture, then she wasn’t ready for any of it anymore.

  “Is rape a way of life?” Jane asked.

  Sarah met Jane’s eyes. She was telling the truth. Standing water glistened in her wide, round orbs, as she fought back tears.

  “Rape?”

  “I was raped several times before I was five years old. I nearly died on the operating table in New Delhi.”

  A pang of anger sliced through Sarah’s abdomen. How could anyone do that to a child?

  Jane moved across the room and sat in the chair her son had occupied when he told Sarah how his
mother hated him because he was gay. That talk seemed so long ago.

  “The men who raped me over and over were never brought to justice. Even though they were known to my family.”

  Vivian whispered, What she’s saying is true. Listen to her, Sarah. Open your heart, then you will know why you’re here.

  Sarah closed her eyes and focused hard to dispel the voice on the inside. Until Vivian offered her the whole picture, she was offline.