The Pact (A Sarah Roberts Thriller Book 17) Page 18

  The knocking came again, louder this time.

  He ran for the door, his stomach churning at the thought of losing Clara.

  At any point, if he fucked this up, Clara was dead and he wouldn’t let a stupid cop stop him from saving Clara’s life.

  Even if that meant he had to kill the cop, too.

  Chapter 31

  Street by street, winding his way throughout neighborhood after neighborhood, Parkman had passed only five people at that time of night. The streets of Skanderborg were relatively empty now that the Burning of the Witch was over. No one resembled the man in the thick coat.

  Parkman hadn’t seen Sarah either. Frustrated that he was missing something, he stopped by the train station to check their arrival schedule. Not another train until three in the morning and then at five.

  Directionless, which sucked for him as the private investigator of the bunch, he grabbed his cell phone and dialed long distance to Caleb’s house in Santa Rosa while chewing on a toothpick.

  It was answered on the first ring.

  “Caleb, it’s Parkman.”

  “Good news or bad?” Caleb asked.

  “No news.”

  There was a pause on the other end of the line. Parkman lumbered toward the street light in front of the train station.

  “What’s happening?” Caleb asked. “You’re in Skanderborg, right?”

  Parkman spit the toothpick out. “Yeah. I still don’t know why, though.”

  “Has to be Sarah related. Aaron called yesterday to update me after Sarah left Toronto. One sec,” the phone pulled away. Parkman detected the punching of keys on a keyboard. “Here it is. I just brought up the flight to Billund. Sarah landed hours ago.” Caleb’s mouth moved closer to the phone. “That’s an hour’s drive to where you are. That means she is most likely in Skanderborg and has been for hours.”

  Parkman made it to the light where he turned in a full circle, as if Sarah was close to enough to see. It angered him to know she was somewhere in the same small town and he had no idea where.

  “I haven’t seen her. I’m at the train station. It’s just after twelve-thirty in the morning here and I’ve got nothing, Caleb. Could use some help.”

  “Here, I’ll text you an address.”

  “Whose?”

  “A man named Anton Olafson. He’s Clara’s father. I got it from Aaron. They have Clara safe and secure in Toronto. When Sarah headed for Skanderborg, as far as I was led to believe, she was supposed to go to Anton’s—” Parkman’s phone dinged as a message was received “—house to talk to him about his daughter. Maybe the man’s address will help.”

  “I got the message,” Parkman said. Then a thought occurred to him as he started across the road on the green light. “Hey Caleb. Is there a chance you have a picture of Anton Olafson?”

  “Sure, I have it somewhere. I looked his name up after Aaron gave it to me. I wanted to see if he was a police captain or a warden of a prison or some shit that would make Sarah’s life difficult. Turns out he works for the Danish National Cyber Crime Center out of Aarhus.”

  Parkman continued walking toward the center of town, anxious to get the picture so he would know what Anton looked like when he saw him. If Sarah was supposed to check this guy out, maybe that was where she was now.

  “Here it is,” Caleb said. “I’ll text it to you in a minute. Anything else happening?”

  “Nothing, really. They burned a witch here tonight.”

  “What?” Caleb gasped. “They did what?”

  “Look it up when you have a moment. Too much to explain now and I don’t have the full story. Some kind of celebration to mark something in European history. Anyway, after the burning, I chased a guy who pepper sprayed two girls. Other than that, nothing doing in Skanderborg.”

  There was a pause again.

  “Caleb?” Parkman said.

  “Yeah. I’m here. Just don’t like it.”

  “Like what?”

  “Sarah’s there. Vivian sent her. You’re there for a reason. Just worried something’ll go wrong. I hope this witch burning thing isn’t some kind of cosmic foreshadowing.”

  “I know. Sarah’s not a witch, though.”

  “It’s just, Sarah’s all we have and she’s always off fighting someone. When she has Vivian in her head, we feel pretty good about it. But it’s all upside down right now. These messages Vivian wrote are twenty-five years old.” He coughed, then cleared his throat. “Parkman, you’d think having kids would be easier.”

  “Is it ever easy?” Parkman asked.

  In the background, Amelia called out Caleb’s name.

  “Look, Parkman, I have to go. I’m at the end of the phone line here if you need anything, just call.”

  “Yeah. All I need is the picture of Anton. I should be good for the night after that.”

  “Sending it as soon as we hang up.”

  “Be strong, Caleb. This’ll all be over soon.”

  “I will. Gotta run.”

  Parkman clicked off and checked the address Caleb had sent him. He fed it into his maps application and assessed the distance from where he was. Anton’s house was a ten-minute walk away.

  He zoomed in on the location for a better look at the area. The house was on the water. Two houses down from the rowing club. On the path that led from the library. Earlier tonight he had been on that path, walking right behind Anton’s house.

  He pulled the pack of toothpicks from his back pocket and almost dropped them. Once one was in the corner of his mouth, he slipped the pack away and started off.

  After a few blocks, he turned down a street to his left, following the phone’s directions. When he hadn’t received the picture of Anton from Caleb, he texted him asking for it as he was coming up on Anton’s house in a few minutes.

  On the access to Anton’s street, Parkman slowed and took it all in. When the rowing club was to his left, his cell phone dinged.

  He opened his messages and downloaded the picture of Anton Olafson that Caleb had snatched off the Internet.

  The second it loaded and lit up Parkman’s cell phone screen, he knew who it was.

  Anton Olafson was the man in the thick coat. He was the man Parkman had chased and was looking for the past few hours. And now he knew how Anton had escaped. The man lived on the path he had used to get away.

  Parkman strode the last twenty feet and stopped in front of Anton’s house. A light flickered somewhere inside the house. He took a deep breath and detected the residual scent of pepper spray.

  He dropped to his knees in the dark to move closer to the heart of the smell. The flashlight application on his iPhone lit up the side of the street. Near the shoulder of the road, he found a piece of paper from a Toronto hotel pad. On it was a diagram of the area with a large X marking Olafson’s house.

  Clara must’ve drawn this for Sarah to guide her to the house. Since the paper was no longer in Sarah’s possession, she had to be inside Anton’s house.

  He got to his feet and put his phone away. He studied the house, flipping the toothpick from side to side. Without wasting another moment, Parkman marched toward the front door and banged on it hard. After a moment, he spit the toothpick out and banged on the door again.

  If Anton Olafson had attacked those girls in public earlier tonight, what would he be doing to Sarah in private?

  If Anton had done anything to Sarah, he would not just break a few bones, he would break the man in half. The man would eat with a straw for months and not speak right again until Parkman had Sarah home and safe.

  Parkman was in Skanderborg for Sarah. It would be his fault if anything happened to her. It was his fault because the man with the thick coat had been in spitting distance of Parkman earlier this evening and he had let him get away.

  If anything happened to Sarah, how could he live with himself?

  He banged on the door again.

  Even harder this time.

  Chapter 32

  Aaron approached the closed h
otel room door tentatively, making sure to give Alex enough time to get into position as much as staying cautious to not be surprised by Ansgar. The Clock could’ve simply entered his room, did a fast search of what was left behind, then step out just as Aaron went to knock.

  The problem with the hotel hallway was the lack of escape routes as all the other room’s doors were locked. The only exit were the stairwells at either ends of the hall—one beside Ansgar’s door—and the elevator.

  Aaron was fast, though. If he detected the lock disengaging, he could turn and race the length of the hall in seconds. He couldn’t outrun a bullet, but he could certainly try to not have to deal with one.

  At the edge of Ansgar’s door, he leaned in closer and listened. The room beyond the door was silent. He waited a moment longer but heard nothing.

  Could Ansgar have already left and headed back downstairs? If so, the clerk would tell him about Aaron and Alex and that they took a key for the room above Ansgar’s.

  He had wasted enough time. Alex would have already gained access to the room above Ansgar’s and would be dropping down to the balcony by now. Aaron had moved slowly, cautiously, but Alex wouldn’t have been slowed down on the eleventh floor.

  Aaron stretched his arms, did one squat to wake muscles up, took a deep breath and knocked on Ansgar’s door. It unnerved him that he didn’t have a weapon. If Ansgar opened the door with a gun, things could get dicey fast. Aaron believed Ansgar wouldn’t shoot first. He would want to know where they’d stashed Clara. At least that’s what Aaron was banking on.

  When the door remained shut, he knocked again.

  On the third knock, Aaron was sure Ansgar wasn’t in the room. A shadow hadn’t clouded the door’s peep hole the entire time.

  He placed an ear to the surface of the door and stopped breathing to listen.

  Nothing.

  A lock clicked.

  Aaron jumped back from the door and almost bumped into the door of the room behind him, which had been Clara’s room. He didn’t bump into it because it had opened.

  The second he gained his balance, a firm object bumped into the back of his skull at the top of his vertebrae.

  “A Glock 17,” Ansgar said behind him, “can do significant damage at this close range.” Ansgar’s voice was all nasal. “I wouldn’t budge. Not so much as a whiff of breath. If a tiny hair on your head moves the wrong way, I’ll get to see just how much damage a Glock 17 can do.”

  A pounding in his ears increased as he eased air in and out through his mouth. He had been foiled. Ansgar must have figured he’d be followed and had sequestered himself in Clara’s room, where he waited for Aaron to come knocking.

  “Move slow,” Ansgar ordered. “Start toward my room across the hall. Do anything I don’t like and I will end your life. The sound-suppressor on my Glock works expertly. Now move.”

  Aaron willed his right foot forward, then his left. If he dodged fast enough to the right and raised a foot backwards into Ansgar’s crotch, he might have a chance. Maybe an elbow to the face. Without disarming Ansgar, The Clock, the ex-Navy Seal sniper, Aaron wasn’t sure he’d live through any attempt to attack him.

  Another step. Then another. The gun didn’t go off. Aaron was now inside Ansgar’s room as the door was unlocked.

  “Move toward the bed.”

  Ansgar jammed the tip of the weapon into Aaron, nudging him forward. He scanned the room for Alex as he walked slowly toward the bed.

  The gun wasn’t against his flesh anymore. Ansgar had pulled away from him. The sound of the door closing behind him told him why. The lock clicked home. They were alone in Ansgar’s room.

  “Turn around,” Ansgar said.

  Aaron did, slowly, keeping his hands away from his sides in a non-threatening manner. Really, he just wanted his hands up and ready to do something when needed.

  “How’s your friend?” Ansgar asked, a wry smile pasted on his lips.

  Aaron ground his teeth and glared at the man standing across from him. Ansgar shrugged, then moved toward the chair in the corner. He sat on the arm of the chair, the gun resting down on his leg. It was a taunt. An are-you-faster-than-my-gun tease. At this point, Aaron wasn’t interested in testing it.

  “Where’s the other friend?” Ansgar asked. “The smaller one.”

  Aaron didn’t respond.

  “Why didn’t you just drive away? You could’ve regrouped. Thought about a better plan than coming up here unarmed. Pretty stupid of you, wasn’t it?”

  After another moment, Ansgar got up and approached Aaron. The Glock was level and aimed at Aaron’s stomach.

  “You’re supposed to be dead,” Ansgar said. “How did you know I had planted the bombs at your dojo? And knowing that, why didn’t you do something when I talked to you that morning about joining the classes?”

  Ansgar seemed to study Aaron’s face, looking at his chin, then his forehead. He placed the weapon up under Aaron’s chin.

  “You can answer my questions,” Ansgar said. “I won’t bite. Not yet, anyway.”

  Aaron studied the bandages on Ansgar’s face. The damage Sarah did in such a short time was eye candy to Aaron. He let a smile play across his lips.

  Ansgar raised the gun and placed it against Aaron’s forehead.

  “Look up at the gun. I have something to tell you.”

  Aaron stared at Ansgar’s face.

  “I said,” Ansgar jammed the gun forward, knocking Aaron’s head back, “look up at the gun.”

  Aaron complied with Ansgar’s request. The second his eyes landed on the Glock, a lightning bolt of pain shot through his abdomen and he crumpled to the floor.

  When he looked up, the man had kneed Aaron in the crotch. Aaron rolled into a tight ball and moaned. The unique pain of being hit between the legs rippled through his body while Ansgar laughed.

  “Big tough guy on the floor,” he said in a baby voice. “Whatcha gonna do, widdle baby?”

  Ropes landed on Aaron’s chest.

  “Tie yourself up. Start with the ankles. I’ll do the wrists.”

  The pain hadn’t even begun to subside when Ansgar kicked him in the back.

  Aaron arched like a landed fish on the floor of a boat, then curled back into a ball.

  “I said, tie yourself up,” Ansgar roared.

  Aaron eased out of the ball he’d formed and tried to straighten his body. His eyes had watered and the room was a blur, but he still caught the movement behind the curtain. Ansgar had his back to the room’s small balcony.

  The curtains whooshed up as if a soft breeze ruffled them, then Alex suddenly appeared behind Ansgar.

  Aaron wiped his eyes and got into the best defensive position he could on his back.

  “I told you to tie yourself—” Ansgar stopped talking. He must have detected the change in the room because he spun around, bringing the Glock up to pistol whip whomever was behind him.

  Alex easily ducked out of the way of Ansgar’s swipe, jumped sideways, pushed off the wall to gain height, and landed on Ansgar’s back. Ansgar was a large man, muscular and thick compared to the lithe Alex. But Alex knew pressure points and how to cripple a man with his fingertips, no matter what the man weighed or how much he could bench press.

  The second Alex had landed on Ansgar, the man rushed backwards toward the wall. Alex seemed to have a grip on the man’s neck but whatever he was going for was too little too late. Ansgar grunted and his left side slanted downward as he smashed into the wall. Alex was sandwiched momentarily between the large man and the wall.

  Powerless to help, Aaron watched as Ansgar snapped his head back barely missing Alex’s face. Then Ansgar rammed elbow after elbow into Alex’s abdomen as he held him pinned against the wall by shear force.

  As fast as it started, it was over. Ansgar jumped away from the wall. Alex crumpled to the floor, rolled sideways, and hopped behind the curtain again.

  Other than grunts, they fought without a word.

  The intense pain flared in his crotc
h as Aaron tried to get to his feet.

  Ansgar tracked Alex with the Glock in his hand that was aimed at the curtain.

  Aaron leaned against the bed, halfway to a full standing position. A pffft sounded from the Glock as a bullet exited the silencer. The curtains kicked up where the bullet hit.

  Ansgar shot at the curtains again.

  From his side of the room, Aaron saw Alex jump onto the small balcony of the tenth floor hotel room. There was no escape for Alex.