Losing Sarah (A Sarah Roberts Thriller Book 16) Read online

  King raised a hand. “Agent Puig, with all due—”

  “Sam’s fine.”

  “With all due respect, we were very close to meeting with people regarding a similar device on a different case. When you pulled us off—”

  “Same case.”

  Agent Puig seemed to enjoy cutting people off in mid-sentence. King would have to be wary of a woman in her position.

  “How is it the same case?” Fitzgerald asked.

  “The reason Jane Turner has been going to Bulgaria was to buy a device. We have reason to believe that device is in Vegas right now.”

  King cut in. “How are you in possession of our case files that—”

  “When the Bulgarians brought the device onto American soil, information was brought to my attention that a transaction was to take place in Vegas. We have intel on the Bulgarians entering the U.S. in Los Angeles. Then we lost them.” She put her hands together on the top of her desk, interlacing her fingers. “Jane Turner is coming here. We have not been able to locate the device yet. Furthermore, using my clearance to access open cases regarding the Bulgarians, my team discovered your investigation. We coordinated efforts and thought it best if you came here to work the case from Vegas.” She turned to type something on her computer. “It appears that the Turner family in Mexico has chartered a private jet for a flight from Rosarito to Las Vegas, landing here tomorrow morning at oh-eight-hundred hours.” Puig turned back to them. “You are being reassigned geographically, to work the case you started, here in Vegas. You will see your case to completion from this office. I can think of no one better than the two agents that have been working on this case from the beginning.”

  King and Fitzgerald exchanged a look.

  “I agree,” Fitzgerald said. “We’ll get started immediately.”

  “That is all for now. You have until tomorrow morning to be brought up to date on all we have. A team is being assembled to meet Turner’s plane in the morning. We will follow her people until the deal takes place, then do what we do best.”

  Fitzgerald stood. King followed suit.

  Puig typed on her computer again.

  “Go sleep a few hours,” Puig said. “Get cleaned up. I’m sure it’s been a long night.”

  They had been dismissed, but that was okay. Agent King didn’t mind Agent Puig after all. She was a no-nonsense kind of woman. But one thing Puig didn’t know was that Sarah Roberts was with Jane Turner and because of that, things could change at the last moment.

  With Sarah Roberts, King was worried everything could go to hell with that familiar hand basket before the device was seized and destroyed and all the bad guys swept up and charged accordingly.

  Call it a hunch. Call it whatever they wanted. King was sure things wouldn’t go as smoothly as a newly ironed shirt simply because Sarah was involved.

  No fucking way. Nothing was simple with Sarah.

  King was happy to be wrong about being summoned to Vegas. They weren’t being reassigned after all. They were being tasked to finish what they started.

  With pleasure.

  She couldn’t wait to see the look on Sarah’s face when this was all over and the FBI had her in custody.

  Chapter 46

  Jane had asked for biscuits and a pot of tea from her security guards as they continued their discussion of India.

  “My marriage was prearranged when I was thirteen,” Jane said between bites of an almond cookie. “Since my parents never reported the dozens of rapes I endured as a small child, it wasn’t a far stretch to have them basically sell me to a rich family. I was married at thirteen to Vihaan Singh, who at the time was fifty-four.”

  “What?” That got her. Sarah almost spit the crumbs out of her mouth.

  “By your response I can tell you’re not versed in some of the customs of the Indian way of life. It’s not all bad, but this is the sad part. My husband was rich and tired of me by the time I was twenty. You see, I wasn’t young enough for him anymore.”

  “I don’t know how much more I can take without hitting the next man I see.”

  “I know how you feel. India as a whole isn’t this way. Not all men are this way, either. Some are kind and gentle. Wouldn’t hurt a fly. I have spent my life without the pleasure of such a man, but alas, these are the cards I was dealt.”

  Sarah found it interesting that she would say not all men were like that, yet she wanted to kill a batch of Indian men at a conference that had nothing directly to do with her pain. Some of those men may be the kind and gentle men she had just referred to. What if they had wives and daughters back home who they protect with their wealth and status? And what about her son, Blair? Wasn’t he a kind and gentle soul? How could she say she didn’t have the pleasure of being around such a man when she lived with one right downstairs?

  “My husband had human traffickers bring him young girls. I call them traffickers because who else deals in the flesh of the young? I was banished to my part of our house in India when he had his visits. But I knew what was going on. Two of the maids on staff told me everything I needed to know.” She paused to drink from her tea. Sarah had forgotten all about hers. “When my husband fell ill, we had to come to the States for treatment. He died in Los Angeles.”

  Nothing in Jane’s face evoked sadness. If she was ever affected by her husband’s death, she was completely over it now.

  “Once he was buried, everything became mine. I sold off his textile business, liquidated everything and moved here where expenses are low and I could live in peace, surrounded by men still, but men who were paid to protect me, not violate me.”

  Sarah wondered how she had remained sane through her ordeal, then reminded herself she was talking to a sociopath, a woman made psycho by her environment in formidable years.

  Jane got to her feet and walked over to the dresser where a paperback novel sat. She flipped through the pages.

  “You ever read Greg Iles?” she asked.

  “A couple of them.”

  “This is my favorite. Sleep No More.”

  “Haven’t read that one.”

  “If you get the chance, do it. You’ll love it.” She set the book down and faced Sarah, her eyes glistening. “You said you’d help me earlier. Is that still your intention?”

  Sarah got to her feet, much steadier now as she’d eaten and had a few caffeine-filled beverages.

  “I will help you get the device and then place it to detonate and take as many Indian men to hell, as you put it, as we can. That is what I will do.” She stared at Jane, her eyes unwavering.

  She had to convince her she was telling the truth, otherwise Jane wouldn’t take her to the deal in Vegas. Without Sarah being at the deal, she wouldn’t be able to stop Jane from killing so many innocent people.

  The reason Sarah was in this house, in this family’s life, was to stop a terrorist act on American soil. She knew that now and a part of her thanked Vivian for not telling her the whole story in this case. Getting to Jane, having her trust Sarah through the withdrawal process, allowed Sarah to be a part of the team. She was hard pressed to see another way to be in this exact spot in time with this window of opportunity closing quickly if Vivian hadn’t done it the way she had.

  “Good,” Jane said as she started for the door. “Our plane leaves in the morning. We fly to Las Vegas, make the deal with the Bulgarians, and plant the bomb.” She stopped by the door and placed a hand on it. “I have a booth reserved in the heart of the Sands Expo. We will set our law enforcement booth up. The bomb will be placed under the front table. I will tell you more as it becomes available.”

  Sarah was grateful for the break in the speech. Leaving her to rest, and maybe talk to Vivian, would allow her to prepare a plan. She needed more to go on and she needed to know she would come out of this in one piece.

  The door clicked without Jane asking for it to open. The lanky black-belt looking guy stepped in and nearly bumped into Jane.

  “Emergency. We need to leave. I have the pilot
in the chopper. He’s getting it warmed up.”

  Jane took a step back. “What emergency?”

  “Four Mexican police officers were found slaughtered earlier today. The authorities are hunting a man named Parkman and Aaron Stevens,” he pointed at Sarah, “her boyfriend. There was a third man at the scene, but his name hasn’t been released yet.”

  “What’s this got to do with Sarah?” Jane asked, looking from Sarah to Lanky, then back to Sarah. “She’s been here for days.” Her voice took on an incredulous tone. “Sarah would’ve had nothing to do with it.”

  “Our contact at the police station just called. At least twenty officers are on their way here to take Sarah back into custody. They think she knows where Aaron and Parkman might be hiding. If they take Sarah alive, that’ll be the last anyone sees of her.”

  Jane gestured wildly with her hand. “C’mon, c’mon, Sarah. We have to go. He’s right. Downstairs to the chopper.” She turned to Lanky. “Get my son on that chopper downstairs. He comes with us. Then call the airport. Get the jet ready. We fly to Vegas now. No delays. Gather your men and meet me on the chopper. Go. Now.”

  Lanky jumped back through the door. She heard him say from around the corner, “The jet is at the airport, fueled and waiting for our arrival.”

  As Sarah ran down the hallway with Jane, happy to get out of that guest room for good, Jane shouted over her shoulder, “See Sarah, not all men are useless. Some of them actually think.”

  She barely registered what Jane said as she tried to process Lanky’s words. Four Mexican police officers slaughtered. Manhunt for Parkman and Aaron. A third man? Who? Drake Bellamy? And why would they kill cops? What the hell had happened while she was laid up in that bed in that ugly guest room?

  Had the world gone mad?

  Sarah got into the chopper along with Blair and three other men, and they lifted off. From a hundred feet up, she witnessed a long line of cars as they kicked up road dust en route to Jane’s mansion.

  Sarah shuddered at how close she came to being taken by the Mexican authorities. Vivian must’ve foreseen this too. Saw that Sarah’s only way out of Mexico was with Jane Turner and her family. Saw that Sarah’s life depended on just living it with Vivian steering things once in a while.

  Maybe the arrangement they had for so many years did work. It didn’t mean Sarah couldn’t get pissed about it at times, though.

  But Vivian understood her sister better than Sarah understood herself. Didn’t she?

  The helicopter stayed close to the ground as it raced toward the airfield while Sarah’s thoughts turned to Aaron and Parkman.

  Make it out alive, guys. I don’t know what I’d do without you two.

  She shut her eyes and whispered a prayer for their safety.

  Whether God heard it or not, she was sure Vivian was listening.

  Vivian was always listening.

  Chapter 47

  Ten blocks from the American Embassy, Whitman turned the corner of the street that led to the casino where the accident happened on the night Sarah and Aaron checked into the hotel. He had made it out the back of the embassy in the chaos that ensued. The authorities at the embassy had ordered all personnel out of the building while they checked for a fire. While all available personnel searched the inside of the embassy, the rest were outside guarding the fence and gate. The Mexican authorities weren’t stupid enough to attack the embassy.

  It gave Whitman the chance to slip by the guard at the gate who had just been replaced. To enter the embassy, ID was required. Security vetted all visitors. But to leave, you just needed to walk through the turnstile, like at most subway stations.

  Whitman was out and walking briskly away from the embassy long before they learned it was a false alarm. Parkman would be angry, as would that Casper guy. How the hell did a man as powerful as Casper get a name like that?

  He slowed as he neared the hotel. A uniformed Mexican police officer stepped from behind a bush by the front entrance of the hotel and casino. They didn’t have his description yet unless they traced him to the car rental. That could take several hours. Could he gamble on them not knowing his face? How much of a risk was it? Could they have done the trace on the car already, his picture distributed to the officers ahead?

  Another cop came into view twenty feet ahead. Whitman stopped to pretend to read something on his phone. He waited a few seconds, then looked up as if he was lost and scanned the street looking for a street sign. He counted seven uniformed officers and at least three other men who could pass as cops in civilian clothing standing within a block radius of the hotel.

  Shit. Now what?

  If Spencer was inside, Whitman couldn’t risk meeting up with him now. He looked down at his phone and called Spencer’s number. It rang until his voicemail picked up.

  Shit.

  This was trouble. He had thought he could meet with Spencer, fill him in and decide what to do. Maybe Jane Turner would let him in to see Sarah as he was a friend. He was sure Sarah would want to see him. Then they could decide on how to extract her from Jane’s clutches, if that’s what it took.

  But with this many cops, something else was brewing and meeting with Spencer was off the table. But without him, Whitman was aimless. What now? Rent another car? They’d see that and track him. Buy a plane ticket out of Mexico? Leave without Aaron or Sarah?

  This was bad and getting worse.

  He slipped the phone into his pocket and turned back the way he’d come. Two men walked toward him. They came with the physical confidence of police officers. Arms moving at their sides, long wide strides, purpose driven. There was nothing he could do but continue walking toward them. Any evasive move now would alert them, not to mention the dozen or so men standing around a block behind him.

  They drew closer. He kept his cool, tried not to think about how he was walking. Tried not to look suspicious, even though he felt like he was walking guilty, like he’d just stolen a candy bar and they were going to see that written all over his face.

  The man on the right pulled out a wallet and flipped it open.

  “Police,” he said from ten feet away. “We need to see your ID.”

  They moved closer. He kept walking. There was no play here. He alone had murdered those officers. The authorities were hunting him for killing those men. He wouldn’t last an hour in police custody. There was no play here. Nothing left but to hurt these men and run.

  Run for his life. Something he’d done before. Running was familiar.

  “Yeah, sure,” Whitman said as he reached in his pocket. “Is there some problem?”

  The cops stopped in front of him. “No problem. Just checking ID.”

  A car’s engine revved behind him. It had to be reinforcements. He was doomed if he didn’t get out of this now. His stomach flipped and his knees wobbled, threatening to buckle.

  Come on, Whitman. Just do this and move on with life.

  He brought his left hand out of his pants pocket and held it up as high as his face, out to the left, staring at it. As he expected, both men looked at his empty hand.

  “Look at that,” Whitman said. “No ID.”

  While their attention was diverted, he drove his right fist—a sucker punch—into the guy standing closest. It connected below the jaw on the side of his neck, enough to make him drop to the pavement but not enough to collapse his trachea.

  The other guy was already swinging Whitman’s way, but Whitman anticipated that reaction. The moment the other man fell, Whitman dropped to his knee and drove his left fist into the other man’s groin. Two hits and both men were leveled, writhing in pain.

  His knees hurt because he dropped too hard on them, but that was the least of his worries.

  The car that had revved a moment ago screeched to a halt almost on top of him. A whistle blew. A man shouted for him to stop even as he clambered to his feet.

  “Get in!” the voice yelled.

  Spencer.

  Whitman hadn’t planned on turning around.
He had plans on running until he made the corner where he would disappear inside one of the other hotels. But when he heard Spencer’s voice, he dove over the hood of the car, landed on the other side and hopped in the passenger seat as at least ten men ran up the block toward them.

  “Go!” Whitman shouted.

  Over the squeal of car tires, the back window blew out in a shower of glass. Spencer ducked sideway at the same moment Whitman lay out on the seat, banging their heads together.

  “For fuck sakes,” Whitman shouted.

  Spencer managed to keep the car on the road even as bullets punched the back bumper and punctured the trunk. Then they were around the corner and the gunfire stopped. They sat up at the same time.