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

  That little voice had to be insane. There was no way out of this. Even if she somehow got the vest off, stopped Jane, and saved the day, she would die of radiation poisoning.

  But wasn’t Sarah a fighter, the voice asked.

  Sarah tried to nod her head, but couldn’t. Old habits.

  Give me the chance, I’ll fight.

  Then be ready, the voice said. Just be ready.

  Is that you, Vivian? Sarah asked.

  There was no reply as Jane turned onto the main highway heading to Vegas with Blair in the back and Sarah sprawled out on the seat, waiting for the Grim Reaper’s arms to take them.

  Jane laughed to herself as she drove.

  A moment later, she was laughing hysterically, the sheer volume of her voice raising goose bumps of anger in Sarah.

  The laughter died as suddenly as it started and Jane began mumbling to herself.

  She mumbled until the neon lights of Vegas came into sight as they passed the windows Sarah could see through. It had to be around lunch time. There was less than four hours until the bomb was to auto-detonate.

  Only four hours to live. Or less.

  She asked forgiveness for the people about to die and prayed for her soul as the SUV traveled deeper into the heart of Las Vegas carrying death with it.

  Chapter 56

  Aaron watched as Detective Collins scanned the list of attendees for the International Lawmakers Conference, his finger stopping on anything that seemed remotely related to Jane Turner. Nothing significant had shown up. Special Agent in Charge Samantha Puig had printed photos of Sarah Roberts, Jane Turner, and Blair Turner distributed to all security staff at the Sands Expo. Detective Collins had done the same with the Las Vegas Police Department. As far as Aaron understood it, if Sarah or Jane were to come within a dozen meters of the Sands Expo, they would be stopped.

  As a precaution, if this wasn’t their final destination, every cop on the street—and every available FBI agent—was looking for them as directed by FBI’s Joint Terrorism Task Force.

  Parkman assured Aaron that Sarah would be found and Jane would be stopped before anything happened. But Aaron wasn’t willing to be so optimistic. Since the Enzo Cartel, things had gone from bad to worse.

  Outside the convention center, car after car stopped and let people out. Four police cruisers sat parked along the side of the building. Aaron had mentioned a few times that the cruisers needed to be moved. If Jane Turner saw a large police presence, she might flee the area and disappear until she showed up somewhere else, too late for anyone to stop her.

  A few hundred people were inside setting up their booths for the weekend-long show, but the FBI had forbidden Aaron from entering the building to look around. Agent Puig had made that very clear when she detained Aaron before he could leave the FBI building. This was an FBI investigation. He only knew as much as he did because of his connection to Sarah, otherwise he would be completely in the dark.

  To Aaron’s right, standing in the shade of the building, out of the direct sun, Spencer, Whitman, and Parkman talked in hushed tones.

  “Collins?” Aaron said. “Anything?”

  Detective Collins looked up from the conference guide and shrugged. “Nothing pops out at me. I have no idea if one of these booths is Jane’s or if she’s targeting one of them. We don’t know enough about her to understand which one she’d be after or even what her interest is with this trade show.”

  “You’ll let us know the second she shows up on your radar?”

  “Of course. You guys’ll be the first to know.”

  Aaron patted Collins’ shoulder and thanked him, then backed away to join the Toronto men talking to Parkman.

  “Anything?” Parkman asked.

  Aaron shook his head. “They can’t seem to narrow their focus on a point of interest for Jane. No one knows why she would pick this conference, if she even picked it all. We’re all here because a maid found a note in a motel. That particular note could have been written by Jane to throw the authorities off track. For all we know, she could be planning an attack on the Stratosphere as we sit here with our thumbs up our asses.”

  “Aaron, this is all we have to go on. So we go on it. Until something else comes up, this is all we have. That’s how it works.”

  Aaron nodded and looked away, avoiding Parkman’s gaze.

  “I know you’re frustrated, Aaron. I am, too. But we’ll get through this. Most importantly, Sarah will get through this. She always does.”

  Aaron watched the vehicles coming and going. Men, women, some in uniforms, others just working the show, everyone with their trade show badges dangling from their necks.

  Nothing whatsoever looked off. He had no hunches, no intuition, nothing telling him anything was wrong. It was just another Friday in Las Vegas as convention presenters prepared their booths and got ready to show the attendees their wares. This conference had everything from security systems to police training to K-9 units, and even robotic security guards to booths covering police officer theory and philosophy. In the law enforcement industry, there was a vast array of objects, people, and ideas on how to do it better, and this show was about putting all that on display.

  Maybe Jane had a problem with law enforcement. Perhaps she wanted to show the world that even the law enforcement convention could be attacked. Perhaps it was as simple as that.

  “Aaron?” someone said.

  He came out of his daze and turned to Parkman.

  “I said your name a few times,” Parkman said. “You doing okay?”

  “Yeah, just thinking. You guys come up with anything?”

  Whitman and Spencer both shook their heads.

  Parkman stepped around Aaron and peered at the side doors. “We’re thinking of spreading out around the entrances to the convention center and doing our own surveillance. Agent Puig won’t like us too close, but we can stay out on the street.” He turned back to Aaron. “You in?”

  “Nothing better to do. Can’t stand here all day.”

  “Spencer and I will enter the casino and watch from that side where people can access the Expo. You two want to watch these doors?”

  Aaron nodded. Whitman nodded, too.

  They separated, leaving Whitman standing too close to Aaron.

  “You don’t need to worry about me,” Whitman said.

  “I know.” Aaron kept his eyes on Parkman and Spencer as they headed toward the front of the Venetian.

  “I mean, I came to see Sarah to thank her for saving my life. Meet you, buy you guys dinner. Just chat. Reconnect. Then this happened.”

  “I didn’t get a chance to thank you for what you did back at that shack in Mexico.”

  “No need to. You would’ve done the same for me.” Whitman slapped Aaron on the back.

  Aaron glanced at Whitman’s hand, not used to people touching him. Whitman took his hand back.

  They stood together, watching cars come and go for five minutes without a word from either one.

  “I’ve probably not been the most receptive since you showed up,” Aaron said. “I just got suspicious. I mean, you were supposed to be dead.”

  “Yeah, there’s that. I understand.”

  And that was about as close of an apology as Aaron wanted to offer at the moment.

  After another dozen cars came and went, he faced Whitman and offered his hand.

  “Friends,” Aaron said, knowing Parkman had left them together to talk or beat the shit out of each other.

  “Friends,” Whitman said, taking Aaron’s hand.

  They shook. When he released Whitman’s hand, a hearse pulled up to his left. It caught his eye because a woman was driving it. He usually didn’t see women driving hearses.

  Her hair was pulled up and stuffed under a chauffeur hat. She wore a white shirt and suit jacket. He wondered how a hearse contributed to a law enforcement conference as the driver parked and got out. A side glimpse of her face revealed a nose swollen to twice its normal size.

  Standi
ng by the open door of the hearse, the woman gazed at the four police cars, then at the entrance. After a long moment, she seemed to make up her mind and closed her door. It was a law enforcement conference after all. Of course there would be police officers.

  In the second the woman looked their way, Aaron was sure he recognized her.

  “Whitman, do you have one of those photo sheets Puig was handing out?”

  “Yeah. Right here.” He yanked it from his back pocket and unfolded it.

  Aaron stared at the photo of Jane Turner. He studied her eyes, then glanced back at the hearse driver.

  It was her. Jane Turner. No doubt about it.

  Aaron dropped the photo sheet and stepped forward.

  Jane was near the back of the hearse. From under the lip of her driver’s hat, she watched Aaron, still forty feet away. He felt her eyes on him like laser pointers.

  Without waiting a second more, he broke into a run, Whitman close on his heels.

  The hearse driver scurried to the driver’s door, ripped it open, hopped in and slammed the door shut before Aaron had gotten halfway there.

  The hearse’s tires squealed as it shot out of its parking spot. The driver careened wildly off the front bumper of one of the parked police cars and shot out into an opening in the traffic, heading toward the Las Vegas Strip.

  Chapter 57

  By the time the SUV had come to a stop inside a small warehouse of some kind, one of Sarah’s fingers had started to move slightly. With her shoes on, it was hard to tell if any toes moved yet.

  Jane got out of the vehicle, opened the back hatch and started doing something to Blair. From the little Sarah could see, this wasn’t the conference building. They were in an oversized garage. A hearse was in her line of vision beside the SUV, but that was the only other vehicle she saw with her limited ability of movement.

  Jane mumbled something to Blair as she worked, breathing loudly through her ruined nose. It sounded like she was talking to him about her plans. She couldn’t be offering platitudes to her son because she didn’t care enough. She hated him for being gay and she hated him because he was a man. This was her way to deal with all that. Her way to fix the mistake that childbirth had been for her.

  Whatever she was doing sounded like tough work as she grunted and moaned between the things she said to him. Something heavy dragged across the cement floor. It stopped and the interior light of the hearse turned on. She had put Blair into something and was placing that something into the other vehicle.

  Why change vehicles? And why a hearse? That’s going to stand out. People look at hearses. This didn’t make any sense. Weren’t these bombs supposed to be for a trade show? How would she smuggle them in with a hearse?

  Sarah tried to move her finger again. It curled in nicely. She unfolded it. Wouldn’t be long now before Jane would learn the error of her ways.

  After a moment, something moved inside the hearse, shaking the vehicle slightly. Looking as far to the left as she could, Sarah barely made out the corner of something wooden through the small side window in the hearse.

  A coffin?

  Was Jane putting them in coffins?

  No fucking way. Vivian!

  The door opened behind Sarah and she instantly dropped out backwards as her back had been resting against the door handle. Jane caught her and eased her out the rest of the way, her feet falling lazily to the cement floor. When the door had opened, both her arms jerked as a reflex to catch herself, but Jane had missed the movement. The drug was wearing off. It was only a matter of time and she would be able to stop this. But then what? Where were they? How close to civilization? How many people would be hurt if Sarah tried to drive out of the city before four in the afternoon?

  “I want to let you know a few things, Sarah,” Jane said with her deeply nasal voice. “First, I appreciate your sacrifice. You could’ve stayed in Mexico. You could’ve refused my offer of one million dollars. But you didn’t. You chose the money over liberty.” Jane left her on the cold concrete while she moved out of eyesight to do something. “You fought me on this. You wanted to stop me.” Her voice echoed in the garage. “I know your type, Sarah. You only fight for personal gain.” She moved closer, dragging something. “You tried to beat me up and steal my million dollars. I know that now.”

  A loud thunk resounded throughout the building as Jane dropped whatever she was dragging. Then she was kneeling over Sarah, looking down at her through the space between her bent knees.

  “So because of that, you selfish cow, I want to explain a few things to you as I load you up for your last car ride.” Jane placed her hands under Sarah’s shoulders and lifted.

  Sometimes the insane possess strength the rest of us don’t have.

  As she placed her down, Jane said, “You and Blair are going to be my models.” Jane moved around to lift Sarah’s legs in. “On display, at the conference, in these plush-lined coffins. Only your eyes will move, freaking people out.” Jane straightened Sarah’s legs and pants. The feeling in certain areas of her legs was coming back. They tingled when Jane moved her. “My conference booth is all about the shooting of law enforcement officers across the States lately. Even with Kevlar vests, people are going to see more dead cops if tensions aren’t lowered.” She raised her hands. “You see, you and Blair in these coffins works. Wearing your vests and unable to move, until BOOM!” she yelled. Sarah jolted under her skin but kept her hands still.

  Jane slid a strap across Sarah’s chest as these coffins had no lids.

  “This’ll hold you in place until I set you up at my booth.”

  From the little she saw of the belt, it looked like a regular strap. Jane wasn’t concerned with tying her in as Sarah couldn’t escape without the use of her limbs.

  Once the strap was tightened, Jane raised her hand and brought it down across Sarah’s face. Without being able to move away or defend herself, her cheek took the whole bite of the slap. It stung like a dozen bees had attacked her.

  Jane raised her hand from the other way and slapped her other cheek.

  “How’s that feel?” Jane asked. “It hurt my hand so I can only imagine the pain you’re in.”

  Sarah tried to scream, but nothing worked yet except her one hand.

  Jane worked to take her shoe off and raised it above Sarah’s face.

  “I don’t want to hurt my hand anymore.”

  Oh shit.

  Everything in her mind told her to bring her arms up, move her face away, but the defiance in her limbs and muscles continued as the heel of the dress shoe Jane wore connected with Sarah’s cheek, breaking the skin.

  Fuck!

  Then again, from the other side as Jane emitted a maniacal laugh.

  The shoe came down another time, then another, and all Sarah could do was lie there and watch it happen, blinking each time to protect her eyes. Blood painted the bottom of Jane’s shoe as she lifted it for the sixth time. The pain was maddening, making her want to crawl out and away from her skin.

  Jane’s laughter stopped abruptly. The shoe lowered and she slipped it back on her foot. Sarah’s eyes leaked tears at the pain. She couldn’t scream, she couldn’t fight. There was nothing she could do with the madness around her but endure.

  “Sorry about that. A little payback for earlier, out by the church.” She leaned in the coffin and wiped dirt and small pebbles from Sarah’s cheeks. One pebble, stuck in the skin, made Jane dig at it with her nail. Sarah wondered if this was a version of insanity. Something patients dealt with when being worked on by a Nazi doctor.

  “You’re the model who scuffled with the bad guy before being shot.”

  Jane got up and began to drag the coffin toward the hearse.

  “Inside your vest, there are two electrical leads,” Jane said. “They are separated by a plug with a small bridge wire. Open the vest, break the bridge wire, the squib ignites. Cut the wire, either one, the vest blows.” She set the coffin down by the back of the hearse. “Are you listening to me?” She ye
lled.

  Sarah squirmed on the inside as the pain in her cheeks had gone to a dull, numbing ache. Blood rolled down past her ears, cool and wet.

  Jane lifted the end of the coffin and placed it on the back of the hearse, then walked around and lifted the other end before she shoved. The coffin slid in easily until it clunked to a stop. Blair’s coffin was beside hers. The plush pillow her head rested on afforded a peripheral view of Blair’s coffin. Neither had a lid, which Sarah was grateful for. She breathed deep, focusing on something other than the pain. Ignore the pain. There were more important things than pain. Like getting her muscles working again.