The Pact (A Sarah Roberts Thriller Book 17) Read online

  “It’s this.”

  Jessy twisted around and leaned forward to reveal a large white bandage taped to the back of her shoulder.

  “Tattoo?” he asked.

  She twisted back to face him. “Yup.”

  “Of what?”

  “A three-headed dragon.”

  He recoiled as if slapped. “A three-headed dragon? What the hell for?” Pain flashed in her eyes briefly. He tried to calm his reaction. “I’m sorry, what I mean is, how is that tattoo significant to you?”

  These fucking emos and their gentle egos.

  “The dragon itself represents my inner fire.”

  “Oh, yeah,” he blurted out. “I can see that. Inner fire. Yup.”

  She actually thought his sarcasm was a genuine comment. She continued without missing a beat.

  “Each head of the dragon represents my three dimensions.”

  He stepped back and leaned against the wall dramatically. “Wow,” he gasped. “What dimensions? Pray tell.”

  Jessy giggled and dipped her face, appearing shy now.

  Are you fucking kidding me? How do people like this even function in society? Like pay rent and shit.

  “I’m honorable to a fault. I’m funny, and I’m loving. One dragon makes you laugh, one will stand by you, and the other will always love you.”

  He stared at her. He waited. She looked down at the welcome mat below her feet. What was she waiting for? Validation? He couldn’t give it to her. He couldn’t add to her fucked-up-ness.

  “Oh hey, Jessy, that’s something,” he managed to get out. “That’s, um, wow, can’t wait to see the dragon.”

  Her head shot up. “Really? Thanks.” She backed up and started down the four steps to the sidewalk.

  “Hey, where are you going?” he asked.

  She turned back, a frown creasing her tiny forehead.

  The dragon forehead.

  “I thought we were going to the vegan café for my birthday?”

  “Oh, right. Yes, we are. Just give me a sec.”

  He slammed the door shut. Then clenched his fists and stomped his feet five times.

  “Ohhh, that girl drives me mad.”

  He yanked open the hallway closet and retrieved the nickel-plated magnum from its case. A toy. Not even loaded with water. Completely empty. And not something a cop would know from five feet away.

  He didn’t need the gun until they were back in the house and he’d killed Jessy. Vegan café first. Back to the house after. Kill Jessy, destroy computers, then call Detective Bryant over.

  Two hours left to live.

  He slipped the gun in the back of his pants and covered it with his shirt. Why not carry it for the last two hours anyway? Carrying it made him feel closer to the end.

  And who knew? What if someone robbed the café and shot the place up and killed Jessy and homicide were called in.

  He could be dead meat where the vegans hang out.

  He let a laugh escape his lips.

  “Hilarious.”

  When he opened the front door, Jessy was still standing there, looking as lonely as ever on the sidewalk.

  “You sure you’re okay?” he asked again as he closed the door behind him.

  She nodded and covered her mouth at the soft giggle that escaped her lips.

  Oh my fuck, one hour with this bimbo bowler from Buffalo and anyone would kill themselves.

  He went to lock the front door, then frowned and turned back around to face her.

  “Hey, you still have my house key. You wanna lock the door?”

  She shook her head, mussing up her hair. “Left it at home this time.” She shrugged, but not just any shrug. This one had her shoulders pounding her ears. “Next time.”

  Then she hopped to the right and walked away.

  Holy shit wave, I’m gonna kill her before we get one city block.

  He locked the door and started after her.

  “Jessy, wait up.”

  Chapter 54

  Sarah Roberts watched as Ben Wilson dropped down the front steps of his house and followed Jessica Bryant along the sidewalk until he caught up to her. Jessica was playing her part wonderfully. If anyone had any doubts, they would be allayed by now.

  The bandage on her shoulder covered the wire the Toronto Police had installed so they could hear everything Ben said to her. The tattoo idea was Jessica’s so she could hide any demeanor changes or nervousness under the guise of the new tattoo’s irritation.

  Ben was a mean, patronizing son of a bitch. His time was coming.

  Detective Bryant sat beside her in the police cruiser holding the house key to Ben Wilson’s home. Once they had approached Jessica yesterday and told her what Ben had been up to, and discussed their plan, Jessica handed over Ben’s house key. No one knew what Ben had in store for Jessica, but they didn’t feel he would harm her in public. Her brother had given her explicit instructions to not enter Ben’s house under any circumstances.

  After hours of coaching, no one had mentioned the house key. What if Ben asked for it back? What if Ben wondered where it had gone? Yet Jessica handled that question with ease when he asked.

  Maybe when this was over she should get a three-headed dragon tattoo after all because if anyone warranted it, Jessica Bryant did.

  Detective Bryant pushed the button on the microphone in his hand.

  “Clear.” He set the mic down.

  “You coming in?” he asked.

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Sarah said.

  They jumped out of the unmarked cruiser. Parkman and Aaron hopped out of the other unmarked cruiser parked behind theirs.

  Once Clara had made her statement and Sarah offered hers, the police had no choice but to release Aaron. Sarah had asked for a favor, though. Don’t do anything electronically yet. As far as the police were concerned—and their computer system—Aaron Stevens was still being held on a second degree murder charge. Once Sarah and Parkman met with Detective Bryant, everyone was on board.

  Ben Wilson wouldn’t know what hit him. He probably thought Sarah was still in Denmark. Parkman wasn’t a threat and Aaron was in jail. In Ben’s world, there was just Jessica and Shawn to deal with. Exactly how Sarah wanted it to be.

  Aaron had protested that they weren’t doing enough to find Alex and Ansgar. Where could they be after almost four days? Could Alex be dead? Could Ansgar have fled the country? Sarah had assured him that Alex was not dead and that they would see him soon.

  The group heading up to Ben’s house included seven police officers, Parkman, and Aaron. Bryant used the key on the front door and entered the building. He placed the search warrant he’d received that morning on a side table and ran for the upstairs where Jessica told them the computers were kept. A room she had never been allowed to enter.

  Sarah stayed on his heels, no sense of danger coming to her. Ben didn’t have the house alarmed or booby-trapped in any way.

  Bryant hit the top of the stairs, looked both ways, and turned to the right. Sarah followed him into the master bedroom.

  The place was a mess. Mars bar wrappers littered the floor and desk. Coke cans had been flung aside and piled up in two different corners. She even caught sight of a cockroach running under an empty bag of potato chips.

  “This guy doesn’t believe in hygiene,” she muttered, holding a hand to her nose. “Shit, what’s that reek?”

  “Body odor,” Bryant said.

  Sarah moved to the desk with all the computers and hit the space bar on the only keyboard. All five screens lit up.

  Bryant’s radio pierced the silence. “They’re entering the café now.”

  He brought it to his mouth. “Roger that.”

  In the middle of the largest screen, a small window popped up asking for a password.

  “Do you know what it is?” Bryant asked.

  “Not sure,” Sarah said as Parkman and Aaron stepped into the room. “Give me a sec.” Sarah closed her eyes and listened for Vivian.

 
“What’s that smell?” Aaron asked.

  “Please,” Sarah said.

  “Right. Sorry.”

  She focused on Vivian, asked her for help.

  A moment later, her fingers tingled. She opened her eyes, leaned over the desk and placed her fingers on the keyboard.

  They typed on their own:

  Fuck_cancer_twice

  She hit enter.

  The screen opened to a countdown.

  “Thanks, Vivian,” Sarah whispered.

  In twenty-three minutes the hard drives would be wiped clean.

  “Have you got someone who can stop this?” Sarah asked.

  Bryant watched the screen, mystified. “How the hell did you do that?”

  “I didn’t. My sister did it. Now, a hacker? Someone good with computers?” She smacked his arm to wake him up. “Come on, Bryant, we have to save what’s on these systems.”

  She snapped her fingers twice. He jerked and looked her way.

  “Of course.” He tilted his head to the side and yelled, “Officer Crystal Lewis. You’re needed up here.”

  The bedroom door moved a foot as a uniformed officer stepped inside the room. Evidently, she was waiting outside the door to be called in.

  “Turn that off,” Bryant ordered. “Save what you can.”

  Officer Lewis strode past Sarah, dropped her hands to the keyboard and the little window with the timer on it disappeared.

  “Done,” she said.

  Her hands typed fast, searching the computer’s hard drives for names, people, and places.

  “It’s all here, sir.” The screen changed. “The video from Anton Olafson in Denmark. The record of all of Ben’s communication with Anton and Ansgar Holm. Everything’s here, sir.”

  “Perfect. Pack it all up. I need everything off this computer logged in as evidence.” He faced Sarah. She watched his eyes move to Parkman and Aaron. “We got him, guys. It’s over.”

  Sarah jolted, then frowned. She turned her head slightly upward, then to the side, listening for something.

  “We have a problem,” she said.

  “What?” Bryant asked.

  “Yeah, what?” Aaron echoed.

  “Ansgar. He’s close. And Ben. There might be trouble at the café.”

  Detective Bryant snatched the radio off his belt and pressed the button.

  “All units, report in your positions.”

  A series of radio bursts followed.

  “What’s Jessica’s 10-20?”

  “In the café with the suspect, over.”

  “Any problems?”

  “Not yet, sir.”

  “You anticipating any?”

  “No sir. It’s just …”

  Shawn walked to the bedroom window. Sarah followed him.

  “Two men walked into the café immediately after the suspect. One of my guys think the two men were following the suspect. I’ve checked, but they’re not any of our guys.”

  “Okay, all units are clear to apprehend the suspect. Take him now. Do you hear me? Arrest Ben Wilson. Get him away from my sister. Go!”

  Chapter 55

  Ben sat across from Jessy and stared at her messed up face. The way she scrunched her mouth when she talked. The way she giggled and then covered her mouth. The new tattoo would probably look like shit. And who applied that makeup on her eyes? He couldn’t figure that shit out. Emos all dressed the same while trying to be different. They all wore their pain on the outside so everyone could see just how fucked up they were. How was she supposed to get a job, get married, have kids and maybe even be a part of some kind of women’s club one day looking like that?

  Unless none of that was on her agenda. But seriously, you don’t have to be cookie-cutter normal, but you can’t change your appearance too far either. People will be people and they judge others—harshly.

  He realized that was exactly what he was doing to her at that very moment. But what did it matter? He wasn’t interviewing her for a job.

  He had ordered a hemp tofu salad of some kind. Only the cole slaw was recognizable. After two bites he was done. It was a tasteless mush of goo draped over bits of lettuce. He wondered how people could eat such shit.

  Jessy had ordered some kind of burrito with samosa bites and a soup that the waiter told them had butternut squash, potato, spinach, mushrooms and garlic in it. The thing smelled like it came from the bottom of an outhouse. Looked like it, too. Yet Jessy eagerly slurped it up but had to go slow due to how hot it was.

  He slid his plate aside. “Not hungry,” he said. “But don’t worry, I’m paying.” He offered her a quick smile, then dropped it. “It’s your birthday, right? Lunch is on me.”

  She glanced at the salad on his plate, shrugged, then dove back into her soup. Ben placed his legs wide and leaned back in the uncomfortable chair to get as far away from her slurping as he could.

  I would have never guessed my last day on earth would be spent eating chunky bullshit at a vegan café.

  The restaurant was small with only enough seating for twenty to thirty people. Two long-haired hippies left over from the ’60s sat at a small table by the exit door near the back. Another couple seated by the front windows were dressed like they just stepped out of an ’80s Duran Duran video.

  His eyes wandered to the table by the front door after two men came in and sat down. The one guy was quite large. His back faced Ben. He wore a coat that was too warm for this weather and a baseball cap. The large man kept his head down as if he was eating, but he had no food yet. In the chair opposite the large man, a small, thin man, maybe in his twenties, surveyed the café as he was looking for something. The small man’s eyes alighted on Ben, then shot away as he glanced down at the table.

  That was odd.

  The man’s eyes were ablaze. Like he was angry, or knew Ben and hated him. Ben had never seen the guy in his life, yet there was an odd sense of recognition in that brief second their eyes locked.

  Ben stared longer, watching the two men at the table by the door.

  “You okay?” Jessy asked.

  Ben snapped his head toward her. “Of course. Why do you ask?”

  “You were staring at the door.” She lowered her mouth to the soup-filled spoon hovering over her bowl. “You looked concerned.”

  “It’s nothing. Just thought I knew that guy at the door—”

  They were getting up from their table when Ben looked back at them. Even though the big man hadn’t turned around yet, there was something familiar about him now. His build, his height. The name of a man similar to him was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t place it.

  Jessy touched his arm. Ben flinched and jerked sideways to glare at her.

  “What?” he asked, his tone sharp, clipped.

  “It’s my birthday lunch,” she said, her voice lowering in volume on each word. Her face appeared sad now, demure. “Please, spend it with me.”

  “I am, aren’t I? Just thought I recognized—” Movement outside the restaurant caught his eye.

  Armed men in tactical gear were approaching the restaurant from across the street. Traffic had stopped outside.

  What the fuck is that?

  Chairs scuffed the floor near the back. The hippies were up and running out the door beside their table, their food forgotten.

  The Duran Duran couple had stopped eating. They too watched the armed men form a perimeter outside the restaurant.

  Ben’s head spun until he placed a hand on the table to steady himself. The action outside couldn’t be for him. Something else was in play. It had to be. His computers were almost wiped clean. Nothing could be traced back to him. No one knew who he was.

  Jessy hadn’t noticed what was happening outside as her back was to the window.

  Near the front door, the two men were standing by their table, glaring at him. The big guy looked horrible. His nose was swollen, both eyes were purple, and his lips were cut with dried blood caked in each corner. The large man raised his hands and tried to clench them
into fists, but it was obvious he couldn’t. At least three fingers on each hand were mangled without any form of bandage or splint evident. How the man wasn’t writhing in pain was beyond Ben.