The Sarah Roberts Series Vol. 4-6 Page 5

  “Okay, Sarah, here’s a couple of pieces of paper and a pen in case Vivian gets in contact. Listen, I’ll be out of sight, but watching you the whole time. That bracelet will tell us where you are. Remove it and the consequences will be severe. Got it.”

  Sarah grabbed the paper and pen. “We’re running out of time,” she said, holding the door handle with her other hand. Ever since they’d landed at the Island Airport, she’d watched for Parkman to show up. She was sure she’d see him soon as he was probably still in Toronto, looking for her. The Lear Jet had made the flight in just over an hour. The ball game was in the seventh inning according to the radio, the Jays behind four runs. None of that mattered. All that mattered to Sarah was getting into the stadium and locating Drake as soon as she could.

  “I need to hear it,” Rod said. “All bets are off if you remove that bracelet. I will take you back to the states and have you charged with the murder of Joseph Singer. A radio transmitter embedded in the bracelet is programmed to send out a distress signal as soon as it’s tampered with. A simple pair of scissors can cut this one, with the proper amount of strength, which is difficult with one hand. But — be warned … don’t. Deal?”

  Sarah glared at him. “Deal. Now, let me go or Drake will be shot and that’ll void any deals we’re sitting around here making. We didn’t come all this way to chat.”

  Rod looked past her and nodded. The door clicked to unlock. She opened it and ran for the gate, her ‘All Access’ pass dangling around her neck. Just before she reached the door, she turned and looked up at the massive structure of the CN Tower and marveled at its height and how thin it looked. Then she entered the stadium through gate seven.

  Rod had asked how she’d know Drake. Tickets for the ball game were purchased and seat numbers were allotted, but not by the person’s name like a plane seat. If Drake used a credit card, maybe they could find the purchase and trace it back to a seat number, but that sort of thing took time and so far Rod’s people were coming up empty. Sarah had explained that all she was supposed to do was show up. Vivian would handle the rest. There was a process and she trusted in that.

  She stepped past a group of slow moving people and hustled in to the circular hallway, beyond which she saw a gigantic stadium filled with seats and thousands of baseball fans.

  “How am I expected to locate one man in all that?”

  The Toronto Police were supposed to step in once she found Drake. They had been informed that Drake was a suspect in a high-level criminal investigation in the states and Sarah was helping them locate him through a positive ID. All the extra noise Rod had created around Drake had made her mad. The cops might be watching her too closely. The shooter could see the extra police presence. Anything could happen to screw this up and it would all fall on her head.

  She had to do something about it and she had to do it fast.

  Sarah looked both ways until she saw the ladies bathroom sign. She ran toward it, hoping Vivian was close. In the bathroom, she picked a stall at the back, closed the door and latched it.

  With the paper and pen in her hand, she sat on the closed toilet and leaned into the side wall so if she passed out, she wouldn’t hit the floor.

  “Come on, Vivian,” she whispered. “Give me something.”

  As if on cue, Sarah felt the familiar stirrings in her writing hand. She laid her head back and closed her eyes. A moment later she opened them and saw a note in her own handwriting.

  Drake’s in blue seat 126. The third baseline. Bullet will be shot in 15 minutes. The Shooter is a man named Ferenci. He has help.

  At the bottom was an afterword. Like Vivian had remembered something.

  Beware the cop. He’s fake. He wants to kill you.

  Sarah reread the note at least three times. All she had to do was find Drake’s seat and she still had over ten minutes. She recalled something Rosalie had said to her in Montone, Italy, after the head of the immigration consortium had been killed just a few weeks ago. It would take over six months for the investigators to go through everything before they could possibly start arresting anyone. That meant people all over the world hadn’t been exposed yet — they were still in business … doing business.

  Then who is the cop that wants to kill me?

  How many men could Ferenci have? Two, three, or more? Rod had four with him, and five plainclothes cops, plus a stadium filled with uniforms. Which one was the cop she was supposed to watch out for? How would she know?

  Too many questions that had to be answered at another time. Save Drake first and then figure everything else out.

  She opened the stall and walked out of the bathroom. As soon as she stepped into the wide corridor again, she realized that her escape plan was right in front of her.

  Rod won’t even know what hit him.

  She couldn’t believe it hadn’t hit her earlier.

  First, she had to get rid of the tracking bracelet.

  She jogged along the corridor until she found a hotdog stand with a small line. On the side, down behind the booth, she saw an employee breaking down boxes from a shipment.

  He held a pair of scissors.

  Perfect.

  The clock continued, unabated. She knew time was short, but for everything to work right, she had to remove the bracelet first.

  She stepped up to the young guy who didn’t look older than twenty.

  “Excuse me, can I borrow those scissors?” she asked.

  He stopped what he was doing and looked at the scissors and then back at Sarah. She smiled and rolled a finger seductively down the length of her hair. “I just need them for a second.”

  The employee shrugged and handed the scissors over. Sarah took them, lifted her sleeve and applied them to the bracelet.

  “Hey, what’s that? Is it one of those things you have to wear when you’ve broken the law?”

  Sarah nodded. “Something like that.”

  After two tries she still couldn’t budge it. “Damn the fucking clock. I’m almost out of time.”

  The clerk had stepped back a few feet.

  “Here,” she gestured with the scissors. “Help me with this.”

  No one had noticed them yet. Since the baseball game was almost over, the hotdog stand wasn’t as busy. People still walked by in the wide hallway, but no one looked at them.

  “I can’t help. That’s illegal.”

  As fast as she could, Sarah stepped up, slipped her foot behind the guy’s ankle and pushed his shoulders back. He lost his balance and fell to the floor backwards. She pounced down and landed beside him, the scissors at the base of his throat just above the collar bone.

  “Don’t scream. Don’t do anything crazy or these scissors will enter your neck. Do you want to bleed out and die?”

  She wondered what crime he was conjuring up that she would’ve committed to be wearing the bracelet. This act of violence would fill his mind with many scenarios.

  He shook his head in response to her question.

  “Good, because I’m sick and tired of having to kill people.”

  His eyes widened as far as they could.

  “After I kill you,” Sarah continued, “they’ll probably give me two of these fucking things. So, I’ll make you a deal, cut this thing off and you’ll never see me again. Tell me you won’t help and I’ll have to jam these scissors as far into your throat as I can. Cool?”

  He nodded his head like an insane bobble-head figure. Sarah brought her wrist up and applied the scissors to the weakest part of the bracelet. She held one side of the scissor’s grip so the hotdog stand employee couldn’t turn them on her and waited. He inserted his fingers inside the grip and pushed. It took two strong attempts, before the bracelet snapped in half.

  Sarah got up and stepped back from him. She tossed the bracelet in a corner and then threw the scissors after them.

  “Thanks. Oh, and I was kidding about hurting you. I never would do that sort of thing.” She smiled. “Have a good one.”

  She had to
try to make him feel better. He looked like he had just shit his pants.

  Sarah turned away and ran, looking for a clock. She still had to get to Drake’s seat which, based on how the colors worked, was coming up a hundred meters ahead.

  The whole time she watched her back. Somewhere a cop wasn’t to be trusted. She would hate to be gunned down because some asshole wanted her dead. Too bad her sister couldn’t have been more specific to which cop she was supposed to be cautious of.

  She reached the blues with less than five minutes left. At the top of the stairs that led down to Drake’s seat, she stopped and looked for any cops. Even though she hated them and one was hunting her, she needed their help with Rod.

  Two uniformed officers were walking her way, talking animatedly about something.

  She ran over and stopped in front of them, making the two cops cease talking. They both took her face in and looked at each other.

  “You recognize me? I was told all the cops here got my picture.”

  They nodded in unison. “How can we help?”

  “You’ve all been had. The American, Rod Howley, is lying. He’s the one behind everything. He’s not the shooter, but I suspect he has ties to the shooter.”

  “The shooter? What are you talking about? We were told they’re here to apprehend a suspect or a witness. That was it.”

  Sarah shook her head. “No, listen. A man is here to shoot someone named Drake. Because Howley is behind it, he used his influence to deflect the Toronto Police force. I don’t want to be killed, but he has a gun and someone will be shot within five minutes. Tell the rest of your men.”

  “Are you absolutely certain? I’m going to have to verify this story.”

  “Go ahead.”

  The older cop of the two stepped a few feet away and repeated on his radio what Sarah had said about a shooter and that a man was supposed to be shot.

  At the right moment, with only minutes to spare, Sarah waited until a trio of baseball fans were walking past them. She turned toward Drake’s aisle and hit the stairs running as fast as she could, using the fans as cover.

  The crowd roared as someone at bat hit the ball. She couldn’t look up or she’d fall down the wide stairs. A quick glance at the seats told her she had about ten rows left.

  She also knew she was down to a minute.

  She slowed her pace and started looking ahead at all the people watching the game in their seats. Two uniformed officers were running along the front rows, heading toward the bottom of the stairs she was on. It relieved her to see that she’d make Drake’s seat before they even started up.

  Three rows away now. She slowed and looked behind her. The two cops she’d stopped were coming down the stairs after her.

  Shit. This is unwinding too fast.

  With cops running at her from both directions and time running out, Sarah stepped up to Drake’s row and scanned the seat numbers until she saw seat number 126.

  It was empty.

  Chapter 8

  Drake watched the action on the field with a lack of interest. This was his first time back in public since his life had been turned upside down. He thought he’d be dead or spending the rest of his life in prison for what happened two weeks ago. But now a lot of other people were dead and he was watching a baseball game with a police officer.

  Even though that made him shake his head at how strange the world could be, he still couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

  The bat cracked out a ball that looked like it might be a home run. The crowd went wild, with people all over the stadium jumping to their feet. Drake stayed seated beside Spencer.

  “Things are really getting heated up, eh?” Drake said.

  Spencer nodded. “You enjoying the game?”

  “Sure.”

  “It doesn’t look like it.”

  “I’m just feeling a little off.”

  “I hope you’re still not worried about Ferenci. You can’t put your life on hold because maybe this guy is after you.”

  Drake looked down at his hands as he fiddled with the white cast that covered his knuckles. “You’re right. It’s just, those Hungarians are non-stop. I don’t think it’ll end until they’re all dead.”

  Spencer slapped Drake’s leg. “Don’t worry a second more. We’re on it.”

  The fans settled down as the ball went foul. Drake scanned the crowd. Two police officers ran along the front row. He watched as they hit the stairs that led toward them and started up.

  “I wonder what that’s all about,” Drake said, pointing at the cops.

  “Who knows,” Spencer said.

  Drake could hear the inquisitive cop voice in Spencer. He wanted to know what was going on as much as Drake did.

  The announcer came on over the loudspeaker and announced that they were looking for an escaped prisoner.

  The Sony JumboTron lit up with the picture of a gorgeous blond girl. Drake stared at it and frowned. He’d seen her before somewhere.

  Then he remembered: The newspaper on the train two weeks ago when he headed to his grandparents’ house in Oshawa. The front cover featured a girl who had exposed some kind of kidnapping ring at a Mormon Temple somewhere in the states.

  The girl, he remembered from the Toronto Sun newspaper, was considered a hero. Her name eluded him at the moment.

  The cops down below were coming up the stairs fast.

  Drake turned in his seat and saw two cops running down the stairs heading his way too.

  Without turning back around, he said, “Hey, Spencer, something’s definitely going on.”

  Then he looked at a girl standing two seats over and four rows up. She stared at the seats they had vacated.

  As the announcer repeated the message about an escaped prisoner, the girl turned and Drake remembered her name.

  Sarah Roberts.

  He saw her face. She looked up at the JumboTron, an expression of shock mixed with anger crossed her lovely features.

  “Be right back,” Drake said and jumped from his seat.

  Sarah had turned away and stared up the steps at the approaching officers.

  Drake stepped in behind her and tapped her shoulder.

  Chapter 9

  Sarah turned at the sound of escaped prisoner as it was shouted from the stadium’s speakers. Her live image was plastered on the huge screen. She couldn’t believe it. Rod must’ve got the call that she had removed her bracelet and when the Toronto Police radioed in that there would be a shooting, he had ordered her taken back into custody.

  He was attempting to stop her while she was still in sight. Having the JumboTron track her movements and plaster her image for everyone in the stadium to see, was something she hadn’t expected.

  Rod, you are so full of tricks.

  She turned to look at the cops approaching from above. They were only three rows away now and slowing down.

  A hand touched her shoulder.

  She jumped, spun around and pulled the guy’s wrist down, twisting it on the way around.

  “Sarah, wait!”

  She stopped. The man in front of her wasn’t a cop and it wasn’t Rod. He had a cast on the wrist she didn’t grab.

  Lucky for him.

  “Why did you sneak up behind me, use my name and touch me?” she asked. “Who are you?”

  The guy stood to his full height. “Hello, Sarah Roberts, I’m Drake Bellamy. Pleased to meet you.” He said all this with a huge smile, his eyes alight and his teeth perfect. She hadn’t seen a man so gorgeous in all her life.

  What horrible timing.

  “Get down!” she shouted and grabbed his shoulders, shoving him to the stairs, mindful of his cast.

  A crack like the sound of a whip and a snapping of broken wood resounded close to her head. Then another. She chanced a peek. The officers who had come down the stairs were laying down, flat out. Blood seeped from a leg wound on the cop closest to her.

  “I told you Rod was part of the shooting,” she shouted at the cop.
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  Even though the cop was wounded, he lifted his lapel radio and began speaking into it.

  “Constable Jerkins here. I’ve been hit. Officer down. Sarah Roberts is not the problem. I repeat, Sarah Roberts is not the problem. We have a shooter aiming at us. We’re under fire. Backup needed.”