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

  “Thank you so much. I think I’ll get settled in the room and then call down.” He pocketed his ID, grabbed the backpack off the floor and shouldered it, then started for the elevators. “Enjoy your evening,” he called over his shoulder.

  “You too, Mr. Ford,” Karen shouted back.

  Once the elevator doors closed, his face fell. Ansgar was back. Sure Peter Ford was a happy-go-lucky kind of guy, but he could only act that way in snippets.

  On the tenth floor, he entered his room. After several minutes of setting things up for Clara Olafson, he pocketed the twist ties, the ball gag, and the pepper spray, then stepped back into the hallway.

  It was time to meet his victim.

  Clara Olafson. Apprehend her. Contain her. Keep her alive. Then dispose of the body. Five days in the hotel. Room service. Do what he wanted with the woman. Any damage, physical or mental meant nothing to the client. The more the better in fact. Just make sure she was available for a phone call throughout the five days—if one was needed.

  Ansgar Holm could do that. And he would enjoy it. He was a man after all. He only hoped Clara was hot. It would be all that much more fun.

  The tenth floor corridor was empty. He left his door open a smidgen.

  After listening to Clara’s door for a moment, he heard nothing.

  He knocked.

  Something rustled behind her door. Footsteps approached. Darkness filled the peep hole as Clara checked him out. He stood back, his hands empty and visible, so she would see him smiling and warm.

  A click sounded and the door opened.

  “Can I help you?” Clara asked.

  She was stunning. A gorgeous woman. Barely twenty, extremely pretty. Bright white teeth, a luscious smile. Long blonde hair flowing down over one shoulder. The thought of ruining and killing a woman this smoking hot bothered him for one second. The delay it took him to respond.

  “A man interested in you sent me. I’m the driver. He told me to tell you the password.”

  A bashful, almost immature smile crossed her lips as she looked toward the carpeted floor.

  “Which is?” she asked. “The password, I mean.”

  “Plenty of Fish.”

  Clara nodded. She opened the door wider.

  “Come on in. I’m almost ready.”

  Ansgar, like the vampire who needed an invite to cross the threshold, stepped inside at Clara’s request, knowing tonight would be a long night of fun for both of them.

  Whether Clara was a willing partner or not, she was about to have her world rocked in so many ways.

  At least for five more days.

  Murder was such a sweet ending. No witness to testify against him in a rape and aggravated sexual assault trial and then no body to offer evidence against him in a murder trial.

  Just a missing girl. One who traveled alone. And opened her door to strangers with a fucked up password.

  Stupid girl.

  Such a stupid girl.

  In a world filled with them.

  Chapter 11

  After much coaxing, Sarah exited the lavatory a half hour after the seatbelt light had been turned off. Perturbed that Sarah had not listened to them, the flight attendants let her go with a warning after talking to her seat mate, Glenn. He explained in her absence that upon hearing the news coming out of Toronto, Sarah had blanched and ran for the bathroom.

  Sarah was too weak and tired to argue with them. She didn’t speak a word in her defense as she offered them a thousand-yard stare while breathing through her open mouth. A pleasant attendant led her to her seat and got her belted back in. Sarah remained there for the rest of the flight. Nothing else mattered. Turbulence meant nothing. The crying baby two seats back didn’t penetrate her consciousness. Nothing got in.

  Abandoned by Vivian. Aaron dead. Was this what she had been working toward for the past decade? Was pain her legacy? As much as she had learned to trust her sister, how was it possible that Aaron could be gone? Sarah couldn’t believe it. Refused to believe it. She would demand to see the body or what was left of it.

  Glenn tried to talk to her. He left her alone after she didn’t acknowledge him. Attendants brought drinks and snacks around, but Sarah waved them away.

  If the news was to be believed, and she had no reason to not believe it, then her boyfriend was gone. She would stay in Toronto for the funeral. There would be no subsequent Denmark trip. Once Aaron was buried, she would want to spend time with Daniel, Alex, and Benjamin. They too would be in mourning. Her life as a gallivanting vigilante would come to a close. Vivian was gone anyway. What was the use?

  She hadn’t brought luggage. No bag of clothes. Just her passport and a small carry-on bag with essentials. She would have to buy something black to wear.

  The thought of shopping for Aaron’s funeral brought the realization to the surface. He was dead. His dojo was gone. It was truly over. How could she ever love again? Be with a man? Only Aaron understood her.

  The notion she avoided was that Aaron should’ve been with her in Santa Rosa. She should’ve never sent him home. The bomb would’ve gone off and others would’ve died.

  But at least Aaron would still be alive.

  Selfish? Sure it was.

  How often do I think of myself? How often do I put myself first?

  She lowered her head into her hands and wept. She tried to keep it quiet, personal, to herself, but she was sure Glenn could tell.

  An emptiness opened inside her core. A loss, so enormously large and intense, encompassed her. It covered her in a heavy emotional tar, weighing down her limbs. Everything seemed difficult, even breathing. How could she move forward? How could she get up and off the plane when it landed?

  Time heals all wounds, but this wasn’t just a wound. This was a limb hacked off. This was a decapitation, a paralysis. Nothing healed this grief. Nothing.

  Her shoulders quaked with repressed sobs as she held her head in her hands. There had always been the chance that someone close to her would die. She almost lost her parents a while back to a sick woman. She had almost lost Parkman several times. Dolan Ryan and Esmerelda were gone. Good people, killed by lunatics. When it came to her life, Sarah had Vivian and only Vivian.

  Aaron.

  All she could do was find out who was responsible and destroy them. If it was the Taliban, then she would go underground and kill each and every Taliban she could. A flight to Kabul. Access to weapons. Then hunt the terrorists. Maybe pretend to join them. Claim a belief in Islam. Anything to get inside their private group. Then murder as many as possible to avenge Aaron’s death as well as all the innocents those kinds of groups killed yearly.

  In the end, it would be a good thing. Maybe that’s what Aaron’s death represented. Maybe that was why Vivian let it happen.

  Or perhaps Sarah didn’t need Vivian anymore. If she was incommunicado and Aaron was dead, then what was there left to deal with?

  The captain announced that he was starting his descent. The plane dropped slowly. Her stomach hardened, weighted down in grief. She wiped at her runny nose, then brushed her hand on her jeans. No matter how many times she swallowed, there was a lump in her throat.

  Aaron.

  Fifteen minutes later, the plane touched down on Toronto soil and taxied to the terminal. She stared out the window while her fellow passengers prepared to deplane.

  “I’m sorry,” Glenn whispered as he rose from his seat.

  Sarah nodded for his benefit. She’d lost Aaron. The people responsible would die. In the meantime, she wouldn’t be rude on purpose. She would try to be nice to people. At times it would be hard, but she could try.

  The thick line of travelers began to disembark. Sarah waited until the aisle was relatively empty, then got her carry-on from the overhead bin.

  Near the door, the flight attendant who accompanied her to her seat after the half hour in the lavatory, offered an awkward smile. Sarah smiled back, averted her eyes, and entered the ramp toward customs.

  After a twenty-m
inute line, she cleared customs, walked by the luggage claim carousel, and headed for the exit that led into the main terminal.

  A glimpse of her face in a side mirror revealed red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes, sunken cheeks, and the signs of depression. She hated depression. Fought to get out of it in her teenage years and succeeded. Never again. Grieving was natural. It would take its course, then be done.

  She walked past the roped-off area and the throng of excited people waiting for loved ones to come out, knowing that the grief of losing Aaron would never subside. Even time couldn’t heal such a deep wound.

  People converged everywhere. She sidestepped a woman holding a baby, waited while a group of five wheeled their luggage by, skirted around them and was stopped by two large men in suits holding placards with names like Smith and Whistler on them.

  If the crowd didn’t thin fast, she would go insane. People checked her out. The swollen, puffy red eyes. The running nose. She wanted to hide and cry for days. She wanted to be alone. Even the draw to pull her hair came back and everything was wrong with the world again.

  Aaron.

  Someone bumped her from behind. She jerked sideways and elbowed a man who had his back to her.

  Without offering an apology, she kept meandering through the crowd. Controlling her ire, she saw an end to the multitude of humans conglomerating in one spot, leaving an egress available.

  Another person bumped her from behind. She almost spun around to push them back, but hopped by an overweight woman, then turned toward an opening and jumped through.

  Hands landed on her shoulders. They clamped down and forced her to turn around. Just as Aaron taught her in those long grueling hours of self-defense training, she allowed the hands to spin her, giving her momentum.

  Fist clenched at the end of the turn, she raised it and swung. Something blocked her fist. He was fast. Too fast.

  She dropped her center of gravity, snapped out another punch, had it blocked too, then lunged forward with her shoulder.

  The person spun sideways and yelled her name.

  Sarah lost her balance in the lunge as she hit nothing. After two extra steps, she collected herself and stood to her full height. When she faced the person assaulting her, the strength in her knees caved and she almost dropped to the polished tile floor of the Toronto airport.

  “Daniel,” she moaned and rushed into his arms. No wonder she couldn’t land a punch. Daniel was one of Aaron’s best teachers at the dojo.

  He hugged her hard. “It’s okay, Sarah.”

  She cried in his embrace.

  “No, Sarah,” he added. “You don’t understand.”

  Her shoulders shook with the tears.

  “Sarah,” he whispered. “Stop crying. It’s okay.”

  She jerked away from him. “Aaron’s dead, Daniel. How is that okay?”

  Daniel scanned the crowd.

  “What?” Sarah asked. “Who are you looking for?” She was thoroughly confused.

  He studied her face.

  Sarah put her hands on her hips. “You gonna talk?”

  “Come with me.” Daniel offered a hand. “We need to discuss things.”

  “We can talk right fucking here,” Sarah said, her voice coming out louder than she wanted.

  Daniel glared at her. He leaned closer and spoke through gritted teeth, his jaw hardened. “Keep it down. Draw no attention to yourself. Come with me. Now.”

  His voice was so stern, so commanding, Sarah listened to him. She owed him that. Daniel was Aaron’s friend long before he met Sarah.

  Daniel led her along a corridor that angled to the right. After passing several sliding doors that opened to the outside, he led her through one. Sarah followed, eyes roving, constantly alert.

  Once outside, the noise of traffic and a gathering of a strong afternoon wind would drown out any kind of conversation for casual listeners.

  “What is it?” she asked. “Why the cloak and dagger?”

  Daniel reached out for her hand. She placed hers on her hips.

  “It’s about Aaron,” he said.

  “I know. I heard about it on the plane. The dojo’s gone, too.”

  Unable to contain them, tears streamed out of her eyes again.

  Daniel shook his head and took another look around.

  “Only the dojo is gone. Insurance will cover that.”

  She frowned and sniffled. “What?”

  “Aaron’s alive. Everyone’s alive. Sarah, I came to get you so we could tell you before you heard about it on the news. But it looks like I’m too late.”

  “Aaron’s alive?” she whispered in a daze, her mind racing through a thousand calculations. The fear of raising her hopes only to have them dashed quelled her belief.

  Daniel nodded. “He’s here. Waiting for you in the car. Come on. We have a girl to save, too.”

  Sarah lost most of what he said as she stumbled and caught herself on a cement beam to her left.

  Aaron’s alive.

  She gathered her composure, adjusted her shirt, and faced Daniel.

  “What’s this about a girl?” she asked.

  Chapter 12

  Ben Wilson sat at his filthy computer terminal eating a Mars bar. He stared at the screen, chewing methodically, loudly. Anton Olafson, the Danish asshole who played with boys, hadn’t turned his computer on in almost two days. Ben’s patience was already thin and didn’t need to be tested. He knew its limitations.

  “Quite well,” he whispered to himself, then popped the last of the Mars bar into his mouth.

  Ben had Anton’s cell phone tracking turned on. The cell phone was in Anton’s house. Whatever Olafson was up to, he was staying off the grid. That could be good and bad. Staying off the grid limited what Ben saw. But it also meant Anton was plotting the kill.

  Ben swallowed the remainder of the chocolate bar. Open-mouthed, he gawked at the computer as a reminder popped up.

  Jessica’s birthday was today.

  He moaned. “Beam me out of here,” he said to his computer.

  She would probably come knocking on his door bearing gifts for him like she did every year. That was one of the things he hated about Jessica. It was supposed to be her birthday. People bought gifts for her, not the other way around. And they weren’t going steady any more anyway. He broke up with her over three months ago, but she continued to come over on Tuesdays to go to some stupid vegan café.

  He checked the calendar. It was Tuesday.

  “Ohhh, shit bugs and bingo.” He sighed and dropped his forehead to his desk, tapping it twice. Then stopped because it hurt. “I’m doomed.”

  Drool oozed from his open mouth. He sucked it back up and typed like a fiend on his computer.

  Ten seconds later he had activated the virus previously planted in Anton’s computer. If Anton didn’t want to use his home computer, then Ben Wilson—aka PAIN—wouldn’t let him. Ever.

  Anton’s cell phone was all Ben needed to track and deal with Anton. The man could even record the kill event on the cell phone. It would instantly download to Ben’s external terabyte hard drive and he would have what he wanted.

  Ben had chosen the acronym PAIN, Passive Aggressive Internet Nomad, after spending his entire life being called a nerd, which in the nerd world meant Never Ending Radical Dude. Acronyms were so cool that he used them often. His company name was Imagine, which stood for Ideas Manifested As Great Ideas, Notions, Etc.

  With Imagine, Ben was going to be the first gamer to create a live web experience with real footage. A kind of gamer slash movie thing. It had taken time to set up. No one would ever be able to trace it back to him, but it had all the elements of the best games like World of Warcraft, StarCraft, and Diablo 2.

  “Even if they track me, I’ll be dead by then.”

  Ben’s game would have the hot girls, the murder and mayhem, the intrigue, and the wonder. Everything Peter Jackson did for the Lord of the Rings, but better. Ben’s game would be similar to World of Warcraft, played online for a fee. Th
at was one of the reasons behind stealing Anton’s personal files and making him murder a random girl. Once Ben had that footage, it would be the murder mystery part of the game. He needed explosions and he got that with the dojo downtown in his own city. Not seven blocks from his home on Shuter Street, his personal private military contractor, The Clock, blew up Aaron’s dojo with Aaron in it. Nothing could be more deserving for Ben because Aaron Stevens had once taught Ben’s stepdad martial arts. John Ashcroft was once a married man. After Aaron beat John to an inch of his life, he was never the same. Aaron went to court over that, but John being the better man, had all the charges dropped against Aaron. John lost his first wife and daughter over the ordeal and ended up with Ben’s mother. John treated Ben like a man. But now John was gone. Before the stepson Ben Wilson died, he needed to make sure Aaron Stevens paid with his life, and he’d done that. John Ashcroft deserved that at least. Even though what Aaron did to John changed him, Aaron had never paid his debt and Ben was the debt collector on John’s behalf.