Carved in Darkness (33 page)

He took a step back to look down at her, felt the frown settle on his face. “What are you doing out here?”

She looked over her shoulder. “I went in and asked the troll behind the desk for my own room.” She held up a plastic key card.

He started to protest, but she talked over him. “Shut up and listen. I was on my way back to the room to get my stuff … ” She looked over her shoulder again before turning back to him. “I turned the desk lamp on before we left. I hate the dark … ” She swallowed hard and looked in the direction of their room again.

No light in the window. The room was completely black.

SIXTY
-
TWO

W
HEN HE REACHED FOR
his .38, Sabrina followed suit without question. He started forward and she followed, but he turned, shook his head.

“I need you to go across the street and wait for me there. If I’m not back in thirty minutes, jump a bus to Dallas and catch a flight home. No matter what you do, don’t come back here,” he said quickly and quietly.

“Fuck that,” she said, shoving his hand away when he laid it on her shoulder to urge her back. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I sure as hell know that I don’t abandon my partner. Not ever. Now, are you taking point or am I?”

For a second he looked like he couldn’t decide whether to kiss her or knock her out.

“Wasting time,” she said quietly.

“
Shit.
Fine, but stay behind me,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” she said and let him lead the way.

They approached the room with caution, eyes sweeping into every shadow and dark corner of the lot. The door was closed, but she could see it wasn’t latched.

He crossed in front of it quickly, pressing his back against the block wall while she did the same on the other side. Signaling for her to take the secondary position, he pushed the door open with the toe of his boot, leading with his gun. She followed, training the barrel of her .38 just over his left shoulder.

Dirty yellow light followed them in, illuminating the room from black to gray. She could see a human-shaped shadow in the corner. She eased herself into the room, kept her back pressed against the wall. She wished she had her Kevlar vest on, but it was in her duffle.

Suddenly, the tension dropped from Michael’s shoulders. He lowered his weapon, pointed it at the ground. “You fucking idiot. I could’ve shot you,” he said. He reholstered his weapon and moved to the desk to switch on the lamp. Soft light flooded the room, revealing the man sitting in the room’s only chair.

Except
man
was a grossly inaccurate description. He was massive, a moving mountain with coffee-colored skin and enough muscle to make Mr. Universe look like a ninety-pound weakling. His clean-shaven head, roughly the size of a basketball, swiveled in her direction. He smiled, the facial movement revealing a set of deep dimples. “You mind shutting that door, sweetheart?”

“No problem, honey,” she said, kicking the door shut with the flat of her foot. His smile widened until she was sure his face would split in two, revealing teeth so large and white they looked like fence slats.

“Hostile, paranoid, a little crazy—I can see the attraction,” he said to Michael without taking his eyes off her. Turning to her, Michael gave her a look. Shrugging off her coat, she let it drop to the floor. She tucked the gun into the small of her back before leaning against the wall, arms crossed over her chest. The moving mountain stared at her. She stared back.

Michael could see that Sabrina wasn’t going to give the two men any privacy. “What are you doing here, Lark?”

Lark shook his head and gave him a shrug. “Playtime’s over, bro.”

Michael shook his head. “No. No way. You heard him, I have three days left.”

“The Lord giveth … and then he decides he’s gonna be a prick. He wants you back.
Now
,” Lark said.

“I’m not leaving.” He looked at her. She was clearly confused, but the look she gave him said she trusted him completely. He looked back at Lark. “No.”

Lark looked at Sabrina. “Why don’t you go get some ice or somethin’, let us have a little chat?” Lark said to her. Sabrina turned to him, looking for guidance. Her expression was clear. She’d go if he asked, but nothing short of his say-so would move her. She was fearless, loyal—ready to kill and die for him. The sense of free fall hit him again only this time he didn’t land.

He just kept falling.

“She’s not going anywhere.”

Lark gave him with a look of utter disbelief. “So that’s how it is?”

“Yup. That’s how it is.”

Lark shook his head, rubbed him forehead like he felt a headache coming on. “You dumb son of a bitch … ”

The three of them stood in heavy silence, each waiting for the other to break until finally Lark turned and spoke directly to her. “He has to leave with me—tonight. He can’t stay here—”

“Don’t talk to her.” He took a step, blocking Lark’s view of her.

“You wanted her to stay, so she stayed. Obviously, what I have to say doesn’t mean shit anymore, so maybe you’ll listen to
her
.” Lark stepped to the side, looked around him to talk to her. “If he stays with you, he’ll die.” Lark shifted his gaze, looked at him.

The room fell into silence again. Sabrina looked at Lark then at him, the question plain on her face—
What the hell is going on?

Just then, the bathroom door opened. Michael looked at the man who walked through it and felt the situation spin out of control.

“You brought
him
here?” He aimed a look of betrayed disbelief at his friend.

“You’re kidding, right? Like I had some sort of alternative.” Lark dropped himself back into the chair, giving up.

Michael looked at the man who’d just walked into the room and felt the walls close in. Looked like he was leaving her, after all. He didn’t have a choice.

SIXTY
-
THREE

S
ABRINA’S FIRST IMPRESSION WAS
that this wasn’t a man. This was a kid. He was tall, only an inch or two shorter than Michael, with the sleek, muscular build of a swimmer. Reddish-brown hair that flopped over his forehead and clear blue eyes gave him an instantly boyish charm that was absurd, given how he was dressed. He was wearing black cargo pants, a gray thermal, and a double shoulder holster that housed a pair of .40 Desert Eagles. His thigh was strapped with the biggest tactical knife she’d ever seen.

“Hello, I’m Benjamin Shaw.” He came at her with an extended hand and an easy grin. She found herself accepting it without hesitation. “Lark’s told me a lot about you—it’s nice to finally meet you,” he said, giving her hand a few pumps before letting go.

“I’m not leaving.”

Everyone in the room turned to look at Michael. He stood in the middle of the room, arms at his sides, fists clenched.

“Yes, you are,” Ben said to Michael, before turning to look back at Sabrina. “Because if he doesn’t, he’ll be dead by morning, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

She stared at him for a second. Surely she hadn’t heard him correctly. “I don’t understand—”

“My father doesn’t believe in trust or loyalty … or free will. Every one of his operatives is implanted with GPS at the base of their spine—think Lo-jack, only in people. It’s his way of protecting his investments. O’Shea here apparently has a special model. I’m not sure what it does, but my father has assured me that if he’s not on that plane with me, he’ll live
just
long enough to regret it.” He cocked his head at Michael, and shrugged. “So … yeah—you’re coming with me, even if I have to take out your kneecaps and throw you in the trunk of my car,” Ben said calmly, giving the words time to sink in. “Good. Glad we understand each other.” He looked at his watch and cocked his head at the door. “Lark and I are gonna leave, give you some time.” He headed out, Lark on his heels. “See you in an hour.”

Sabrina followed them to the door and locked it before turning on him. “Who the hell was that?”

He sighed. “The big, angry one is my handler—Lark. The one who looks like he should be sucking tequila out of a sorority girl’s navel is named Benjamin Shaw. His father is my boss.”

“Okay, next question—who are
you
?”

“It’s not who, it’s what. The term these days is
paramilitary professional.
”

“So … you’re a mercenary,” she said, not surprised at all.

“Yes.”

“And you’re leaving.” Of course he was. Somewhere along the way, she’d allowed herself to forget just who Michael O’Shea really was.

“No. I’m not. That guy’s full of shit—” He was backpedaling, but she wasn’t letting him off that easy.

“Really, O’Shea? Because he sounded pretty fucking sure,” she said. “And what’s this about an implant? That will
kill
you?” Saying it out loud, it sounded even crazier the second time around. Things like that didn’t exist. Did they?

“More bullshit. Just a scare tactic—”

“Prove it. He said it was at the base of your spine—let me feel for it.”

“No.”

She lunged at him, driven by anger and more than a little fear, but he caught her before she could get her arms around him. “Don’t,” he said, holding her wrists in a grip so tight her fingers began to tingle.

She thought of his hands on her stomach, his fingers tracing the hard knot of scars embedded in her skin. “I showed you mine, O’Shea; time to show me yours.”

He stared down at her for a few seconds, that hard expression of his beginning to crack. He finally let go of her, dropping his hands to his sides. She slipped her arms around his waist, trailing her fingers around either side until they met at the base of his spine. She ran her hands against his skin. And felt nothing.

“You’ll have to press harder,” he said. “It’s under the muscle.”

She looked up at his face, but he was staring straight ahead. She pressed harder, and there it was—the size and shape of a dime. She jerked her hands away, took a step back, and he finally looked down at her with that sardonic smile of his. “Don’t worry—it can take a beating. It won’t go off until they’re done with me,” he said.

“Why?” Why would someone do that? Make a slave of another human being … but she knew. Maybe not
why
, but she knew what it was like to be held prisoner. Made to do things. Kept as a pet until the person that held you grew tired of playing with you.

“Because I’m one of the bad guys, Sabrina.” He shook his head. “I’ve killed a lot of men and murdered more than a few in cold blood—I did it for my country, and after that I did it for money. I’ve used people as pawns, and now I’m a pawn. Whatever Shaw did to me—I deserve it.”

She stared at him quietly for a few minutes, as if digesting what he’d just told her. He waited for her to get angry or maybe even scared. She’d locked herself in a room with a man who just confessed to multiple murders. She was a cop—surely she’d have some sort of reaction. All she did was look at him, her silence as loud as a shout.

He passed a rough hand over his face. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not leaving. Lark’ll find a way to buy me a couple days.” Even as he said it, he knew his chances of that were slim. Something had happened between Livingston Shaw and Lark. There was a little voice, getting louder and louder, telling him that he could no longer trust his friend. Looking at her, none of that mattered. Trusting Lark to pull through was a risk he was willing to take.

She just shook his head, like she knew he was lying. “I don’t know who you were looking at, but the Lark I met isn’t in the position to help anyone.” She took a step toward him. “Is there any way we can get it out? Disable it somehow?” she said.

God, he wanted to kiss her. “No. Shaw has them put as close to the spine as possible to make sure that tampering with it would result in paralysis.”

She nodded, went quiet for a few seconds. “Then you’ll go.”

He felt like he was already dead, like what’d been put inside him had already been detonated. “I can’t. I can’t leave you.”

She sighed, crossed her arms over her chest. “Of course you can.”

“Can’t. Won’t. Take your pick.” He hated the sound of his voice. He sounded desperate. Weak.

“I want you to go,” she said. “Morning rolls around, you’re gone either way. I’d rather you be gone and
breathing
.”

He looked down at her. The panic was back, settled in deep. “You won’t leave, will you. You won’t go home? Even if I ask you to?”

“No, I won’t.” She shook her head. “I have to see this through.”

SIXTY
-
FOUR

S
ABRINA WATCHED HIM MOVE
around the room, securing windows, installing motion detectors. She wanted to tell him to stop, that it was a waste of what little time they had left, but she didn’t. What he was doing was necessary because he was leaving. The thought closed her throat, and she pushed it away. She looked at the cheap digital clock on the nightstand—four minutes left.