The Haunted (Sarah Roberts 12) (17 page)

Sarah snapped around, hands up in a defensive posture. After a brief moment, she lowered her hands and stood up straight.

One of the men from the cemetery leaned on the doorframe, her gun hung loosely from his hand in a non-threatening way. The implied threat was evident: move and the gun would be brought to bear. Attack and the gun would fire.

“How?” Sarah asked.

“Luck. I saw you coming and stayed on the opposite side of the house. At one point I thought you saw me, but—”

Sarah shook her head. “That’s not what I wanted to know.”

He frowned and pushed off from the door. “Then how what?”

“How are you such an asshole?”

His lips tightened as if he was going to snarl. It reminded her of a dog, which made her smile.

He started across the room toward her. “Why are you smiling?”

“Because of my sister.”

“Huh?”

He stopped in front of her.

“Yeah, my sister. She didn’t mention I’d see you here. Crazy huh?”

“Yeah, crazy. Maybe that’s why Williams wanted you in that hospital for dummies.”

“It’s not a hospital for dummies—” she cut herself off, gasped and ducked as if a threat was at the bedroom window.

The man jerked out of reflex and looked at the window. Already low, center of gravity balanced, Sarah drove her fist into his groin using her hips for momentum. Upon contact, the gun became her focus.

It all happened in a second. He was spinning back to her when her fist made contact. Then his gun hand was wrenched back and the Glock forcefully ripped from his grasp. He shrieked at the pain between his legs and gave little resistance, or thought, to the gun, which was a mistake.

She spun it around, slipped her finger inside the trigger guard and almost pulled the trigger.

“Step off. Move back.”

“Fuck you,” he said, his voice an octave higher than moments ago.

“As you wish.”

She pulled the trigger. It clicked empty.

“You stupid bitch,” he groaned through clenched teeth. “You think I’d get this close to you with a loaded weapon?”

With both hands wrapped around the butt of the gun, and being too close to him, she barely blocked the backhanded fist that came for her face. All she succeeded in doing was bumping his forearm.

Stars swam in her vision. She refocused, tossed the gun aside, and went on the offensive, both hands flailing in fisted jabs. Only the first two landed before he was out of reach.

“Enough of this stupidity,” another, deeper voice said. “We haven’t got time to play high school fighting games. Grab her and let’s go.”

Sarah turned toward the speaker. It was the other man from the cemetery.

His partner leaned against the bedroom wall, holding his crotch.

“Stop being a baby. I brought the car around. It’s parked out front. Bring her and let’s go.”

“She’s a handful,” he said.

Sarah lowered her fists. The stars had disappeared, but a dull throbbing began where he’d hit her.

The man in the door also had a weapon. This one was probably loaded.

“There’s no play here, woman” he said. “You see that, don’t you?”

Sarah nodded. “No play.” Weaponless and up against the wall of the bedroom, there really was nothing she could do. If he wanted her dead, he could just shoot her. But the Glock had been empty on purpose. The only reason was because their employer probably wanted her alive. He wanted her alive and well because Cole Lincoln wouldn’t want it any other way.

“On second thought, I do have a play.”

The man at the door steadied his weapon, the barrel now aimed at her.

“And what play is that?” he asked.

“To come with you.”

He lowered his weapon. “That’s not a play.”

“It is if I choose to do it willingly.”

“I’ve got the gun. It isn’t willingly.”

“I assure you, it is.”

She stepped over the junk on the floor and walked past the man still holding his crotch.

“This girl is psycho, man. When the boss is done with her, I want her head.”

She looked back over her shoulder. “My head? How odd? I would think you’d want another body part.”

“No, stupid bitch, just your head. So I can crush it with a hammer.”

“Ohhh, how inventive.” She acted like she had chills all over as she held her arms together across her chest and shook as if she was afraid. “So scary. Bash my head in.” She dropped her arms and stared at the man in the doorway. In a deep voice, she said, “Take me to your leader.”

“Fuck off,” he shouted and backhanded her with his gun hand before she could stop him or block it.

Her head snapped sideways, but she stayed on her feet. When she righted herself, the copper taste of blood filled her mouth and spilled over her lips. A couple of teeth felt loose but were too numbed from the blow to be sure.

“That was for what you did to Frank. Now start walking for the car like a good little girl.”

She smiled wide, sure her white teeth would be crimson with blood.

“I will kill you for that.”

“I’m sure you will, Princess.” He shoved her shoulder and brought the gun up again. “Move toward the car or take another shot to the head. The next one will be lights out.”

Sarah wiped her lips and cleaned her hand on her pants. Then she spit a gob of blood on the dirty floor at her feet. “The enzymes that digest your food start to eat you on the inside approximately three days after death.” She met his eyes. “You ready for that? Not just rotting, but being eaten from the inside as well?”

He just stared at her. Possibly trying to comprehend what he was looking at. Most girls wouldn’t respond to a crushing blow to the mouth the way Sarah did.

But that was what made her who she was.

Cole Lincoln had no idea who was coming for him. If he did, he wouldn’t have sent two men to pick her up.

That was like a snitch or Mafia informer sending two men to grab the hit man contracted out to kill him, thereby delivering the hit man to his hit.

Stupid, stupid move.

But most who chose the life of crime were stupid. Violent, but stupid. If a blow to the face was all it took to be escorted to Cole’s door, then she would take two, please.

She started for the cabin’s door.

“Coming?” she asked over her shoulder as she stepped out into the sun.

They followed her to their car.

“Stop,” the man who had hit her with the gun shouted from behind her.

Sarah stopped near the rear of the vehicle.

He walked around her to the trunk, opened it and pulled out a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt.

“Take off your clothes,” he said.

“Fuck you.”

He snickered and stepped closer, holding the clothes out to her.

“We don’t have time to play. Now, change into these so we can get out of here.”

“How do you know my size?”

“If these don’t fit, I’ve got two more pairs, just in case. Wouldn’t want you to have to be naked.”

When she didn’t move toward the clothes he offered, he raised his gun.

“Come on. Don’t be stupid. Just strip and put these on. I promise, I won’t look.”

She grabbed the clothes and looked around for Frank but he was nowhere to be seen. The bushes at the back of the car looked inviting. She nodded toward them but he shook his head.

“Right here. You’re not leaving my sight.”

She waited another moment, holding the clothes, trying to decide if she would protest again or not.

“My instructions are to deliver you alive. He didn’t say anything about injured or close to death. Hurry and change or I will shoot you in the foot and watch you bleed for the next few hours we’re together.”

She watched his face, his eyes, saw the look there and believed him. Turning slightly away, she slipped out of the pants Kershaw gave her and put the jeans on. They were one size too big but fit well enough. Then the shirt. Once she was dressed, she handed him her old clothes.

“Now get in the car.”

In the backseat, she looked out at the cabin where Frank had resurfaced. He walked without a limp. The pain in his crotch must’ve worn off. He held a red gas can.

What is it with these guys and fire?

Frank and his gun-toting partner, who held the clothes Kershaw had given her, stepped back, closer to the car. Then Frank threw something and a ball of flame shot up, obscuring the front of the cabin in orange. As suddenly as it had ignited, it died down, but a part of the fire remained, licking up the wooden walls.

Maybe it was better this way. The people she rented it from could collect the insurance and rebuild. Trying to fix what was broken wasn’t as appealing as just rebuilding.

Frank headed for the passenger side while his partner waited a moment longer. Then he tossed Sarah’s clothes on the perimeter of the fire and got in the driver’s seat.

“As far as the world is concerned, Sarah Roberts is dead.” He twisted in the seat to look back at her. “When they come here and see your clothes burnt, they’ll assume the worst. Once a fire marshal concludes his investigation and they have not discovered a body, a search will start, but it’ll be too late. Far too late.”

“There are more important things for me to worry about,” she said.

“Like what?” he asked.

“My gun. I want it back when this is all done. I love that thing.”

“You’re a strange one.”

“If you only knew.”

“I’m learning.” He produced what looked like a dart gun. “Sleep a while, strange girl.”

Before she could smack it from his hand, a small dart with a red feather on the end entered her thigh.

Her hand slipped off the end of the dart when she tried to pull it from her skin. On the second try she slipped sideways in the seat, her cheek bumping the car window, all her strength used up.

“Strange girl?” she said. “No. Stranger danger. Thass me …”

She thought she heard him say something else as she went under, but all she caught was the word bitch.

Before the lights went out, she whispered one more word.

Vivian …

Chapter 26

“Where should we start?” Aaron asked as Parkman pulled out of the drive thru, two fresh coffees in hand.

They had arrived at the police station to discover Sarah had been released. Kershaw said he had no cause to hold her any longer and had been too busy to call either Parkman or Aaron yet, the latter of which became animatedly angry.

Parkman pulled Aaron out of the police station, calmed him down and drove for coffee.

“She’s probably back at the cabin,” Parkman said. He had no idea where else to go look for Sarah and she wouldn’t have gone too far without a car. He looked at Aaron sideways. “Head there?”

Aaron nodded. “Sure. Head to the cabin. Maybe she’s there cleaning it up.”

Parkman drove down the main street and sped up as he exited town. Movement in the mirror caught his eye. He set his coffee down in the cup holder.

“Where’s that siren coming from?” Aaron asked.

“Firetrucks and an ambulance racing up behind us.” Parkman slowed and eased off the road to let them pass.

Aaron spun in his seat to look out the back window. “You don’t think?” he asked, leaving the sentence hanging.

“There’s one way to find out.”

He grabbed his cell and dialed Kershaw. As it rang on Kershaw’s end, the firetrucks passed Parkman’s car. Then the ambulance followed. He checked his mirrors, saw the road was clear, then pulled back onto the road.

When the phone picked up, Parkman had to pull it away from his ear.

“Kershaw?”

“Yeah. Parkman?”

“What’s going on? Where are you?”

“Heading out to a fire.”

“Firetrucks just passed us. Where are they headed?”

“Call came in when you guys left for coffee.”

“And?”

“It’s Sarah’s cabin. I’m sorry, Parkman.”

“Sarah’s cabin?”

“Yeah—”

Parkman dropped the phone and slammed the gas pedal down.

Fifteen minutes later, half a mile from the cabin, he could already see the flames. Emergency lights rotated on the tops of the vehicles surrounding the front entrance to the cabin. He parked as close as he could and hopped out with Aaron on his heels. Parkman’s stomach twisted at the likelihood that Sarah was still inside.