something to go on.”
Sarah moved her head back and forth slowly.
“What?” Rod asked. “What’s that? Your answer?”
“I want a glass of water.”
Rod raised his right hand and snapped his fingers. They waited, looking at each other. The door opened and a man walked in, set a bottle of water on the table and promptly left the room.
Sarah opened the bottle, drank half of it and addressed Rod.
“You can’t hold me,” Sarah said. “Maybe your government gives you extra powers, but twenty-four hours tops and I’ll be out of here. Save your bullshit for someone else.”
Rod shook his head. “I’m afraid not, Sarah. Unless you work with me, you won’t be free to walk the streets until you’re in your fifties or later. Trust me on that.”
“Bullshit. How could you pull that off? You guys aren’t Gods. You can’t make people disappear.”
“These,” Rod said and shoved a manila folder across the table at her. He stepped away from the table and started pacing in front of the door.
She flipped the folder open. Inside sat a series of pictures. The first one was the image of a man who looked to be in his early twenties. He was clearly dead, his eyes wide open, slack jaw, body askew. She knew he wasn’t sleeping. Too much blood. Someone had stabbed the guy in the stomach in a crude attempt to offer him a free vivisection.
The next picture was more of the same. Different angles exposed every gruesome detail of a life exterminated.
“What’s this got to do with me?”
“That’s Joseph Singer. He was murdered by his girlfriend who has never been located. Until now.”
Sarah looked up at him. Rod stopped pacing and knocked on the two-way glass. A moment later four men entered the room, two of them carrying machine guns strapped across their shoulders.
“What do you mean, until now?” Sarah asked, her mouth barely moving. She started to put it all together.
“I have multiple witnesses who will place you at the scene of the murder. Joseph’s sister saw a picture of you and will testify in court that you were the Sarah that Joseph Singer was dating at the time of his murder. I have enough proof and numerous witnesses to bury you with this charge and get a first degree murder conviction which will keep you behind bars for a very long time.” He stopped and crossed his arms, staring down at her. “Think on these things, Sarah.”
Real fear set in. She had killed before. Many times, but they were all in self-defense. She had never committed the act of murder for the sake of murder itself. Although she could make an exception with killing Rod. It would be a pleasure.
Her bladder tightened. She needed to pee. She needed to think. She couldn’t show weakness. But who really cared now? Did Rod think he could toss this at her and nail her to his cross? She had to admit, his play was solid, but it wasn’t checkmate yet.
“I’ve never heard of Joseph Singer. The charge is bullshit and you know it. Others will too. We both know I’ve killed before, but those people deserved to die. You have nothing on me.”
“We’re talking about a college kid here. A jury will eat this up. No amount of pleading will offer a reasonable doubt to them with the case I’ve got. But, Sarah, help me, work with me, and this Joseph Singer case goes away.”
“You’re delusional, you know that. You’re fucking gone. Loco, crazy, whatever… you’re just fucked. You can’t ruin people’s lives like this. It’s unconscionable.”
Rod stepped toward his men and the door behind them. “Sarah, you may be a hero to the public with your recent media exposure, but they don’t know about Joseph. This case will bury you. Forever.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, riddle man. I didn’t do this,” she said, gesturing at the pictures.
Rod stopped at the door, his hand on the knob. “You haven’t figured out who you’re dealing with yet, have you? That’s a mistake. Know your enemy, Sarah, know your enemy.”
Sarah looked away, her headache all but forgotten as the Advil had done its job. She sat on the verge of tears.
A nightmare. That’s what her life had become. The more she helped people, it seemed the worse things got. The stakes had risen and she wasn’t sure she could deal with it. What if Rod really did charge her with the murder of Joseph Singer and led her away to face a courtroom? It would take years to deal with something as serious as murder. Could she ever shake it? And what about Drake? He’s to be shot later in the day and there was nothing she could do about it because she was in Chicago and he was in Toronto. Ultimately, Rod has killed Drake by bringing her here.
Who’s the real murderer now, asshole?
Rod stood by the door, surrounded by his bodyguards. How many men made him feel secure around her?
“I know who I’m dealing with,” she said. “An asshole.”
“That’s right Sarah. Call me names. No problem, but remember this. You’ve seen what I can do with a commercial airliner in federal airspace. A simple murder cover-up is the next face on a milk carton, filed as a missing persons indefinitely. Refuse me and I’ll see you go down for first degree murder. Work with me and in a few years you’ll have more freedom to move about. Maybe one day you’ll even get married.” He stopped talking, covered his mouth as he chuckled and opened the door. “Sorry about that. I wouldn’t want to joke about something that’ll never happen. Sarah Roberts, married… imagine that.”
Then he stepped from the room, followed by his men, and slammed the door shut.
They left in time to miss her tears.
Chapter 4
Drake Bellamy got out of Spencer’s police-issued, unmarked car and stepped in line at the ticket office. A light breeze ruffled his hair. It proved to be a great day. Spencer Milton had called yesterday and offered to take him to the Blue Jay game at the Rogers Centre, downtown Toronto. Drake had accepted as only recently he had been out of the hospital and mobile again. After what Monika and her brothers had put him through, he was lucky to be alive.
Spencer had spent a lot of time at the hospital with him, taking his statement and piecing everything together, step by step, and eventually they had gotten closer, bonding over the ordeal. They had talked about sports. Drake wanted to golf again before the summer was out, and Spencer wanted to catch a few ball games.
When Spencer called him yesterday, he’d accepted and just now realized how lucky he was, standing in the warm Toronto sun, anticipating a cold beer and a hot dog, a good game and companionship with the lead cop on the case who saved his life a few weeks ago.
He took in a deep breath and thanked God he was still standing. Two weeks ago he had been shot and was about to be kicked off the edge of a cliff, but Spencer had showed up in time. Drake had picked up a baseball bat and broke the shooter’s head as bullets zinged by him.
He laughed. A baseball bat stopped the madness, and here he was, about to watch the game of baseball.
Weird how shit works out.
A hand slapped his shoulder and he jumped.
“I found a great spot up close,” Spencer said as he joined him in line. “Wow, slow lineup.” He looked at his watch. “Oh well, we still have over an hour before the game starts.”
“Spencer, I wanted to thank you for taking me out to the ball game today.”
“Whoa, you gonna start singing?”
“No, no, just, it feels good to be out again.”
