The Will Trent Series 7-Book Bundle

by Karin Slaughter

  She saw him then. He was standing outside the glass entrance doors. He was wearing dark pants and a gray shirt. Sara had seen the uniform before. The hospital maintenance staff wore it.

  His hand went up to the glass.

  She gave him an out. Insanely, she gave him an out. “You’re working with Faith.”

  Will didn’t answer, and Sara finally understood. The rolling phone calls. The undercover assignment he wouldn’t talk about. The guilty look on his face this morning. His refusal to tell her what he was hiding. There was only one reason he would lie to her.

  Sara said, “You’re investigating Lena again.”

  “No, but she knows I’m here.” Will said, “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”

  Sara’s eyes burned with tears. Lena didn’t just know that Will was here. She knew that he’d left Sara completely in the dark.

  You always think you’re so damn smart, but you can’t even see what’s right in front of you.

  “You asshole,” Sara hissed into the phone. She could still hear Lena’s laughter ringing in her ears. “You let her make a fool of me.”

  “I’m sorry.” Will’s hand went up again. He pressed his palm to the glass door. “I didn’t think that far ahead. I didn’t—” He stopped. “I need you to go easy on me, Sara. Please.”

  “You lied to me.” Her voice was shaking again. Everything was shaking. She’d blamed herself for pushing him away when all the time Will was the one keeping her at arm’s length. “You looked me right in the face and you lied to me.”

  “I didn’t tell you because I thought you would leave me.”

  She felt something snap inside of her. “You were right.”

  “Sara—”

  The pain was too much. She clutched the phone in her hand, wishing she could break it into pieces. And then she realized she could. Sara smashed the phone against the wall. Chunks of plastic and glass popped back into her face. She picked up the pieces and threw them back at the wall.

  “Sara!” Will shouted. He was still outside, pulling on the closed glass doors. “Sara!”

  What an idiot she’d been. She’d opened her heart to this man. She’d shared her bed with him. She’d told him things she’d never even told her husband.

  And he’d given Lena Adams a knife to stab into Sara’s back.

  “Sara!” The locks rattled on the closed doors.

  She turned away from him, heading back toward the stairs.

  “Wait!”

  Sara kept walking. She wasn’t going to wait on him. She would never wait on him again. She had to get out of this building. Out of this town. Away from Lena. Away from Will and his lies. There was nothing else Sara could do but run away. She’d been stupid and blind. He’d betrayed her. She had given him everything, and Will had betrayed her.

  “Sara!” Will’s voice was louder. He was inside the building.

  She quickened her pace. Will’s footsteps pounded through the empty lobby, echoed down the hall. He was coming after her.

  Sara started running. She couldn’t bear the thought of seeing his face again. She pumped her arms, lifted her knees. Will’s footsteps grew louder. The door smacked against the wall as she ran into the stairwell. Instead of going up, she went down. The staff locker room would be in the basement. Maintenance. Storage. The morgue. There would be a loading dock or an exit she could use to get the hell out of here.

  “Sara!”

  She was on the landing when the door banged open above her.

  Will yelled, “Wait!”

  She tripped, grabbing the handrail as she slid down the last few stairs. Sara pulled open the door. Another hallway. The bright lights were like needles in her eyes.

  “Stop!”

  Will was already on the landing. He was faster than Sara. She would never make it to the exit without him catching her. Her shoes skidded on the floor as she darted into an open doorway.

  “Let me explain! Sara!”

  She slammed the door shut, furiously checked for a way to lock it.

  The door pushed open. She fell backward. Will grabbed her arm. He jerked her toward him. Sara slapped at him as hard as she could. He caught one of her hands. She punched him with the other one. She hated him. She wanted to scratch out his eyes. To tear his heart out of his chest the way he had torn out hers.

  “Sara, please—”

  She punched him again. She couldn’t stop. Hitting him felt too good. She slapped his face. Her fingernails drew blood. He caught both of her hands in one of his own. Sara couldn’t break free. He pushed her back against the wall. Her head banged against the cinder block. She brought up her knee, but Will was too close for her to do any damage.

  He kissed her. Their teeth clashed. His fingers gripped open her jaw. His tongue filled her mouth. Sara slammed her fist into his chest. He ripped open her jeans. Sara didn’t stop him. She helped him. She felt numb. Every emotion had drained away but one. She was sick of taking care of people. She was sick of being the good friend, of doing the right thing, of letting things go.

  Will spit in his hand. It wasn’t enough. Sara gasped as he pushed inside of her. He went deep. Too deep. It took her breath away. Still, she gripped his shoulders, holding tight, meeting each thrust until her body took over and she felt herself give.

  Sara’s mouth found his. She sucked his tongue. Bit his lip. Her heels dug into the backs of his legs. Will flinched when her hands slipped underneath his shirt. She didn’t care. She scratched the scarred flesh on his back. Words came out of her mouth—filthy words that told him exactly what to do. Again and again she met each thrust until she had to clench her teeth to keep from screaming.

  There was no slow build, just an uncontrollable rush that flowered deep inside her. The ecstasy was unbearable. Sara bit down on Will’s shoulder. She tasted the salt of his sweat. Every molecule in her body pulsated from the intensity. She cried out his name. She couldn’t help herself, couldn’t stop the exquisite torrent of release.

  Will collapsed against her. Neither one of them could stand. They slid to the floor, both breathless, both shocked by what they had done.

  “Sara—”

  She covered her face with her hands. She couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t acknowledge what had just happened.

  “Sara—” Will’s mouth was close to her ear. The brush of his lips brought an involuntary shiver. “Oh, God,” he whispered. “Sara, please—”

  She pushed him away. She could still feel him throbbing between her legs. She felt craven. Deviant.

  “Sara …”

  She shook her head, wishing she could disappear. “Go,” she begged. “Please, just go.”

  “Sara—”

  “Go!” she screamed.

  Will struggled to stand. She heard him zip up his pants, tuck in his shirt. There was a loud click as the door opened, then again as it closed.

  Sara looked up.

  He was gone.

  11.

  FOUR DAYS BEFORE THE RAID

  Lena sat in the cramped surveillance van with her hands thrust into her jacket pockets. There were three monitors in front of her. The computers under the desk were blowing out heat. DeShawn and Paul were wearing short-sleeved shirts. They were both sweating, but Lena was so cold she could’ve been sitting in an igloo. She was only six weeks pregnant and already her body was out of whack. This was why pregnant women were always so cranky. Their thermometers bounced up and down like Ping-Pong balls.

  DeShawn scrolled through the security cameras, asking, “Where are you, Mr. Snitch?”

  “Mr. Snitch,” Paul echoed, giving the name a showman’s flourish.

  All confidential informants had code names. Protecting a CI’s identity was part of the devil’s bargain. You used the name on all your paperwork. You used it in the field, where the slip of a word could mean the death of an informant. “Mr. Snitch” wasn’t the most creative name, but it suited the junkie they’d turned a few days ago. There was something about the man that was slithery, like a
snake. Lena thought maybe it was his scaly skin and beady little eyes.

  “Come on, Snitchy.” DeShawn tapped the keyboard, toggling back and forth through the cameras outside the Chick-fil-A. “Here, Snitchy-Snitchy.”

  Paul reminded him, “We padded in an extra hour for a reason.”

  Lena watched the monitors change as DeShawn scrolled through the different angles. She’d always hated junkies—probably because her uncle was one. Hank was clean now, but that didn’t change his basic, junkie personality. Everything about him asked, What’s in it for me?

  “Here we go.” Paul pointed at one of the monitors. A white car pulled into a parking space near the door. The emergency brake was pulled. The windows rolled shut.

  Lena asked, “Does he have his mic on?”

  DeShawn twisted the dial on the tuner that picked up Snitch’s transmitter. They heard his car radio playing an ad for a pizza place. The sound cut. Keys jangled. The car door opened.

  Snitch was short and wiry and needed a shave. His ballcap was pulled low on his head. Dark sunglasses wrapped around his face. He was dressed in black jeans and a black T-shirt. He kept checking over his shoulder, looking left and right, as he walked toward the restaurant.

  “Moron,” Paul groaned. “He couldn’t just get a neon sign?”

  Snitch kept looking around as he entered the restaurant. He stood in line at the counter. A woman steered clear of him as she headed toward the side exit. Lena had scheduled the meet for just after the lunch rush, but a few stragglers were waiting around for refills. She heard soft conversation under the rustle of clothes. Snitch moved up in line. He ordered an iced tea. He kept scratching himself, shifting from one foot to the other.

  “Junkie needs his pills,” DeShawn noted.

  Lena said, “Junkie needs to do what he’s supposed to do before I pull his immunity.”

  Mr. Snitch waited at the counter. He kept twitching. Lena wanted to reach through the monitor and make him stop.

  Their entire operation depended on this junkie scumbag. For almost two weeks, Lena’s team had been surveilling a shooting gallery off an anonymous tip. They didn’t want to just shut it down. They wanted to decimate Sid Waller’s operation. The job had quickly become an exercise in futility. Normally, there was always some lowlife who was willing to flip for cash and prizes. This time was different. No one would turn on Sid Waller. No one would wear a wire while they made a buy. No one would go on the record about the drugs and guns.

  No one, that was, until Mr. Snitch.

  Paul seemed to read her mind. He asked, “You still think Snitch is working both sides?”

  “I don’t know,” Lena admitted. Mr. Snitch had asked for her by name. She’d been leaving the doctor’s office when the call came through. Her celebratory dinner with Jared had turned into takeout at the station. “It’s weird that he showed up right when our case was falling apart.”

  Paul asked, “How would he know it was falling apart?”

  Lena shrugged. “Snitch was locked up for less than two hours when he told the guard to get me. How did he even know my name?”

  Paul and DeShawn guffawed. Lena liked to break balls. Every junkie in town knew her name.

  “All right, all right,” she allowed. “Still, we’ve all been at this long enough to know that nobody does you any favors.”

  “I dunno,” Paul said. “Scrawny guy like that, his first time behind bars—two hours sounds like the right amount of time for him to freak the fuck out.”

  DeShawn added, “Oxy’s hard to come by in the pokey.”

  “Not if you suck enough dick.” Paul held up his hand for a high-five. DeShawn readily obliged.

  “Where’d he go?” Lena leaned forward, scanning the monitors.

  DeShawn worked the cameras again, toggling through the different views. “There he is.”

  Lena saw the top of a door closing. Snitch had gone to the playground. Brightly colored plastic slides and swings circled around a sandpit. Two kids were playing on the rope climb, a boy and a girl. There were more cameras on the playground than inside the restaurant. Every corner was on display.

  Snitch sat down on a bench. The sun was on his face. He stretched his arms out along the back like he had all the time in the world. They heard him humming through the microphone taped to his chest.

  “They’re gonna kick him out,” Paul said. “Grown man ain’t allowed on the playground without a kid.”

  “I think he’ll be okay.” Lena could see the staff moving lethargically behind the counter. They had all downshifted for the postlunch lull. One of the kids tossed a cup in his hand. The others watched him with a mixture of boredom and exhaustion.

  “Looks like Mom’s not gonna be a problem.” DeShawn pointed to a lone woman sitting in a booth. She was typing on her iPad while simultaneously talking on her cell phone. Papers were spread out on the table. She was obviously working.

  Paul said, “I bet she tells her husband she’s spending time with the kids.”

  Lena held back a response. Now that she was going to be a mother, she found herself far less judgmental. “We’ve got forty-five minutes, right?”

  “Give or take,” DeShawn said. “Waller has a reputation for being late.”

  Paul always had to contradict. “He might show up early, case the joint.”

  “Call me on my cell if he does.” Lena pushed open the door. “I’ll be right back.”

  She kept her head down as she walked across the parking lot. There was little chance of her being seen. They had set up in front of a Target, fifty yards from the Chick-fil-A. Tapping into the restaurant’s wireless security system was less than legal, but the manager should’ve better encrypted his wireless hotspot. They weren’t going to use the video anyway. DeShawn wasn’t recording. They were keeping a tight leash on Mr. Snitch. At least Lena was. She didn’t trust just the audio. She wanted to see him with her own eyes.

  There was something wrong with the guy. She’d only met him a few days ago, but in her gut, Lena knew there was something off about him. She had felt it when she first sat across from him at the jail. She had especially felt it when he’d told her he could hand her Sid Waller.

  Sidney Michael Waller.

  Lena was more than familiar with the name. Everyone at the station was. Waller wasn’t just a drug dealer. He wasn’t just a pimp and a gunrunner. Last year, they’d all worked around the clock to make a case against Waller for raping his niece and murdering his sister. And then the niece had recanted. Witnesses disappeared. People changed their stories. The case had fallen apart three days before the trial started and everyone, especially Lena, had walked away with a bad taste in their mouths.

  But then Mr. Snitch had showed up with a golden ticket. She couldn’t have written a better script for the man. He’d confirmed details about the shooting gallery off the interstate. The guns. The whores. The vast amount of drugs moving through the city while Sid Waller sat back and counted the dough. The case practically made itself. Waller would spend years behind bars. He’d get far more time for the guns than he would have off the rape.

  But only if Lena ignored her gut. She had to keep tamping down the little voice inside her head that said this was too easy. She’d been gunning for Waller for a year and suddenly he fell into her lap? What was Mr. Snitch getting out of this? The immunity deal was good, but was skipping eight months in prison really worth risking his life?

  Lena couldn’t let herself dwell on the questions too long. She couldn’t let this operation fall apart.

  The truth was that Sid Waller had gotten under her skin. Lena was determined to return the favor. She brought him in for questioning every time she found a plausible excuse. She couldn’t put him behind bars—yet—but she could certainly run up his legal bills. Just last week, Waller had called her a cunt during an interview. Two weeks before that, he’d told her all the different ways he could fuck her. That all of this had been recorded for prosperity didn’t seem to bother him. Waller had a good at
torney, the kind of attorney who knew the law better than most cops.

  Maybe that’s why the judge was being so difficult. Lena had tried to get a warrant for the shooting gallery based on the suspicious traffic at all hours of the night. The judge had said no. Denise Branson presented evidence that Mr. Snitch, a confidential informant, had given up the location. The judge had said no. It was only through blind persistence that they had talked the man into letting them record today’s meeting. And even then, he’d only authorized audio.

  This was their last chance. Lena knew there was no way the judge could say no if they got it on tape. All Mr. Snitch had to do was get Waller to talk about the house, to say something about the guns or the drugs or the money, then they could go in and bust some bad guys.

  At least that’s what Lena was praying for. Sid Waller was the last big case she was going to work for a while. She was looking at months of her life being consumed by her pregnancy, then a couple of weeks, maybe another month, home with the baby before she returned to work.

  Just the thought of being away from the job that long made her feel antsy. Lena had always been a cop. She couldn’t lose that part of her identity. Lately, it seemed like she wasn’t going to have a choice. She was too tired to sleep, too sleepy to concentrate. She had to pee all the time. She was cold. She was hot. She was cold again. If this was what pregnancy was like, Lena wasn’t sure she could handle it. And the nausea was unrelenting. Why did they call it morning sickness when it was more like all-day sickness?

  Lena sat on a bench in front of the Target. She had to unzip her jacket because she’d started sweating at some point during the easy walk across the parking lot. She found a tissue in the pocket and blew her nose. She wasn’t sure why her nose ran all the time now. Jared said she was making snot for two.

  Lena checked the time on her phone. Sid Waller wasn’t due for another forty minutes. She’d rest for a little while, then go back to the van. That is, if she didn’t fall asleep first. Her eyelids felt heavy as she looked around the parking lot.

  Lena found herself wondering if the world had always been filled with so many kids or if she was just seeing them now because she was pregnant. A toddler screamed as his mother pulled him toward the store. A child ran screeching around a minivan as his harried mom chased after him. Just outside the entrance to the store, another poor woman was bouncing a wailing baby on her hip.