The Sabrina Vaughn series Set 2

by Maegan Beaumont

  Created by FSS’s R&D department the material was embedded with fiber optics half as thin as a hair. Trillions of them webbed together, they emitted a signal that killed all things electrical. EMP in a wallpaper, it could be painted over, woven into the fabric of a suit. Disguised in a thousand different ways. You’d never even know it was there, until you tried to call for back-up and realized that you’d been absolutely cut off from the outside world.

  He’d been trying to get his hands on it for months now.

  Dropping his arm, he took a look around, his gaze instantly landing on the box. It looked to be a 5x5, made of thick, molded glass that was set into the floor and anchored in place from the outside. The box was also a creation of FSS—built to his father’s specifications. The glass was four inches thick and bulletproof. The bolts that locked it into the floor were as big around as his forearm that rested on top of pressure plates buried in six feet of solid concrete. The slightest vibration would result in... he wasn’t sure what, but he was sure it would be pretty fucking horrible. The bottom line was box was escape-proof. He knew because he’d spent six months of his life trying to find his way out of one exactly like it.

  In the center of the box stood a man. Hands cuffed behind him, naked as the day he was born—save for the black hood on his head.

  Here, kitty, kitty.

  Strolling across the room, Ben noted the absolute absence of sound. Nothing made noise. Not his shoes as he walked, not the knife in his hand as he worked it closed.

  Up close he could see them. More fibers, buried in the glass. Still, he halfway expected to be rendered mute as he raised his hand and used the hilt of his knife to knock on the glass. The deep, muted sound raised the head of the man inside the box but that was about it. There was no panic. No fear. Just an air of impatience that made Ben smile.

  Using the hilt again, Ben pressed button set flush into the glass of the box. “Can you hear me?” Ben said, leaning against the thick glass of the box.

  The man inside the box nodded. The feeling of impatience thickened, making Ben wonder how long it’d been since someone had been in to tend him. His answer lay in a puddle at the man’s feet.

  Trading his knife for the key, he inserted it into the lock just below the intercom. “Fantastic,” he said, giving it a turn. “You wanna get out of here?”

  50

  Yuma, Arizona

  “I want you to follow him.”

  Sabrina stood at the second-floor window of their conference room, watching Vega climb into the passenger seat of his lawyer’s Audi r8 Spyder. Reverse lights flashed a second before the convertible sped off, blowing the stop sign without even so much as a cursory break tap.

  Douchebag.

  As soon as the car disappeared, she turned away from the window to find Church sitting at the long, heavy table, feet kicked up, a pile of papers in her lap. “Did you hear me, Church? I said—”

  “I’ve been following him since yesterday afternoon, Kitten,” Church said without so much as a glance in her direction. A slight smirk brushed across her mouth. “Or at least I’ve been following his cell phone.”

  Of course she had. “And?”

  “And...” Church shuffled through the papers on her lap, exchanging them for the journal that was buried underneath. “Nothing. No incriminating phone calls. No trips to his cozy, out of the way, serial killer lair,” she said, finally looking up. “Maybe he’s not the guy.”

  Sabrina was beginning to wonder the same thing but she shook her head. “Or maybe he’s just smart enough to leave his phone at home.”

  Church shrugged. “Sorry,” she said, flipping the journal open. “It’s the best I can do.”

  “I’ve seen your best.” she said, annoyance sharpening her tone. She needed to catch Vega in the act and as much as it pained her to admit it, she’d need Church’s help to do it. “This isn’t it.”

  “Okay,” Church said, flipping through the journal’s pages. “It’s all I’m willing to do.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means, I’m not here to catch a killer,” Church said, running her finger down the length of the page before turning it. “You’re here to catch a killer. I’m here to make sure Livingston Shaw doesn’t send his T-9000s to Sarah Connor your ass.”

  Hearing Shaw’s name reminded her of the man in the stairwell. The same one in the church this morning. He’d been following her, she was sure of it. She opened her mouth to tell Church but quickly changed her mind. If she told Church, she’d do her job—which according to her was kill half of Yuma and haul her ass back to Montana. As much as she wanted to go home she couldn’t. Not until she nailed Vega to the wall. As for her newly acquired shadow—she’d take care of him on her own.

  You sure you want to go home, Darlin’? What’s there, anyway? A man who resents you for getting his sister killed. A couple of kids who hardly talk to you? Hell, even the dog would be better off without you.

  “Without Graciella Lopez, I’m not sure how I’m going to do that,” she said carefully.

  Church looked up and smiled. “I’m not going to Mexico.” She glanced back down at the page she was reading, running her finger down the length of it. “And neither are you.”

  “You let me meet Croft on my own,” she said in a complaintive tone so irritating it made her want to kick her own ass. “And nothing happened.”

  “Did I?” Church said, a you’re adorable smirk on her downturned face, telling her what she already suspected. Church had been following her last night. Probably snatched Croft the second she left him at the truck stop.

  “She needs to be found, Courtney.”

  Church laughed, her finger stopping mid-page. “Using my first name to capitalize on our perceived relationship—you must be serious.”

  “This is serious, you sociopath.” Sabrina’s gaze swept across the table, settling on the box next to Church’s feet. “He killed another girl last night, only this one must’ve really pissed him off because he set her on fire after he punched a hole in her skull.”

  “We’ll, find him Sabrina,” Church said to her, her tone suddenly serious. “We just have to keep digging.”

  “All the digging in the world isn’t going to give us what we need which, just in case you missed it, is Nulo’s real name,” she said, her frustration spiking. “Right now, I don’t have anything but bunch of half-baked speculations—that means all we can do is wait for this asshole to kill again and hope we get lucky—that’s not something I’m willing to do.”

  “I can’t help you,” Church said.

  “You won’t help me,” she said quietly. “Big difference.”

  “I operate within the parameters I’m given, Kitten.” Church shook her head. “Ben understands that about me... which is why he left me very little wiggle room.”

  “Then call him.” Ben wouldn’t drop this case in her lap and then tie her hands completely. He wouldn’t do that.

  You sure about that? That kid’s as slick as a greased pig. Maybe he didn’t send you here. Maybe he lured you here...

  Church sighed. “I told you—”

  “You’re lying.” Now she did shout, the sound of her voice picked up a few heads beyond the conference room window—curious detectives inside the bullpen, aiming their attention straight at her. She took a deep breath, walking toward the window. “He wouldn’t push you out of the plane without a parachute,” she said, her tone level as she twirled the wand attached to the blinds until they closed. “Someone with your skill? Your lack of morality—you’re too valuable to a person like Ben.” She turned, nailing Church with an icy glare. “He’d give you a backdoor. And you’re going to use.”

  51

  Berlin, Germany

  “What the fuck kinda game you playin’, bro?”

  Irritated by the interruption, Ben looked up. Lark stood over him, his own glare not so much annoyed as it was angry and terrified. “I’m not playing a game.” He held up the book in his lap, his to
ne laced with annoyance. “I’m reading.” When Lark didn’t answer, move or change facial expressions, Ben lowered his book back to his lap. “Oh. You mean with him,” he said, turning the page. The movement sent pain spiraling, from the center of his palm all the way to his elbow. “Not really sure. It was one of those, impulsive my-daddy-has-it-so-now-I-want-it kinda things.” He shrugged, not even bothering to glance at the man in the suit sitting a few rows ahead of them. “I’ll probably just cut him loose as soon as we land.”

  “Cut him loose?” Lark threw a cautious look over his shoulder before sliding into the seat facing him. “Look, I know you got daddy issues...” he said quietly. “but, that would be a decidedly bad idea.”

  “Okay—I’ll play.” Ben sighed loudly, closing his book. “Why is that, Lark?”

  Lark looked at him for a moment before reaching up to rub the smooth brown skin at his crown. “You really don’t know who that is, do you?”

  “Nope,” he said, tossing his book onto the seat next to him. When he’d opened the box, he’d been prepared for a fight. He didn’t get one. Instead, the guy followed him quietly to his father’s private elevator.

  When they’d gotten to his apartment, Ben led him inside. “I’m gonna take the hood off,” he announced it a half second before he yanked the black sack of the guy’s head. A dark blond head matted with sweat and a pair of brown eyes so dark they looked almost black came up, aimed straight at him. If he recognized him or had any idea who he was, he didn’t show it. Given the fact that it was his father who’d been keeping the guy in a 5x5 box, Ben wasn’t inclined to announce his parentage just yet.

  The guy drank seven bottles of water, draining them faster than he could pull them out of the fridge. Ben wanted to know who he was. What he’d done to get The Box. The who was easier to answer than the what. He was either a FSS operative who’d displeased his father but still held value or he was someone his father had been paid to make disappear but was too valuable to kill. The common denominator in both scenarios was value.

  This guy had it... so, of course, he wanted it.

  “I’ve been calling him Naked Guy for the past three hours,” Ben said to cover up his curiosity. He wasn’t naked anymore. After the water, Ben gave him a shower and a suit. The shower put him behind schedule and the suit, while long enough, was a bit loose across the chest. Not a lot of opportunity to hit the weights when you’re being kept like a bug under a water glass.

  When they boarded the Lear, Gail looked up from her day planner, her mouth, about to run a mile a minute. “Fifteen minutes late,” he said as he passed her, hustling Naked Guy down the aisle. “For me that’s like two days early.”

  Gail’s mouth slammed closed on a scowl while she eyed his companion in the ill-fitting suit. Naked guy never said a word.

  “That’s Noah Dunn,” Lark said to him now, his tone held low in the hopes that they wouldn’t be overheard.

  “That’s Noah Dunn?” Ben craned his neck to see over Lark’s shoulder, catching a look at the back of Naked Guy’s head. He was staring straight ahead, hadn’t moved an inch since he sat down nearly two hours ago but that hardly mattered. He was listening to every word they said. Ben would bet his life on it. “You sure? He doesn’t look like much.”

  “How the hell is he supposed to look?” Lark shot him a look that called him ten kinds of stupid. “You father’s had him stuffed in a 5x5 for the past four years and I’m positive,” Lark said hitching his thumb other his shoulder. “That soggy piece of white bread is Noah-fucking-Dunn.”

  “How do you know?” he said, watching the back of Dunn’s head for a reaction.

  Lark’s eyes narrowed. “Bringing him in was the first assignment Michael and I ever worked together.”

  He’d heard the stories. Dunn had been his father’s golden boy. King of the Pips. His right-hand man. The second son he’d always wanted... until shit went sideways. No one knew what really happened, although there were some pretty wild speculations. All anyone knew for sure was that one minute Daddy Dearest and Dunn were holding hands and making doe-eyes at each other. The next, his father was issuing a kill order with Dunn’s name on it. Why Michael brought him in alive was anyone’s guess. Maybe he’d already gotten tired of his father jerking his chain. Maybe, after years of being El Cartero, he’d just been tired of all the killing. Ben’s guess was it was a bit of both.

  Dunn went stiff at the mention of Michael. It was brief. Nothing more than a transitory tensing of the shoulders but it was there. It told Ben in an instant that Lark was right. The guy he’d sprung from The Box was Noah Dunn and good or bad—he knew exactly who Michael O’Shea was. Before he could decide whether to snap the guy’s neck or offer him a job, the phone in his pocket let out a chirp.

  Since letting it ring really wasn’t an option, he reached in and quickly silenced it. It rang again three seconds later. He silenced it. It rang again.

  “I don’t think whoever it is can take a hint,” Lark said, eyebrow arched, elbows braced on his knees. The look on his face said he knew exactly who it was.

  It wasn’t his regular phone that was ringing. Only one person had the number and no—taking a hint had never been one of Church’s strong suits. He yanked it out of his pocket and silenced it mid-ring. “This isn’t a good—”

  “What was it you used to say to me... oh, yeah—I don’t give a shit.”

  Sabrina. He had to fight the urge to smile. To give in to the relief that hearing her voice brought him. “I’m in the middle of a meeting. Can I call you back?”

  “No,” she said, slightly out of breath. “I had to stick my gun in Church’s ear just to get the phone from her. I don’t think I’ll have another chance.”

  He could imagine it—Sabrina besting his father’s super-spy. The mental picture made him smile. “I wish I was there with you.” The words slipped out on a sigh, full of regret.

  “I wish you were here too,” she told him quietly. “You’re an unreasonable prick most of the time but at least you have a conscience.”

  He thought about the things he’d done for his father over the past year. “That’s debatable,” he said turning toward the window so he wouldn’t have to stomach Lark watching him. “What do you need?”

  “I need to find a witness...”

  “Okay,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “Tell your associate to—”

  She sighed. “In Mexico.”

  “Absolutely not.” He thought of the information he’d taken from his father’s desk. The maps circled in red. The surveillance photos. Sending her to Yuma had been a huge mistake. Allowing Church to take off on a wild-goose chase would be like killing all of them himself.

  “I need to find her, Ben—” She bit each word in half. “All I need is a location.”

  Godamnit. “Text me the information and I’ll see what I can do.” He looked at Lark. “Just... don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

  As soon as he hung up, Lark arched an eyebrow at him. “Lemme guess—I’ll see what I can do means Let me make Lark my bitch—again.”

  “We all have our places, Lark—and we’re all somebody’s bitch.” Ben looked out the window and shrugged, thought about where he was going and why. “Crying about it just makes you pathetic.”

  52

  Yuma, Arizona

  Sabrina ended the call, switching from call to text. Beside her, Church shifted in her chair. Sabrina thumbed the hammer back on her Kimber.

  “You’re such a bitch,” Church griped at her while she thumbed out a text.

  Graciella Lopez.

  Look for any houses or properties

  Owned by Vega Farms or their

  associates. Just find her, I’ll take

  care of the rest.

  Thanks.

  She hit send and smiled. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it, Kitten?”

  Church batted the gun out of her face and grabbed at the phone. “When this is over, I’m going to kill you,” she said without any real heat, j
amming the phone back into her pocket.

  “There’s too much at stake—”

  “I understand the stakes,” Church said hotly. “Pretty sure it’s you who keeps playing it fast and loose with everyone’s life.”

  It reminded her that this wasn’t just about her or Michael. If she was found, the people she left behind—Val, Strickland, the twins—wouldn’t last a week. “Shit.” She pulled out a chair and sank into it. “You’re right... I just... ”

  Church sighed. “You take it personally,” she said like she understood. “People die and you can’t help but feel like it’s your fault.”

  She nodded. “I don’t know what to think. On one hand, we have Vega—given his relationship with Rachel Meeks, his apparent relationship with Wade, and his established relationship with Gabriella Lopez—he’s our prime suspect.”

  “But then we have this Nulo character who keeps popping up.” Church chime in. “You think he and Vega are the same person? Maybe he used the name to keep his identity a secret in case Wade turned on him?”

  “Maybe. What I’ve learned about Vega so far jibes with what Father Vega told me about Nulo… but I don’t know.” Sabrina shrugged. “What I do know is the only person who can tell me has been hijacked and I can’t get to her.”

  “Your wrong you, know—” Church stood. “I might not be able to tell you who he is, but I’ve got a pretty good idea of what we’re looking for.”

  Sabrina studied the box. “How much of this stuff did you read?” The thought of anyone having access to what was in that box made her want to throw-up.

  Afraid they’ll see the real you Darlin’?

  “Most of it—all of the letters. A few of the journals.” Church said without so much as a hint of an apology. “I’m reading by chronological order so... I’m working my way through 2001 now.”