The Sabrina Vaughn series Set 2

by Maegan Beaumont

  “That’s not entirely true, is it, Nulo?” she said, levering herself off the counter to face him down. “You had Wade.”

  Melissa....

  “You were there. You saw him the night he left Melissa Walker in the garden at St. Rose,” she said to him, piecing it together as she went “You saw what he did to her and you liked it.”

  “No.” He shook his head, looking at Vega, trying to find someone who believed him. “No, I saw him but I—”

  “You reached out to him. Wrote him letters and he wrote you back. Told you things.” She tightened her grip on the butt of the Kimber, so tight she couldn’t feel her fingers. “He made you feel like you belonged. Taught you how to kill.”

  “That never happened. I never wrote those letters,” Alvarez said, unclenching his hands. “When I saw them, how they were signed, I knew—”

  “That it was only a matter of time before you were caught. You knew we were working on finding Graciella. She was your aunt. The one who rented you the P.O. Box. When you saw those letters, you left the station. You went to St. Rose to kill Father Francisco—your father.” She smiled at him, the lift of her mouth feeling predatory. “I’m sorry to have to tell you that you didn’t quite get the job done.”

  Melissa…

  “What?” Alvarez looked like he’d just been punched in the gut and he turned, wheeling his gaze toward Vega who’d been sitting quietly, growing more and more pale with each word spoken. “What is she saying?”

  “He protected you,” she said. “When I asked him who you were, your father refused to tell me, even though he had to have known who you were. What you’d done. He protected you and you and you stomped his face in.”

  Alvarez sank into the chair he’d just vacated, shaking his head, his gut-punched stare replaced by one that said he was seconds away from vomiting.

  Sabrina!

  The word, her own name, shouted within the confines of her head stopped her cold, forcing her to listen.

  It ain’t him. This guy, whoever he is. He ain’t him.

  74

  Ellie.

  The voice came from a distance now, like it was floating away. Or maybe she was the one who was floating away. Maybe she was the one who was dead.

  Ellie, I need you to get up.

  Closer now, like the sound of it had dragged her back from somewhere else. Like it was trying to keep her here.

  “Mom...” the word passed her lips, sounding like a breath.

  The hand again, cool and gentle against her cheek.

  No, it’s not Mom. Please get up...

  She wanted to. She didn’t want to float away. She wanted to live. “My mom...”

  She’s okay. I’ll keep her safe. Keep you both safe, I promise, but you have to help me. You have to get up now. Before they comes back.

  She wanted to ask how she could protect them both but she didn’t. Instead she struggled to open her eyes. “Where... where are they?”

  It was quiet. The kind of quiet that told her she was alone—at least for now.

  Gone, the voice confirmed. But they’ll be back. We have to go now...

  Ellie opened her eyes to the dark, the kind of dark that can convince you that you’ve gone blind. “I can’t see,” she said, panic edging in on her, raising her voice. Her hands were still bound and she raised them to her face. Felt her eyes. They were open. Staring blindly.

  Shhh, it’s okay. You don’t need to see. I’ll show you the way.

  Pushing herself against the wall, she forced herself into a sitting position, pressing her bound hands into the floor to steady herself. The movement made her dizzy and she pressed her cheek against its cool surface. Face pressed so close, she caught the scent of something she’d smelled before.

  Blood—both old and new. The stench of it seeped into the walls.

  Even though she was blind, she closed her eyes, forced herself to keep breathing. To not scream. She used her other senses to ground herself. The wall beneath her cheek was rough. Made of cinderblock. Possibly concrete. Both were used often in desert construction, so wherever she was, it had to be close to home. She noticed again how quiet it was. Save for the voice, she heard nothing. No air conditioner’s distant hum. No whirl of fan blades. It was August in Arizona. Too hot outside to be without either. “Where are we?” she said. Composed, she dragged her feet underneath her. Another wave of dizziness washed over her, threatening to knock her back down.

  Underground. It’s where he takes them.

  Underground. It made sense. Yuma was home to multiple military bases and boasted one of the world’s largest proving grounds. Nearly fifteen-hundred miles of terrain, riddled with underground bunkers with construction going back as far as the 1950s.

  She could be almost anywhere.

  Come on, Ellie. Time to move.

  Using her shoulder, she pushed herself up until she was standing straight. The back of her head, peeled off the wall, coming away wet and sticky. Her gut was suddenly seized by a violent nausea and she lurched over, just as her stomach rebelled, pushing its contents into her throat.

  It’s okay, Ellie. I’m here. I’m with you...

  Soothing words, accompanied by soft fingertips, brushing against her forehead. She smiled through the misery.

  “Remember that time I showed up at your house in the middle of the night? I drank too much and was afraid to go home.” She wiped a shaky hand over her mouth. “I threw up all over your kitchen table—” Tears pushed against the back of her eyes and she had to blink them away. “I’m sorry about that.”

  I know. I know you are, Ellie.

  She’d let Rachel talk her into drinking almost an entire bottle of peppermint schnapps. They’d been at the pump house as usual, so many people, hanging out and drinking... that’s the first time she ever remembered seeing him. He’d been mixed in with the crowd, hanging back. Watching them from a distance, like he’d been waiting for something. “He was there the night Rachel disappeared.” Saying it out loud brought the memory into sharp focus. “He was with someone...”

  Don’t think about that now. Right now, we need to focus on getting out of here. We’re running out of time...

  “But I can’t see,” she whispered. “I’m scared.”

  I know it you are but you don’t have to be. I’ve been down here a long time. I’ll show you where to go.

  She took a shuffling step forward, bound hands, stretched out in front of her.

  That’s it, Ellie. You’re almost there... keep walking.

  She took step after shuffling step, the voice guiding her across the room, until her outstretched hands touched against one of the walls that surrounded her. No, not the wall. This surface was smooth, not rough like the cement walls she’d been pushed against. The door. She’d found the way out. “Is this it? Is this the way out?” She breathed the question out, even as her fingers wrapped around the door handle and jerked. Nothing happened, the handle was fixed. Unmoving.

  It was locked.

  Her knees buckled, her forehead bumping against the door. “It’s locked,” she whimpered, fresh tears pushing to break free. “The door’s locked.”

  I know. The girl before you got away. She ran and...

  “Maggie,” Ellie said in a dull voice, hands slack against the door handle. She dropped them, immediately feeling for her front pocket. It was empty. No paper clip. “Her name was Maggie. He killed her and he’s going to kill me too.”

  No he isn’t. I’m not going to let that happen. On the floor, in the corner behind you is a scrap of the wire he uses to bind your hands. It’s been there for a while—it’s too dark in here for him to see it. Find it.

  “Wire?” she said, her tone laced with doubt, even as she slid down the length of the door, finding her way to the floor. “I don’t know. It’s dark. I don’t know if I can find it .”

  Yes you can. You’re going to find that scrap of wire and then you’re going to use it to pick that lock.

  “And then what?” she sa
id, bounds hands feeling along the floor in front of her.

  And then I’m going to show you the way out of here.

  75

  “I was there that night, at St. Rose,” Alvarez said, shaking his head, bouncing his gaze between her and Vega. “And I saw what had been done to that girl—but I never saw the guy who did it.”

  He was talking about her. Melissa. Alvarez was admitting to being a witness to what happened to her that night but denying he ever saw Wade. It didn’t make sense.

  It’d make perfect sense if you’d just listen to me, Darlin’. He ain’t the guy.

  “That girl had a name.”

  Sabrina looked up and over to see Val standing in the doorway, hand rubbing over her protruding belly in a circular motion. She was looking at Alvarez like she wanted to deck him. He must have seen it too because he started to stutter. “I know, I just—I mean—”

  Sabrina jammed the Kimber back into the holster on her hip and wiped a hand over her mouth. “Ms. Hernandez, please, if you would just go back—”

  “No.” Val shot her a look that said she was seconds away from blowing her cover before she wheeled around and pinned Alvarez with her dark gaze. “Her name was Melissa Walker and she was my friend.”

  “I know,” he offered. “I remember and I’m sorry,”

  “Never mind that,” she said, shooting Val a stay out of it glare. “Why were you there? What were you doing inside a church in the middle of the night?” she said. She’d gotten the story from Father Francisco but she wanted to see if Alvarez’s account lined up with his.

  “I...” he trailed his gaze across the table, stopping when it landed on Vega. “I was hiding from my uncle,” he said, his admission followed by a humorless laugh. “At least I thought he was my uncle..”

  “Why were you hiding from your uncle?” Sabrina said, leaning her hips against the counter before crossing arms over her chest. She’d already heard it from Father Francisco but she needed to hear it from Alvarez.

  “Because his favorite hobby was getting drunk and beating me until I couldn’t walk.” Alvarez looked away. “And that was when he was feeling generous.”

  “Is that why you killed him?” Sabrina said, forcing her tone to remain as flat and emotionless as possible. “Because he beat you.”

  He looked at her then, gazed as rigid and fixed as his jaw. “The beating I could handle. It was the other stuff I couldn’t take.”

  It wasn’t an admission of guilt but it wasn’t a denial either.

  “What his name?” The question came from Vega. “Your uncle—who was he?”

  “Tomas Olivero.” Alvarez followed his answer with a short bark of harsh laughter. “He worked for your uncle as a field foreman. He was his right-hand man.”

  Tomas Olivero was the Vega Farms employee who’d found Rachel Meeks chained up in that abandoned pump house. He’d been stabbed to death less than a year later.

  This is all sorts of fascinating, Darlin’ but how the hell is any of this gonna help?

  “Did you kill him, Alvarez?” she said, tuning Wade out completely. “Did you kill your uncle?”

  Shame lowered Alvarez’s eyes, anchoring them into the table’s smooth surface. “I wanted to, but—”

  “You didn’t do it.” she said, shaking her head. “You didn’t kill him. You couldn’t.”

  “I found him in his truck, my field knife sticking out of his chest.” Alvarez shook his head. “I was fifteen and I already knew how it’d go—everyone knew what he did to me. No one would believe I didn’t do it.”

  You remember what that’s like, don’t you? Running away... only, the way I remember it, you really did kill the guy who got after you.

  “You ran.” This came from Vega, who was listening to the story with a mixture of guilt and relief planted on his face. He’d been the lucky one. The chosen son, while his brother had been discarded and abused.

  Alvarez nodded. “Yeah—Father Francisco gave me money and I bought a ticket to Tucson.”

  “That’s when I became Mark Alvarez,” she said, filling in the blanks. Buying fake papers was easy enough if you knew where to look. “Why did you come back? Why not stay in Tucson?”

  “Ellie,” he said, giving her a shrug. “She was in Tucson for a training and recognized me. We used to have a few classes together in school. We were friendly. She believed me when I told her I didn’t kill my uncle and she convinced me to come home. Said no one would remember me and she was right.”

  “But someone did remember you. He did.” She looked at Vega, directly her next question at him. “What was your relationship with Father Francisco like?”

  “It was an open family secret that he was my father,” Vega shrugged. “But we never talked about,” he said, looking at Alvarez. “We never really talked at all.”

  “Together, the two of you had everything he wanted.” She pointed at Vega. “You had the money, the prestige of being a Vega,” she said, before shifting her focus onto Alvarez. “And you had your father’s affections. Both, he feels, rightfully belong to him. That’s why he raped Rachel and killed Olivero. He was trying to take those things away from you.”

  Look at you, talking like a real-life profiler. Our daddy’d be so proud.

  Something Alvarez said earlier snagged on her brain and she reached for it, prying it loose. “You said, I saw what’d been done to that girl—but I never saw the guy who did it,” she said carefully. “But you did see someone, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah—” Alvarez shook his head. “But he was just a kid—no older than I was, really.”

  “Wade Bauer was barely eighteen years old when he killed his first victim,” she told him. “He was just a kid when he took Melissa Walker. He raped and tortured her for eighty-three days before he was even old enough to legally buy beer.”

  Awwe, Darlin’, you say the sweetest things.

  Alvarez nodded. “He was an altar boy. Always at the church. Probably more than I was but...d”

  “But what?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t—I got the feeling Father Francisco didn’t like him much.”

  That had to be him. “What was his name?”

  “I can’t remember his name, but it was him,” Alvarez insisted. “He was the one I saw standing over Melissa Walker that night.”

  She pushed, tried to remember that night but couldn’t. “What was he doing?” she said quietly, not sure she wanted to hear the answer. “When you saw him standing over her?”

  Alvarez looked away for a second before he met her gaze. “He was smiling.”

  76

  The wires kept slipping out of her fingers. It was the blood. It was everywhere, welling and dripping from where her wrist had been cut and rubbed raw by the wire that bound them together. “I can’t do this,” Ellie said, leaning her forehead against the door. “I can’t.”

  Yes you can. Try again.

  The voice was no longer soothing her. Now it was urging her on, refusing to let her give up. Ellie fit the top scrap of wire into the keyhole, working it under the tumblers while the bottom scrap worked its way past them. It was an arduous process, one she had neither the time or dexterity for. It’d taken her a few minutes to find the wire and then bend and work it into two separate pieces. Her fingers were starting to cramp, having been pinched together for so long.

  “My head hurts,” she said in the tone of voice you’d expect from a temperamental five-year-old. She worked the top wire up and down a bit, slipping it past another tumbler.

  You’re almost there...

  Up and down. Not jiggling. Slow and easy. That was how Nulo taught her to do it, using paper clips to pick old padlocks he’d found in the bed of his uncle’s truck, but that was a long time ago. They’d been kids then...

  Mark. He wanted her to call him Mark now.

  Got it.

  The top wire slipped under the last tumbler and she lifted, allowing the bottom wire to push forward. Holding her breath, Ellie turned the lock inside the han
dle.

  The door swung free, opening onto a dimly lit hallway. She wasn’t blind after all. She could see shapes and shadows but her vision was blurry, wavering, like she’d opened her eyes under water.

  Time to go, Ellie.

  Stepping forward, Ellie looked to her right. Stretched in front of her was a long corridor, dotted haphazardly with doors. All of them were shut.

  There’s no one else here. Just you.

  Despite the warning ringing in her head, Ellie lurched across the hall. This door was locked too. Pressing her ear against it, she listened. Nothing but silence. “Are you sure?”

  Yes, I’m sure. The voice had grown insistent, its tone urging her forward. Please, we’re running out of time.

  “Okay...” she shuffled forward, shoulder dragging against the wall as she went to keep herself upright. The floor pitched and rolled under her feet, like the deck of a ship. Her head throbbed, the pulse of it slamming in her ears, keeping time with her heart. Ahead of her was another door. This one was cracked open, brighter light spilling into the hallway.

  The way out.

  No, Ellie. That’s not the way out.

  She stopped shuffling. “What is it?” she said, turning her head slightly. “What’s in there?”

  You don’t want to know. Please, just keep going...

  She resumed the shuffling lurch that carried her down the hall. Reaching the door, she nudge it open. Widening the crack with a bump of her shoulder, she peered inside.

  Please, Ellie. Don’t go in there. There’s no time.

  The room was long and narrow. Windowless, it’s only source of light was one of those portable shop lights hanging from a hook set in the ceiling. An extension cord fed it power, a bright orange snake that wound its way up the wall to disappear through a hole drilled near the ceiling. At the far end of the room was an IV pole standing sentry over an empty hospital bed. Directly in front of her was a privacy screen stretched out, hiding was behind it for view.