“Enough.” The knife let up, and he dragged her farther down the street.
She’d heard Matthias come out, and the men shouting. They were moving now, fanning out to search while Frannie was dragged away by the man who’d nearly poisoned her to death. Einetine wouldn’t work on her now. She’d taken the medicine. If he intended to kill her with it, the substance would have little effect on her—even given her allergy to codeine. Frannie didn’t want to get dosed, but at least she would survive.
His grip on her was so tight she couldn’t break his hold, no matter how hard she struggled.
“Do you know how much hassle you’ve caused me?”
He shoved her down an alley at the end of Main Street to where a lone golf cart sat at the end, parked out front of Sam Tura’s gym. No one would be in there this late at night. Should she shout? Frannie figured she would likely get stabbed for yelling, but if she could draw enough attention to them, someone might hear her.
Frannie sucked in a breath to scream. A heavy fist thudded her in the stomach. Breath evaporated from her lungs in a rush, and she doubled over.
The killer leaned down and whispered in her ear. “You should know, I’ve done this before. Enough times you’re not going to call for help. You’re not going to challenge me. You’re just going to walk where I tell you to and keep your mouth shut.”
Frannie straightened to find the knife was in front of her face. She jerked her head in a nod.
“Now move.”
He walked her to the golf cart and pushed her across the seat to the driver’s side. With the knife pointed in her side, he said, “Drive.”
“Where to?”
He slammed his boot down on her foot, slamming the tread of his sole into the skin on the top of her foot not covered by her ballet flats.
Frannie pressed her lips together to hold in the cry as they careened down Main. She gripped the wheel.
“Left.”
The move would take her farther from Matthias and the men searching for her, but she did it. Where was he taking her? There weren’t too many places to hide in town, and only a handful of buildings that weren’t houses. She glanced at him, trying to figure out who he was. The build was of an older man, but still fit. Like an aging prison inmate whose only entertainment was using the workout equipment and jogging around the yard.
“Right.”
Frannie swung the wheel, hoping he would lose his grip on the seat and fall out. As it was, he had one hand on her arm and the other held the knife in her side. Judging by the sting, it felt like he’d already sliced through her clothes to nick her skin.
The golf cart engine whirred as the killer’s foot pressed hers. Frannie bit her lip to keep from crying out. Who knew the skin on the top of the foot was so sensitive?
Tears spilled out onto her cheeks as she followed his directions, past houses to the blacktop toward the water treatment plant at the base of the mountains on the north-east side. The siren from Sheriff Mason’s car rang out. The rush of hope made her hands—slick from sweat—slip off the steering wheel. The golf cart swerved, the killer yelped and the knife stuck into her a little more. Frannie cried out. His boot moved off her foot and the blade was pulled back. He struck out, slamming the knife handle into Frannie’s temple.
Then he gripped the steering wheel and took control. The two right side wheels hit the ground again, and Frannie clutched the side of her forehead with her hand. Warm, wet stickiness trailed down the side of her face.
She slammed his shoulder with her hand. “You hit me.”
The pain in her head clarified her thoughts, sharpening her mind until she could only think of one thing—getting away. Frannie lashed out again.
The killer grabbed the back of her head and slammed it into the steering wheel.
When Frannie woke up she was lying on the floor. The pain in her head had magnified until she thought her skull was going to split open.
The concrete under her was hard and cold. Frannie braced her hand to lift herself up, but her arm gave out and she crumpled back onto the floor.
A low, dark chuckle penetrated the throbbing in her mind.
Frannie blinked and tried to focus. She could see him, shadowed in the corner.
Who was it?
“Ten for effort, but you will remain here. With me.”
**
Bolton stormed out of the sheriff’s office onto the street to where Matthias stood with Nadia Marie and Andra. “Mimi won’t talk.”
John followed him out, his attention on the earbud he put in his ear.
Bolton shot him a scathing look. “John won’t let me cross his line, even though it would get us what we want.”
Matthias watched Nadia Marie blink away shock, seeing something in Bolton she either hadn’t known or hadn’t realized was there. Andra was nodding. Evidently she felt she could get a result after a little time with Mimi, too.
“You’re a scary guy,” Matthias said. “But what’s more scary is that I want you to do it.”
John shook his head and looked up from the tablet he’d plugged the headphones into. “We have to keep our honor intact. Sanctuary has a lot of rules that are different from outside life, and everyone in this town signed away a significant chunk of their rights when they came here. But it’s about protecting them. It’s not for us to abuse that trust.”
Matthias folded his arms. “Not even if it means the difference between Frannie’s life and her death?”
“Not even.”
“I know how to make the hard decision, John. I’ve done it.” Matthias didn’t know how much Bolton or John had told Nadia Marie and Andra about his past. “I’ll do it now if I have to.”
“I know you will. But if we give up our honor, what do we have left?”
Matthias could list a few things he would live with, even without his honor. Frannie being top of the list. But John was right, they didn’t want to become the very thing they were hunting. Matthias had to prove—to himself and Frannie—that he was worth her love. She loved him, despite the fact she’d never told him, but there was so much in Matthias that was darkness, he couldn’t let her light in even if he wanted to.
Matthias opened his mouth, but John lifted his hand, palm out.
“They’re talking.” John motioned to his ear-piece, and then at the sheriff’s office. “I’ll stay here and see what I can get from Nigel and Mimi. You guys go to Stella. See what you can find there.”
Bolton nodded. “Got it.”
Nadia Marie grabbed Andra’s hand and took a step back. “We’ll check in at the Meeting House, make sure everyone keeps searching.”
John looked at each of them in turn. “Find them both before it’s too late.”
Matthias sprinted with his boss to the truck, jumped in and held on while Bolton sped through town to the medical center. The place wasn’t so packed now; most people had probably gone home because it was late—although a couple handfuls of people were at the Meeting House being organized into search parties. That’s where his mom was.
A blue light on the wall above the reception desk was flashing. Matthias started to run, heading down the hall. A nurse in pink scrubs ran out of one room, holding a small case, and ran to a room on the other side. Matthias could hear the continual buzz of an alarm—coming from Stella’s room.
He stopped at the door in time to see the doctor shake his head. “No meds.”
The nurse flinched. “But—”
“Stella’s instructions include no life-saving measures.”
The nurse stood still, while the doctor looked at his watch.
“Time of death, eleven-sixteen p.m.”
Stella’s husband slumped in a chair in the corner and started to cry quietly.
Matthias stepped back into the hallway, turning to Bolton. “Could the killer have done this?”
Bolton considered the question, but didn’t answer before the doctor stepped out of the room.
“It was her time to pass on.” The doctor
didn’t look happy.
Who would choose a career where people died while he looked on, helpless to do anything? Matthias understood John and Bolton a little more in that moment. Justice, fighting for what was right, for the life of someone innocent, was a far better use of time than this powerlessness.
Bolton set his hand on Matthias’s shoulder. “Easy.”
Matthias brushed him off. “Let’s go. We’ll have to find her ourselves.”
He turned, almost bumping into Xander’s chest. The bigger man rocked back and forth making his shoes squeak. “Ms. Stella is gone?”
Matthias nodded. “I’m sorry. We have to go find Frannie.”
Bolton was studying the big man. “Was anyone in here before Stella coded? Did anyone visit her earlier?”
The security guard’s brow crinkled as he thought. “Only Father Wilson. He prayed with Ms. Stella’s husband.”
Matthias shook his head and looked at Bolton. “Father Wilson isn’t a murderer.”
Bolton didn’t give at all in his expression. “Let’s go.”
**
Frannie looked around trying to figure out where she was. It looked like a warehouse, only smaller. Huge pipes laced the room, running up and down the walls and across the floor on the outside. The room couldn’t have been more than twenty feet wide. It was part of the water treatment plant, she guessed. She’d only seen the outside once, on a tour of the facility they’d done when she was in high school—right after they arrived.
The killer stood across the room, watching her.
She felt seriously achy, like she’d been slammed against something. “Did you drop me?”
“You’re heavier than you look.”
Frannie touched her temple. It was still oozing blood, but she was done lying here, being helpless. Once she’d determined she was going to sit up, she didn’t stop until it was done. No matter that it took five minutes, all the while the killer watched her struggle.
But she did it.
He clapped, slow and sharp. “Your tenacity is admirable, but it won’t help you.”
“Because you’re going to kill me.” Frannie studied him, trying to figure out who it was. His voice didn’t give him away, even with that thick New York accent. There were variations around town, but no one spoke like this and it was too natural to be fabricated. If there was one thing Francesca Canetti knew, it was what a wise guy sounded like.
“Whether or not you die is up to you. We’re all condemned. We’ve all fallen short and been sentenced to live out our days in this hole. Why not end the suffering?”
Frannie shook her head even though it shook her thoughts, too. “You can’t just start killing people. It’s not right.”
“On the contrary. It was the job I have been given. A calling, you could say.”
“I don’t believe that.” She needed to keep him talking, to stall long enough that Matthias and the sheriff would find her. “No one would ask you to kill people.” He was just a deranged man whose mind was so twisted he’d convinced himself the despicable was honorable.
“Regardless of your opinion, I will do as I am called.”
“And what is that? Killing more people who tell you they want out of Sanctuary instead of just letting them die naturally, with dignity. Or they could sign themselves out of the witness protection program to face the threat elsewhere, if they don’t want to be here so badly. You don’t let them make the choice. You take the choice from them.”
“I have never killed someone who didn’t ask me to!”
“What about me?” She gave him a look. It probably wouldn’t help to give him attitude, but she was past sick of this guy. “You nearly killed me with Einetine.”
“I had no idea you were allergic to codeine.”
“You’re going to apologize? You still caused harm. And I saw you nearly kill Stella.”
“Yes, that was unfortunate, but Mrs. Noel and I have come to an agreement. She will be at peace soon.”
“So you kill her, you kill me…and you keep killing, finding reasons to justify your disposing of person after person until…what? You’re left alone in town. Is that what you want? To be the king of a ghost town?”
His chuckled echoed through the room. “An intriguing thought. But sadly, no. Our escapades have left me with little remaining of the Einetine I brought into Sanctuary. I can only do so much with the amount I have, so I decided to expand its reach one last time.”
No wonder the sheriff hadn’t been able to figure out who brought in the ingredients and manufactured the drug. It didn’t have anything to do with the mail delivery, or the medical center break-ins.
“You brought it here.”
“Disguised as aftershave, if you will believe.” He dug into his jacket pocket—a brown suit coat that topped a yellowing shirt and brown slacks. His boots were in fact scuffed black shoes with thick tread. This outfit could belong to any one of the crabby old men she knew in town, or easily one of the ones she wasn’t familiar with. None of her friends would betray her like this. She hoped.
He pulled out a flask that would barely hold a cup worth of liquid. “It took a considerable amount of research and several attempts to convert this Einetine to powder form. Your reaction was worth it. To watch you waste away, convinced you merely had a virus.” His eyes gleamed like a cat’s.
He moved to the pipes, looking at a horizontal one about hip height then crossed the room to pull a screwdriver out of the dusty toolbox.
“What are you doing?” She had to keep him talking, distracted. Come on, Matthias.
If there is any virtue and if there is anything praiseworthy—meditate on these things.
There was nothing good here. This man was only evil. God, help me stop him.
The killer went back to the pipe and the square panel on the rounded top. He started unscrewing the panel. He was going to put Einetine in the water?
She tried to get up. “No! What are you doing?”
He turned then, saw her struggling to stand. “Only what should be done. There isn’t enough Einetine to last years, person-after-person. Decisive action must be taken. If I introduce it into the water supply those with health and vigor will survive. The innocent, who should never have been brought here in the first place along with those who are ready, will perish. This town should be for those who deserve it.”
**
Bolton was going to use the old-school method to open Father Wilson’s front door. Matthias stood back, feeling two shades above a complete wreck, but he wanted Bolton to be proud of the way he was holding it together. Matthias felt like his younger brother most of the time. Not just friends, but family, too.
He didn’t want Bolton to know just how much of a wreck he was—emotionally or physically.
Bolton kicked out with his boot, and the door splintered to pieces. He didn’t spare Matthias a glance, just walked right in scanning the space with his gun held out in front of him. “Clear.”
He turned back. Matthias stood in the doorway and raised his eyebrows.
“You want me to take chances with your girl’s life?”
“Of course not.” Matthias shook his head. “But Father Wilson is…a father. You can’t just barge into his house.”
Bolton turned away, taking the stairs two-at-a-time. He pushed open the first door: bathroom. He nudged the second door with his foot and it swung open to reveal what probably should have been a bedroom.
“Matthias! Get up here.”
“I’m right here. What is…” He looked into the room. “Holy—”
“Yup.” Bolton stepped in first.
The room had a bed but layered with grimy, mussed-up blankets. One wall was covered with a row of hung pictures. Photos. A row of photos of—
“Those are headstones.”
“Yup.” Bolton looked—disturbed. “I’ve never seen anything like this.” He walked along the wall reading the names. Headstones in the Sanctuary graveyard. “Elliot Mercer, Harlan Tourneau...” He kept walking, r
eading name after name. There were eight in total. Bolton turned back. “There isn’t one for Harriet Fenton.”
“He killed all of the others.” Matthias couldn’t believe it was Father Wilson. “He killed them, and now he has Frannie.”
“The question is where did he take her?” Bolton looked around
Matthias did the same, reading the room to try and figure out what Wilson’s plan for Frannie was. If he was just planning to kill her, he’d have used the poison again. He wouldn’t have abducted her, unless…
“His plan is bigger now. For some reason he needed Frannie…to finish what he started. Once and for all. Wilson is going big this time.”
Bolton nodded. “I’m going to clear the rest of the house.”
Matthias followed, trusting his friend’s instincts more than his own need to save Frannie. Bolton had trained Matthias himself, and he’d claimed Matthias was able to see everything Bolton saw. The difference here was simply the benefit of two sets of eyes instead of one.
Matthias scanned the kitchen and moved on to the dining room. A plastic sheet covered the doorway. Matthias pushed it aside and entered. Bolton went in after him. Was the man worried they would find something gruesome? Matthias didn’t need to revisit his past—and they didn’t have time for him to lose it in another flashback.
The table in the center of the room stood on a plastic sheet that covered the whole floor. Sheets covered the walls and ceiling, too. On the table was a bunch of equipment he hadn’t seen since chemistry class. The whole room smelled like—
Matthias grabbed Bolton’s arm and pulled him out. “Einetine.”
He remembered the odor from the letters Frannie had received. The doctor had said nothing in the world smelled like that.
Bolton stumbled on his way out, grabbed the sheet to steady himself and ripped it from the tacks as he fell in a heap on the floor, wrapped in plastic. Matthias covered his mouth with his elbow and coughed. He could taste the smell in the back of his throat.
Sanctuary Buried WITSEC Town Series Book 2 Page 26
