The Terror (A Sarah Roberts Thriller Book 18)

by Jonas Saul

  But Ashford was dead, and many people blamed Sarah for that. Sarah had kidnapped Ashford and tied him up in the house she’d rented in Kelowna to extract a confession from him. During that time, Ashford was murdered and dismembered. Since witnesses had seen Sarah nab Ashford, she became the prime suspect in the case until it came to light, mostly due to Parkman’s help, that Debbie Ashford, Barry’s wife, was the murdering sort. The story was twisted—reserved for the pages of fiction or movie screens—often never happening in real life. But this incident did happen and Sarah was at the center of it.

  Mason thought Ashford had been a good man and a solid cop. Mason believed Debbie was given an opportunity to end her marriage so she took it. Debbie’s plan to have Sarah blamed for the murder almost worked.

  Mason blamed everything on Sarah. He’d been willing to let it go because Sarah was on the next flight out of Kelowna. But when Lee called Mason’s team and ordered them to get Sarah and Parkman back downtown, Mason had made another decision. He would see to it Sarah would never set foot in Kelowna again.

  All this knowledge was imparted to Sarah in a matter of seconds as Vivian relayed what Mason was dealing with internally. His rage worsened with each passing second. Sarah, complicit in Ashford’s death—according to Mason—was in his car. Vivian warned her this was coming.

  This was a ghost of a different kind. Earthbound spirits were tethered by strong emotions of love or hate. Barry’s ghost lived on in Mason’s mind, bound there by some twisted brotherly love, a link Sarah would have to break to stay alive.

  In her reverie, lost in the information from Vivian, Sarah had forgotten to pay attention to the street signs. The cruiser had gone up a back road that led past apple orchards. At a four-way stop, Sarah caught the street sign: McCulloch Road.

  Mason continued along McCulloch, winding up its meandering length through rural residential, passing Gallagher’s Canyon Golf Course, until he came to a narrow road that crossed a one-lane bridge. After another minute, Mason turned up a road where a sign said something about Myra Canyon trestles.

  “Taking me on a scenic tour of backwoods Kelowna?” Sarah asked, not an ounce of nervousness in her voice. She’d dealt with these kinds of confrontations before. She still felt nervousness, though. Things could go wrong. Vivian couldn’t show Sarah her own future—whether she had one or not. But revealing her state of mind to Mason, letting him see a glimpse of weakness, did Sarah no favors.

  After a minute of navigating the dirt road, bouncing over large holes in the rough surface while making his way up the incline, Mason still hadn’t responded to her.

  “You do know your boss is going to wonder what happened to me?” Mason slowed as the road steepened and became bumpier. “I’m assuming you’ve got a plan to explain your detour, the loss of time?”

  When Mason still hadn’t responded, Sarah slapped the Plexiglas. He jerked at the smack, but remained silent.

  The backseat was a mini jail cell. There was no way out short of breaking a window. Doing that would offer Mason a reason to hurt her—bad. Or kill her. She had no choice but to wait it out. See where he was taking her and deal with it then.

  More than five minutes later, Mason pulled into a flattened clearing beside the road. He angled the car parallel with the road, passenger side facing out.

  When he turned off the car, he sat still, as if waiting for something or someone. Or maybe he was having second thoughts. The car’s engine ticked in the all-encompassing silence.

  “Hey, Mason,” Sarah interrupted the quiet. “You think the airline pulled our carry-ons off the plane? I’d hate to find out that my bag of undies is halfway to Toronto right now.”

  He fidgeted with something up front. Sarah leaned forward. Mason’s gun was in his hand. He was checking the weapon for ammunition. He clamped it shut, then holstered it at his waist.

  “How about we play a game?” Sarah asked. Now that the cruiser had been turned off, the summer sun beat through the windows. She felt like an ant burning under a magnifying glass. A film of sweat broke out on her brow. “You like games, right Mason?”

  He checked his mirrors, then his watch, still not saying a word. It occurred to her that even his police radio was silent. She hadn’t heard the dispatcher since she entered the car.

  Mason has a plan. God laughs.

  “Do you believe in God?” she asked.

  No answer.

  “I hope you do. It would be odd to meet someone you don’t believe in.”

  Mason glanced out his window, a thousand-yard stare.

  “How about this? Would you like to know when you’re going to die?” Sarah asked. “Doesn’t everyone want to know that sort of thing?”

  He moved slowly. His eyes met hers through the rearview mirror.

  “What?” Sarah shrugged. “You know I’m psychic. How about I tell you a bit about yourself? I can tell you how you die and when. Wouldn’t that be fun knowing such things?” She smiled and dropped her head to the side, then bit her lower lip. “You know, Mason, I once heard someone say that the future has a way of showing up unannounced. It kind of just happens. Interesting, right? Well, not anymore.” She raised her voice to imitate a game show host. “I can tell you your future right now. Everything that will happen to you right up until the day you die.” She leaned forward, her nose an inch from the Plexiglas. “How about it, eh? You wanna know? Do ya?”

  He slammed his right elbow into the Plexiglas. She flinched and drew her hands up in defense.

  “Shut the fuck up!” he shouted. “Just shut up.”

  She relaxed her hands at her sides, staring at the back of his head, heart beating faster. The heat in the car had increased. For whatever reason, Mason wasn’t turning the car on.

  “Mason?” she said, her voice serious now, monotone. He didn’t respond. “Mason, you need to know something.” He looked at her in the rearview mirror. She lowered her head slightly, but kept her eyes on him. “I never lose. I either win or I learn. But I never lose. That’s what your problem is. You rarely win and you never learn.” She licked her lips. “Get it, Mason? Because if you don’t, you will die while I’m in Kelowna. And I won’t be here too long.”

  His eyes remained riveted on her.

  “I leave Kelowna very soon and I will never come back. In the meantime, I will offer you one free lesson from which to learn. If you fail, you die. If you learn, you live, and you’ll become a better person—”

  “Oh, my shit,” Mason shouted. “Will you just shut up with your psychobabble? Just shut up. It’s not me who will be dead soon. It’s you.”

  His cell phone beeped. He grabbed it, read the screen, then set it back down. After typing something on the keyboard just below the lip of the dash, a small screen lit up providing a view of the front of the car. The dash cam.

  Mason exited the car, leaving the driver’s door open. Sarah saw that the dash cam was recording, then suddenly understood Mason’s entire plan.

  The door to her left clicked and swung open.

  “Out,” he ordered.

  She edged sideways, pulled her knees away from the back of the front seat, and stuck her head out.

  Mason stepped in. With a blur of movement he slammed his fist into Sarah’s jaw. Her vision flashed white, then came back. She hadn’t seen it coming. The sucker punch knocked her downward. If her hands hadn’t been free of the vehicle to stop her descent, she would’ve hit the gravel face first.

  “Get out, witch,” Mason shouted. “You think you know me? You think you know how I treat women? You don’t know shit, whore bitch.”

  He grabbed the back of her shirt and hefted her up and out of the car even as blood slipped from her mouth. She landed on her feet, bent over at the waist. He released her and walked to the front of the car where he stopped and gestured with his hands for her to follow.

  Her teeth had cut her cheek inside her mouth, which slowly filled with blood. She felt around the minor wound with her tongue. None of her teeth were broken, jus
t a slight sting where the flesh was torn. She rolled her shoulders twice while rotating her head, and offered Mason a wide smile, revealing teeth tinged in blood.

  Never show fear.

  An adage she’d learned years ago. Take the pain. Ignore it. Move on. Let things go. It was the only way to stay alive in a man’s world. Guys like Mason were thrilled when they could intimidate. A person’s behavior always came with a payoff, and Mason’s payoff was the enjoyment of someone weaker asking for forgiveness. He was the boss. He was in charge. It had to be on his terms.

  “Is that why you became a cop?” Sarah wiped the side of her mouth and glanced down at her hand. Blood smeared from wrist to knuckle.

  Mason placed a hand on the butt of his holstered weapon.

  “I’m warning you, Sarah,” he said. “Drop the weapon.”

  She held out her hands. Both were empty. Mason stood in front of his cruiser, on the dash cam, recording himself for later defense.

  “Bold,” she said. “I’ll give you that.”

  He drew his weapon. The tip aimed at her face. Behind the extended hands, Mason’s eyes were cold, decisive. He was ready to pull the trigger, to execute her surrounded by nothing but trees and shrubs. He had even taken care of the witness factor. Of the three cruisers at the airport, one drove Parkman into town, and the other two had broken away. One cop now sat at the top of the Myra Canyon Road, the other at the bottom, both blocking access to the road. That was what Mason had been waiting on. When his cell phone dinged, his men were in position. Parkman was entering the police station at that moment, minutes away from a rendezvous with Lee, oblivious that Sarah wasn’t right behind him.

  What Vivian failed to mention was how Sarah could get out of this. Sometimes leaving her alone to fend for herself was welcomed. Other times, not so much.

  Sarah stepped forward.

  “One more step, Sarah,” Mason said. “I’m warning you. Put the gun on the ground or I will have to shoot.”

  “Would it help to say I don’t have a gun?” She shivered as the sweat beaded up all over her body cooled fast. “Does your dash cam record audio as well? Or will they just read your lips later when they investigate my death?”

  Mason eased into a shooter’s stance. His index finger slipped inside the trigger guard. She had seconds left. Maybe less.

  She stepped closer.

  “How will you explain the location? The middle of nowhere? Huh?” She moved closer still, her heart skipping in her chest, blood dripping from her chin. She didn’t want to swipe the blood away for fear Mason would just shoot at the sudden movement.

  “You told me there was a dead body up here,” Mason said, his mouth enunciating each word, making it easy to read his lips. “I believed you. And now you aim to kill me. I’ve got backup coming. When they arrive, I will take you into custody.” He eased back. “Sarah, drop the weapon. We can work this out. If you don’t drop the weapon, I will be forced to shoot.”

  “Mason, before you kill me out here, give me one thing.”

  “What?” he asked, his lips barely parting this time. It looked as if he’d taken a breath. He appeared to be building the nerve to take the shot.

  “Make it count,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Forehead. Center of the eyes. Don’t fuck this up like you fucked up your life. I don’t want to almost die and end up in a hospital for six months only to come out with half a face, eating from a fucking straw until I’m sixty something when I eat my own bullet properly.” She moved closer again. He was within reach now. “Just promise me you’ll do it right and on your count, I’ll lunge at you. It’ll be justified then.”

  “What?” He frowned. “You have a death wish?”

  “There’s no end game here for me, is there? You’ve set this up and now you win. I’m okay with that.” She adjusted her feet. Inches closer. “You think I like walking around with all these voices in my head telling me shit about rapists, serial killers, and asshole cops like your friend Ashford?”

  At the mention of Barry Ashford’s name, Mason’s body tightened. Sarah didn’t give him a chance to shoot.

  Lightning quick, her right hand grabbed the barrel of the gun, adjusted its angle away and pulled him toward her in the same movement. Her left wrapped around his elbow.

  The gun fired beside her head as she cranked down on his wrist and shoved upward at his elbow—the way it wasn’t meant to go. Her hearing, momentarily lost after the report of the weapon so close to her ear, meant she didn’t hear his bone break. Mason’s right arm dangled at an impossible angle, the flesh of his exposed forearm protruding upward as the inner bone—now broken—fought to escape.

  Sarah spun on her heels in a circle while swinging her right hand around. Before impact, she formed a fist. With the momentum of the spin and Mason’s weakened bravado, she brutally connected with the side of his head and knocked him off his feet. He sprawled onto the hood of his cruiser where Sarah delivered a kick to the back of his knee. The gun forgotten, his broken arm twisted backwards, Mason dropped like a lump to the dirt. Sarah kicked the gun out of reach and dropped down on top of him. She grabbed his collar—her senses on full alert after thinking she’d be shot—and lifted him up to meet her face. He blanched at the sight of his arm.

  She spit on him. “There,” she said. “That brought a little color back to your face.”

  He moaned. Soon, those moans would amount to screams as he registered the broken bone. The splatter pattern of blood and saliva on his face and the arm twisted backwards would make for a grotesque zombie costume for Halloween.

  “See what I mean?” Sarah asked. He shook his head and looked up at her, blinking rapidly. He moaned deeper in his throat. “You never learn.”

  Sarah dropped her forehead hard and fast. The contact with Mason’s nose broke it instantly. His body jerked under her. She released him and got to her feet. He dropped to the dirt and curled into a ball, his good hand holding his face.

  The road was empty each way. His buddies were still doing a fine job of blocking it off.

  The doors on the driver’s side of the cruiser were wide open. Sarah grabbed Mason’s feet and started dragging him toward the car. He had to weigh at least a hundred and seventy-five pounds, but she was able to move him to the back door within a minute.

  Sweat blinded her. She swiped at it, took a couple of deep breaths, and got her hands under his shoulders. Mason moaned much louder as she lifted. The movement caused gravity to swing his broken arm downward. When it bumped the ground his body jerked and spasmed while he shouted in pain.

  “What the fuck, Mason,” Sarah whispered through the strain of lifting him. “You gonna die on me here? It’s just a broken arm. How much of a pussy are you? Fuckin’ baby.”

  Blood spilled from Mason’s nose, covering his mouth, chin, and neck. His eyes fluttered almost shut.

  “Maybe it’s better you just go to sleep for a while,” Sarah said as she dropped his upper body onto the backseat. It took more time than she wanted, but she finally got Mason stretched out in the back of the cruiser, his legs folded up so she could close the door.

  Something heavy dropped in the footwell below Mason’s waist. Sarah paused before shutting the door, then leaned back inside the hot car. A shiny black pistol lay on the cruiser’s carpet. It had fallen from Mason’s front pocket. No doubt the gun that would be planted on Sarah’s dead body. The one she was supposed to have been holding on him.

  “You never learn,” she said, shaking her head.

  Sarah grabbed the pistol and checked for a serial number. Of course it was gone. Filed off.

  She slammed the door, locking Mason in the back of his own cruiser. After moving a few steps away from the car, she tossed the pistol into the woods as far as she could. It came down deep inside the tree line to the sound of leaves pushed out of its way. A dull thud followed. Hopefully that pistol would never be found or used again.

  She slapped her hands together to rid them of dust and d
irt and walked over to Mason’s police-issue gun where it lay on the ground. After retrieving it, she slipped the Smith & Wesson into her waistband. It was flat enough to rest at the back of her pants easily.

  Inside the front seat, she retrieved Mason’s cell phone, left the door open, then walked around and opened the other front door. She couldn’t have Mason dying from the intense heat on this hot summer day in the back of his own cruiser. Murder charges being what they were, that sort of thing would slow her progress in finding the unsub she was called to Kelowna to deal with.