The Pact (A Sarah Roberts Thriller Book 17) (29 page)

Aaron looked down at his forearms, suddenly very hungry. He thought about how long it had been since he’d had anything to eat and couldn’t remember.

“An iron. A prank that went wrong.”

“A prank?” Dr. Shelp said, one eyebrow raised. His eyes danced over Aaron’s face, studying something. Probably trying to ascertain whether he was telling the truth. “And did this prank cause the other bruises and rope burns there.” He pointed at Aaron’s wrists. “It seems you’re also missing a finger.” The doctor stared him in the eye. “Was that another prank as well?”

Aaron stepped closer and came to stand directly in front of the doctor. “I need to know where my friends are.”

To Dr. Shelps’ credit, he didn’t flinch when Aaron invaded his personal space. “Your friends?”

“Earlier tonight. Gunshot wound in the leg.”

“Oh, them.”

“Where are they?”

“Is that another prank?” Shelps asked as he grabbed something off the counter behind him. He tore a package open and squeezed a white salve out. With plastic gloves, he proceeded to rub it on the burns on Aaron’s left arm. The intense cool salve made Aaron shiver.

“No prank. We were shot at.”

The doctor didn’t look at him this time, but Aaron saw the doubt on his face.

“What have you heard?” Aaron asked. “They’re okay, aren’t they?”

Dr. Shelp applied the salve to Aaron’s other arm.

“Your friends came in with a fantastic story of kidnapping and murderous hitmen.” The doctor stopped what he was doing and placed the empty packaging in a small receptacle. “I have to admit, their story swept through the emergency department as rumor mixed with facts, turned fiction.”

“I assure you, it’s no fiction. Where are they?”

“In custody, last I heard.”

“Custody?” Aaron had to contain himself from shouting. “My friend was shot. How is that a crime?”

“According to a witness, that’s not what happened.” The doctor moved toward the curtain and pulled it out of the way. “And now you’ve reached the limit of my knowledge. To know more, you would need to go join them.”

Aaron left the cubicle and eased past the doctor. “Where are they?”

Dr. Shelp pointed to his right. “Around that corner.”

Aaron started away but didn’t get five feet before the hospital lights blinked off. Emergency lighting kicked in. Someone gasped. A buzzer flared somewhere.

Suddenly the hospital was a commotion of people calling out to get the power back on.

What else could go wrong?

Aaron ran past three empty cubicles, turned a corner and almost bumped into a tall cop. The emergency lighting was enough for Aaron to see Daniel standing by Benjamin’s bed. Both men were handcuffed to the pole beside the bed. Large white bandages surrounded Benjamin’s leg like a huge tourniquet. Clara sat in the cubicle beside them, a female cop holding her hand. Two men in suits stood at the end of Benjamin’s bed.

They all turned to look at Aaron as he stumbled upon them.

“Look who’s back from the dead,” the man on the left said. “Care to tell us why you faked your death in the dojo explosion? These people,” he waved an arm toward Daniel and Benjamin, “seem to have grand stories to tell. Yet I have a dead airport van driver and his stolen van parked outside. I’m guessing their fingerprints will be all over the interior of the van. Any chance you can bring an air of sanity to all of this?”

“Outside, you’ll have all the answers you need.”

The cop stepped closer to Aaron. “Oh yeah? And what’s outside?”

“The man who shot Benjamin. The same man who killed that driver.” He pointed at Clara. “She’ll recognize him. He’s the man who kidnapped her.”

The cop’s attitude sickened Aaron as he hitched up his belt and offered his colleagues a cocky smile. “Gentlemen, it seems the mighty and powerful Aaron Stevens isn’t just back from the dead, he’s come bearing gifts.” The cop released his waistline and shot a hand out. “Please, lead the way.”

Instead of smacking the man a dozen times, Aaron led the way, with two detectives on his heels.

Chapter 42

The ambulance made it to the Silkeborg Regional Hospital in less than twenty-five minutes as the roads were clear at that hour. They wheeled Sarah inside where a weary-looking doctor came out and checked for vital signs.

Parkman watched it all in a detached state. He would go through the motions. Identify the body. Prepare flight arrangements to have her taken home. Talk to the parents. Go through the details and have Sarah buried. Then it would be over. There would be nothing. Ever since he paired up with Sarah on the human trafficking ring working out of crypts in Europe, his life had purpose. This girl kicked ass and he loved her for it. The world needed more Sarahs and somehow, the world just took the only one they had.

Parkman followed the doctor as he pushed Sarah’s body down a long corridor toward the hospital morgue. One of the Danish police officers stayed close to him, but gave him breathing room.

Sarah had been declared officially dead. Parkman approximated that Sarah had taken her last breath just over an hour ago. Slightly less than an hour and a half separated him from the time it would’ve taken to save her had he bumped into her before she entered that house. That hour and a half was gone forever, never to be taken back.

Just like Sarah Roberts. Gone forever …

Like a zombie, dazed and confused, he watched as the doctor placed the gurney with Sarah’s body on it against a wall of metal drawers. In the harsh cold light of the morgue, Parkman approached Sarah’s body on the gurney.

“I’m so sorry, Sarah,” he whispered.

Delicately, Parkman lifted the white sheet off her face and looked at her. The years, the memories swept over him. His legs weakened and he stumbled back, having to grab the edge of the gurney to stay upright. How could she be gone? So young yet. So much left to do.

Maybe it was better. She had been through a lot in her short life. Pain, suffering. Maybe this was her final rest, her permanent vacation. No one could get to her here.

He placed the sheet back over her face.

At least she had Vivian now. The sisters were back together. He imagined them running around, dancing and laughing at the joy of being together on Vivian’s plane.

The one way he could accept Sarah’s fate would be to be happy for her. She was with Vivian now. Everyone would miss her, but she could still be with them, watching over them like Vivian did with Sarah. Overall, it was okay and would be okay. Everything was okay. This was meant to be. He had to believe that. If he didn’t believe that, the alternative was insanity.

Parkman stepped away from Sarah’s body and dropped onto a chair by the door. He hung his head in his hands and wept for Sarah.

Someone shuffled along the hallway. Parkman wiped his face and glanced up.

The Danish cop from Olafson’s house came into view from around the corner.

“We will need a statement from you, Mr. Parkman,” the young cop said.

Parkman wiped his nose. “I’ll give it when I’m through here,” he said, his voice choked, sinuses clogged.

The cop sighed and stepped back. “I’ll wait by the exit.”

The cop’s polished shoes reverberated throughout the morgue as he walked back along the corridor. After a moment’s pause, a door creaked open, then closed.

He was alone with Sarah again. Probably for the last time. The silence was deafening. He adjusted his pant legs, sat back, and stared up at the ceiling tiles. A million tiny holes in the tiles stared back, beyond them, nothing.

Something rattled from across the room.

He blinked.

It rattled again.

His heart rate increased. A morgue with strange noises was bound to freak him out, but this noise was different. It sounded like someone trying to breathe.

He lowered his head and scanned the room. He was alone with Sarah’s body on the gurney. Unless one of the dead from inside the wall of drawers was making a miraculous comeback, then the noise had to have come from an air duct.

The sheet over Sarah’s face caught his eye. If he wasn’t staring at it, he wouldn’t have seen it. The sheet moved. He was sure of it.

Cautious to not be buying into some form of a delusion, Parkman got up off the chair and stepped toward her.

The sheet moved.

This time he saw it plain as day.

It rose, then settled back down. Directly over her face.

Could she be breathing?

If she was, then how could a doctor declare her dead?

He moved closer. The sheet moved again.

When he was halfway across the room, Sarah’s hand twitched.

He refused to believe it. How could it be possible? It would be a miracle. One that he’d be willing to accept. But how?

Vivian. It had to be her. Vivian had done something to Sarah to make her only
appear
dead.

He rushed over and tore the sheet back.

Sarah blinked rapidly. Eyes open to slits, she turned to face him.

“That,” she said, her voice cracking, “sucks.”

Euphoria swept over him and he almost jumped on the spot, then had to collect himself lest he fall as his legs instantly weakened.

“Sarah!” he shouted. “You’re alive.”

“Help me up,” she moaned. “My body is too heavy. Gotta get used to it again. And why does my chest hurt so much?”

Parkman threw the sheet to the side and grabbed her hand. Convinced he was dreaming the entire thing, he helped her into a sitting position. Still dazed and confused but now for other reasons, he waited for Sarah to gather herself on the side of the gurney.

“Oh man,” she muttered. “Does this ever suck.”

“What sucks?” Parkman asked, his face a mask of elation and joy.

“Being in this body. It’s so heavy.” She looked around the room, then at him. “I was with my sister.”

He nodded vigorously. “And?”

“We talked.”

“And?”

“There’s a lot to do yet.”

“Good.”

“She said it wasn’t my time.”

“Good.”

“So here I am.”

“Good.”

“Stop it.”

“What?”

“One word answers. Pissing me off.”

“Okay.” He smiled.

She looked up at him, top lip pulled back slightly.

“Oh, right. No one word answers. Got it.”

“I need out of here.” She started off the stretcher. “We have to get to Toronto.”

“What?”

She stopped moving and looked up at him. “Parkman, I know you thought I was dead and now I’m not. That’s good. You can be happy. I’m not, but you can be. But I need you to come back to the guy I know. Help me out of here. Get me on a plane to Toronto.”

He grabbed her arm and helped her to her feet.

“Of course. I’m just so …” his voice trailed off. “Shocked.”

“Okay. Be shocked. That’s fine. Just don’t act like it.”

“Done.”

She started for the door.

“And no one-word answers.”

“Right.” He caught her looking back at him. “Got it,” he added.

He led her down the corridor where the Danish cop had just gone.

“Sarah, there are a couple of things we need to talk about.”

“The cop outside this door?”

Parkman shot a look at her. “You’re psychic now?”

“Mostly. It’s what Vivian and I talked about. Our new pact.”

“Pact?”

“Parkman,” Sarah said, a warning in her voice. “We’re working on those one-word answers, right?”

“What did you talk about?” he asked, ignoring her last question.

“Too much to cover now. I’ll fill you in on the plane.”

He stopped her before exiting the corridor.

“Sarah, at least tell me this.”

“Go ahead.”

“How are you still alive? I saw your body. A doctor declared you officially dead.”

“Vivian did it. Somehow, she took over my body and stopped my breathing so Anton could record the murder on his cell phone. I floated out of my body and watched him use a mirror under my nose to prove I was dead.” She stared off at nothing. “It was the craziest thing I’ve ever done. I mean,” she met his gaze, “it’s not every day you can say you watched yourself die, right?”

“True. But that was over an hour ago.”

“I know. While Vivian and I talked, she made my body breathe in intervals when no one was watching my corpse. I breathed the whole time in the ambulance. When the sheet moved, it looked like vibrations from the road.”