The Pact (A Sarah Roberts Thriller Book 17) (36 page)

They jumped out of the unmarked cruiser. Parkman and Aaron hopped out of the other unmarked cruiser parked behind theirs.

Once Clara had made her statement and Sarah offered hers, the police had no choice but to release Aaron. Sarah had asked for a favor, though. Don’t do anything electronically yet. As far as the police were concerned—and their computer system—Aaron Stevens was still being held on a second degree murder charge. Once Sarah and Parkman met with Detective Bryant, everyone was on board.

Ben Wilson wouldn’t know what hit him. He probably thought Sarah was still in Denmark. Parkman wasn’t a threat and Aaron was in jail. In Ben’s world, there was just Jessica and Shawn to deal with. Exactly how Sarah wanted it to be.

Aaron had protested that they weren’t doing enough to find Alex and Ansgar. Where could they be after almost four days? Could Alex be dead? Could Ansgar have fled the country? Sarah had assured him that Alex was not dead and that they would see him soon.

The group heading up to Ben’s house included seven police officers, Parkman, and Aaron. Bryant used the key on the front door and entered the building. He placed the search warrant he’d received that morning on a side table and ran for the upstairs where Jessica told them the computers were kept. A room she had never been allowed to enter.

Sarah stayed on his heels, no sense of danger coming to her. Ben didn’t have the house alarmed or booby-trapped in any way.

Bryant hit the top of the stairs, looked both ways, and turned to the right. Sarah followed him into the master bedroom.

The place was a mess. Mars bar wrappers littered the floor and desk. Coke cans had been flung aside and piled up in two different corners. She even caught sight of a cockroach running under an empty bag of potato chips.

“This guy doesn’t believe in hygiene,” she muttered, holding a hand to her nose. “Shit, what’s that reek?”

“Body odor,” Bryant said.

Sarah moved to the desk with all the computers and hit the space bar on the only keyboard. All five screens lit up.

Bryant’s radio pierced the silence. “They’re entering the café now.”

He brought it to his mouth. “Roger that.”

In the middle of the largest screen, a small window popped up asking for a password.

“Do you know what it is?” Bryant asked.

“Not sure,” Sarah said as Parkman and Aaron stepped into the room. “Give me a sec.” Sarah closed her eyes and listened for Vivian.

“What’s that smell?” Aaron asked.

“Please,” Sarah said.

“Right. Sorry.”

She focused on Vivian, asked her for help.

A moment later, her fingers tingled. She opened her eyes, leaned over the desk and placed her fingers on the keyboard.

They typed on their own:

Fuck_cancer_twice

She hit enter.

The screen opened to a countdown.

“Thanks, Vivian,” Sarah whispered.

In twenty-three minutes the hard drives would be wiped clean.

“Have you got someone who can stop this?” Sarah asked.

Bryant watched the screen, mystified. “How the hell did you do that?”

“I didn’t. My sister did it. Now, a hacker? Someone good with computers?” She smacked his arm to wake him up. “Come on, Bryant, we have to save what’s on these systems.”

She snapped her fingers twice. He jerked and looked her way.

“Of course.” He tilted his head to the side and yelled, “Officer Crystal Lewis. You’re needed up here.”

The bedroom door moved a foot as a uniformed officer stepped inside the room. Evidently, she was waiting outside the door to be called in.

“Turn that off,” Bryant ordered. “Save what you can.”

Officer Lewis strode past Sarah, dropped her hands to the keyboard and the little window with the timer on it disappeared.

“Done,” she said.

Her hands typed fast, searching the computer’s hard drives for names, people, and places.

“It’s all here, sir.” The screen changed. “The video from Anton Olafson in Denmark. The record of all of Ben’s communication with Anton and Ansgar Holm. Everything’s here, sir.”

“Perfect. Pack it all up. I need everything off this computer logged in as evidence.” He faced Sarah. She watched his eyes move to Parkman and Aaron. “We got him, guys. It’s over.”

Sarah jolted, then frowned. She turned her head slightly upward, then to the side, listening for something.

“We have a problem,” she said.

“What?” Bryant asked.

“Yeah, what?” Aaron echoed.

“Ansgar. He’s close. And Ben. There might be trouble at the café.”

Detective Bryant snatched the radio off his belt and pressed the button.

“All units, report in your positions.”

A series of radio bursts followed.

“What’s Jessica’s 10-20?”

“In the café with the suspect, over.”

“Any problems?”

“Not yet, sir.”

“You anticipating any?”

“No sir. It’s just …”

Shawn walked to the bedroom window. Sarah followed him.

“Two men walked into the café immediately after the suspect. One of my guys think the two men were following the suspect. I’ve checked, but they’re not any of our guys.”

“Okay, all units are clear to apprehend the suspect. Take him now. Do you hear me? Arrest Ben Wilson. Get him away from my sister. Go!”

Chapter 55

Ben sat across from Jessy and stared at her messed up face. The way she scrunched her mouth when she talked. The way she giggled and then covered her mouth. The new tattoo would probably look like shit. And who applied that makeup on her eyes? He couldn’t figure that shit out. Emos all dressed the same while trying to be different. They all wore their pain on the outside so everyone could see just how fucked up they were. How was she supposed to get a job, get married, have kids and maybe even be a part of some kind of women’s club one day looking like that?

Unless none of that was on her agenda. But seriously, you don’t have to be cookie-cutter normal, but you can’t change your appearance too far either. People will be people and they judge others—harshly.

He realized that was exactly what he was doing to her at that very moment. But what did it matter? He wasn’t interviewing her for a job.

He had ordered a hemp tofu salad of some kind. Only the cole slaw was recognizable. After two bites he was done. It was a tasteless mush of goo draped over bits of lettuce. He wondered how people could eat such shit.

Jessy had ordered some kind of burrito with samosa bites and a soup that the waiter told them had butternut squash, potato, spinach, mushrooms and garlic in it. The thing smelled like it came from the bottom of an outhouse. Looked like it, too. Yet Jessy eagerly slurped it up but had to go slow due to how hot it was.

He slid his plate aside. “Not hungry,” he said. “But don’t worry, I’m paying.” He offered her a quick smile, then dropped it. “It’s your birthday, right? Lunch is on me.”

She glanced at the salad on his plate, shrugged, then dove back into her soup. Ben placed his legs wide and leaned back in the uncomfortable chair to get as far away from her slurping as he could.

I would have never guessed my last day on earth would be spent eating chunky bullshit at a vegan café.

The restaurant was small with only enough seating for twenty to thirty people. Two long-haired hippies left over from the ’60s sat at a small table by the exit door near the back. Another couple seated by the front windows were dressed like they just stepped out of an ’80s Duran Duran video.

His eyes wandered to the table by the front door after two men came in and sat down. The one guy was quite large. His back faced Ben. He wore a coat that was too warm for this weather and a baseball cap. The large man kept his head down as if he was eating, but he had no food yet. In the chair opposite the large man, a small, thin man, maybe in his twenties, surveyed the café as he was looking for something. The small man’s eyes alighted on Ben, then shot away as he glanced down at the table.

That was odd.

The man’s eyes were ablaze. Like he was angry, or knew Ben and hated him. Ben had never seen the guy in his life, yet there was an odd sense of recognition in that brief second their eyes locked.

Ben stared longer, watching the two men at the table by the door.

“You okay?” Jessy asked.

Ben snapped his head toward her. “Of course. Why do you ask?”

“You were staring at the door.” She lowered her mouth to the soup-filled spoon hovering over her bowl. “You looked concerned.”

“It’s nothing. Just thought I knew that guy at the door—”

They were getting up from their table when Ben looked back at them. Even though the big man hadn’t turned around yet, there was something familiar about him now. His build, his height. The name of a man similar to him was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t place it.

Jessy touched his arm. Ben flinched and jerked sideways to glare at her.

“What?” he asked, his tone sharp, clipped.

“It’s my birthday lunch,” she said, her voice lowering in volume on each word. Her face appeared sad now, demure. “Please, spend it with me.”

“I am, aren’t I? Just thought I recognized—” Movement outside the restaurant caught his eye.

Armed men in tactical gear were approaching the restaurant from across the street. Traffic had stopped outside.

What the fuck is that?

Chairs scuffed the floor near the back. The hippies were up and running out the door beside their table, their food forgotten.

The Duran Duran couple had stopped eating. They too watched the armed men form a perimeter outside the restaurant.

Ben’s head spun until he placed a hand on the table to steady himself. The action outside couldn’t be for him. Something else was in play. It had to be. His computers were almost wiped clean. Nothing could be traced back to him. No one knew who he was.

Jessy hadn’t noticed what was happening outside as her back was to the window.

Near the front door, the two men were standing by their table, glaring at him. The big guy looked horrible. His nose was swollen, both eyes were purple, and his lips were cut with dried blood caked in each corner. The large man raised his hands and tried to clench them into fists, but it was obvious he couldn’t. At least three fingers on each hand were mangled without any form of bandage or splint evident. How the man wasn’t writhing in pain was beyond Ben.

Beside him, Jessy twisted in her chair to glance outside.

The name flashed in his mind. Ben recognized the big man. They’d never met in person, but Ben knew what he looked like as he examined all the faces of the men he hired.

Ansgar Holm.

The private military contractor he’d hired to take out Aaron Stevens and Clara Olafson. The man who disappeared days ago after displaying a disgusting attitude.

“Ben Wilson,” Ansgar said his name. “Or should I call you Pain?”

When Ansgar spoke, most of his teeth were broken or missing. The image of a hockey player flashed into his mind.

What the hell happened to make you so fucking ugly?

Ben shot a look outside. More cops were coming. Jessica pushed her chair out to get up. Ben lurched across the table and clamped onto Jessica’s forearm, then yanked her over to him knocking his shitty cole slaw plate to the floor. With his other hand, he snatched the nickel-plated magnum out of his waistband and aimed it at Jessy’s forehead.

“Stay back,” Ben shouted.

Embarrassingly, his voice cracked. The gun shook in his hand. Jessy moaned, but to her credit, didn’t shout out. Her hair dangled into the remainder of her soup bowl in front of her.

“He’s got a gun,” Jessica said.

“Damn right,” Ben added.

“Get me out of here,” she whispered.

Ben adjusted his bulk to be more comfortable in the seat as pain shot up from his lower back. This was not the time to deal with the cancer.

“I thought you said he was weak?” the small man said. “That this guy hid behind his computer and talked all that shit.”

“I did,” Ansgar mumbled. “He is. A regular keyboard Nazi.”

“That gun doesn’t look weak. If he kills the girl, I kill you.”

“Fuck you,” Ansgar roared. “He’s mine.”

Ben couldn’t take it anymore. What were these two talking about? He glanced out the café’s windows. It looked like the authorities had the place surrounded. Cars had moved in to form a wall. Armed officers were planted behind them, only their heads and arms visible, guns pointed at the café.