Carved in Darkness (21 page)

RUN

THIRTY
-
FOUR

F
ROM THE BACK OF
the squad car, Michael watched them roll the body over onto the plastic sheet the blonde had spread on the ground. He didn’t need to see the damage to know what’d been found. Her eyes were gone. Her genitals were mutilated. Every spare inch of her body covered in lacerations and bruises. A message, some sort of taunt or slur, stabbed into her stomach. He knew because he’d seen it before. It’s what had been done to Frankie.

Sabrina lifted her cell and started to take notes, the picture of detached professionalism. She searched for evidence, answered questions, and fielded comments from those around her. She appeared totally removed from the nightmare at her feet, and he welcomed the flare of anger her lack of emotion ignited. Suddenly she looked up, and their eyes locked across the distance. The anger he felt brought her into sharp focus, seemed to pull her closer. He didn’t like what he saw. She was barely hanging on. Not so removed after all.

He followed Sabrina with his eyes. She was helping the blonde load the body into the black bag before strapping it onto the backboard.

She’d risked her career to help him escape. He told himself that it was only fair since it was her crazy paranoia that landed him in this shit pile in the first place, but it didn’t do any good. Still, he’d be no use to her dead, and that was exactly what he’d be if he allowed himself to be arrested. Losing her badge was nothing compared to what was coming for her if he didn’t get the hell out of here.

He held the pen in his hands now, behind his back. Getting it off the floor had been awkward but certainly not impossible. Quick fingers dismantled it while he stared straight ahead. He tucked the hollow tubes that housed the ink cartridge and spring into the waistband of his track pants and concentrated his attention on the metal clasp used to clip it to your shirt pocket. He stuck it into the cuff lock and bent up, shaping it before giving it a downward turn. The cuff sprung open. He pulled the makeshift key out of the lock and started on the other side. The sharp rap of knuckles on glass, inches from his face drew his attention. He looked up expecting to see Sabrina on the other side of the window, but it wasn’t her. It was a man he’d never seen before, and he looked pissed.

“Hey, isn’t that your partner?”

Sabrina’s head snapped up and turned toward Mandy. She was pointing toward the road. Strickland was standing in front of the car she’d stuck Michael in. Obviously whatever was going on in the back of that car was worth his time and attention.

Holy shit.

“I’m gonna … I’ll be right back,” she said over her shoulder as she stood and hustled in her partner’s direction.

“Hey, stranger,” she said and succeeded in drawing his attention, but when he looked at her, she could see that razor-sharp mind of his was working overtime. He looked at her then hunkered down to peer through the rear window at Michael for a moment before straightening and turning toward her.

“Please tell me that’s not who I think it is.” Strickland jammed his hands into the pockets of his slacks and glowered at her. She closed the distance between them and smiled.

“What are you doing here?” She ignored his question. Of course Strickland recognized Michael from his juvenile mugshot. As a cop, he was trained to focus on the parts of the face that didn’t change—eyes, nose, and mouth shape. All he’d have to do was look at Michael, and he’d know exactly who he was.

“Mathews heard you were here working the case. He called Ingleside and made nice. They agreed to hand the case over since we were first responders.” He glanced over his shoulder. “It’s him, right? That guy you were running? What’s his name, Michael—”

“Koptik. His name is Michael Koptik. I caught him lurking around when I uncovered the body and took him into custody until I could sort everything out.” She reached around him and opened the rear door. “Thank you for waiting, Mr. Koptik. I apologize for the confusion.” She helped Michael stand and turned him around, exposing his cuffs. They were still locked in place.

She turned to Strickland. “Can I borrow your cuff key?”

Without a word, he produced a small metal key from his inside jacket pocket. She used it to release the cuffs and handed it back. Michael turned and smiled.

“That’s okay, Inspector, I understand. Better safe than sorry.” He rubbed his wrists while he waited for her to retrieve his wallet from the front seat of the cruiser. The pen she’d given him was now lying on the seat next to it.

She handed him the wallet. “This is Inspector Strickland—he’ll be conducting the investigation. He may have some questions for you regarding the case.” She looked at Strickland, who stared blankly at her for a moment.

“Oh, is it my turn to talk? Yeah?” He looked at her and nodded before turning to look at Michael. “Good—I
do
have a question.
Who the fuck are you
?” Strickland said, stepping into Michael’s space. The corner of Michael mouth lifted in a half-smile. He shot her a quick glance that said it all—
Get your boy out of my face.

“She told you. My name is Michael Koptik. I was out for a run when I saw the inspector head off into the trees. I got curious so I followed her. Big mistake.” His smile was easy, his tone neutral as he delivered the story. He was totally believable, but it was obvious Strickland’s bullshit meter was going off.

“That’s not your name.”

“Strickland—” She stepped between the two men, and her partner looked down at her. She hadn’t been sure what was going to come out of her mouth, but the look he gave her ended any thoughts she’d entertained about lying.

“Don’t. Don’t lie to me, Vaughn.” The hurt in his voice was too much.

She turned to Michael. “You’re free to go.”

Strickland stepped in front of Michael, barring him from leaving. “No, you’re not.”

“Do you have my back?” she said to him. It was a horrible thing to do, preying on his loyalty, but she did it anyway.

He looked at her, defeated. “You know I do.”

“Then believe me when I tell you that right now, the best thing you can do is let him go.” She reached under her shirt and pulled out the knife and handed it to Michael. He opened the bag and bent down to slip the knife into its sheath. He stood and looked Strickland in the eye. “I am not the bad guy,” he said before slipping around him, Noodles on his heels.

Sabrina watched him jog down the trail for a second or two before turning toward her partner. “I’m sorry—”

“Save it.” He looked down at his watch and then back at her, but he wouldn’t look her in the eye. “Don’t you have someplace to be?” He flashed her his wrist. It was ten o’clock.

Her appointment. Shit. She had an hour before she was supposed to meet with the department therapist.

She backed away from him, heading in the direction Michael had taken. “I’ll find you afterward to explain.”

Strickland turned, pinned her with a hard glare. “You can save that too. I want you off my crime scene, Vaughn. If I have any questions, I know where to find you.”

THIRTY
-
FIVE

T
HE PRECINCT’S SPECIAL SERVICES
office was on the first floor, and Sabrina made it to her appointment with only minutes to spare. She walked into the small, windowless room. The first thing she noticed was the single row of weapons lockers bolted to the wall next to a sad-looking coffee cart. A hand-lettered sign rode the wall above it.

Please deposit all weapons inside a locker and retain your key—thank you.

Seriously?

Sabrina walked over and opened the nearest locker. She lifted her service weapon off her hip and deposited it into the locker. She hesitated for a moment before stripping off her jacket and doing the same with the pair of SIGs that rode against her ribs. She left the .380 strapped to her ankle where it was.

She took a seat and continued to look around the room. The chair was an orange plastic throwback to the Seventies and the carpet was a dingy low-nap that held evidence that not everyone respected the precinct’s no-smoking policy. A trio of magazines sat on a small table next to her chair. She picked the one with guns on the cover and thumbed through it with steady fingers.

She was strangely calm. She looked at her watch—it was 11:01.

“Sabrina Vaughn?”

Her eyes snapped up. The woman gave her an encouraging smile from the doorway “Are you ready?”

She had only one objective—to convince Richards that she was not only compliant but fit for duty. Getting reinstated meant returning to Jessup with the full backing of the SFPD. To do that, she’d do whatever this woman wanted.

Michael sat in his chair in front of the window long after Sabrina left. He’d taken Noodles home and came straight back to his room, calling Tom on the fly. He got voicemail and hung up without leaving a message.

He dropped the binocs in his lap and ground the heel of his hand into one of his gritty eyes. He needed Lark’s help, but that wasn’t going to happen. Standing, he began to pace. It had been made perfectly clear to him that Lark was no longer at his disposal.

When he had settled into the plush leather seat of the limousine next to Lark, seeing Livingston Shaw sitting across from him was a shock. It was pretty much like watching Lucifer climb out of the pit to mingle among the people.

“Hello, Michael. It’s been too long.” Shaw held out his hand. That he was sitting across from him was a sure sign that he and Lark were in some serious shit. He thought of the Kimber, pressed against the small of his back. Eight rounds, less the three he put in the businessman and his muscle. That left five in the clip. He took Shaw’s hand in a firm grip—
fuck him
. If he was going down, he was going down swinging.

“It’s good to see you, sir.” He sat back and forced the smile on his face to stay put.

“I trust things went well?” Shaw made a vague gesture toward the building they were pulling away from.

He nodded and slid the case across the floorboard. “No problem.”

Shaw lifted it onto the seat next to him and laid his palm flat on its side. “Did you look inside?”

“No.”

“Not even a bit curious?” Shaw was playing with him.

“I’m not paid to look. I’m paid to pull the trigger.” He had no idea what was in the case he’d taken from the dead man, nor did he care.

Shaw gave him a small smile. “When Mr. Lark suggested that we bring you into our little family, I have to confess I was skeptical,” Shaw leaned back and lifted a squat crystal tumbler of icy amber liquid to his lips. He took a sip and cocked his head to the side. “Forgive me. Would you like a drink?”

Michael wanted a drink more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life. “No. Thank you.”

“Ahh, well—as I was saying … I had my doubts, but I admit you’ve proved more than worth the considerable amount of trouble it took to make your procurement possible,” Shaw said.

His
procurement
. Like he was a painting or an antique. Not a human, but something to be owned and used. “I aim to please,” he said in a relaxed tone that was a complete lie.

A small smile touch the corners of Shaw’s mouth. “Of that I’m sure. There’s a small matter in Quebec that requires your immediate attention,” he said, watching him carefully. “I trust that this won’t be a problem, given the extended amount of time you just had between assignments.”

Michael felt the muscle in his jaw twitch. He needed to get back to Sabrina, which meant no time for Shaw’s bullshit. He’d agree for now to buy some time so he and Lark could figure out a way around the problem. “Of course, sir.”

“I am pleased. Very pleased, with your performance so far, Michael.” Shaw leaned forward just a touch. “So pleased, that I’ve decided to let you finish what you started.”

He cut Lark a quick glance, but his friend wouldn’t look at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking about your sister and the man who murdered her.” Shaw said, waving the denial away before Michael could even voice it. “You mustn’t blame Mr. Lark, he really had no choice but to tell me everything.” He smiled again. “You have one week to settle the matter.” His magnanimous tone served as a warning. Quebec or not—the clock was now ticking. “And you’ll have to do so without the aid of Mr. Lark. His involvement puts my investments at risk, and I’m afraid I can’t allow that.”

The limousine glided to a stop and the rear door opened. The Pip opened the door and stepped back, allowing Shaw to exit. Before he did, Shaw turned toward him. The angle at which he sat brought him much closer than Michael was comfortable with. “The locator chip. In your back. It’s a marvel of modern science, designed by our weapons department, but it’s not infallible.” His gaze flicked over to Lark, who continued to look straight ahead. “That’s why there’s a failsafe built into it. A simple phone call—seven digits and one word from me—is all it will take to detonate the equivalent of a dirty bomb nestled against your spine. I can kill you from across continents, Michael. Please remember that.”