Ghosts, Matt Rogers [reading the story of the .txt] 📗

said. ‘Please shut up.’

‘Oh, because you’d feel better?’ Alexis said. ‘How awfully noble of me. To just sit here and make sure you’re feeling real good about yourself as you hand me over to human filth.’

‘Why did you lie to me?’ Ward said. ‘Why? None of this would have happened if you hadn’t pretended to know him.’

‘I was tracking him,’ Alexis said. ‘Looking for him, or information about him. Because he’s a piece of shit who needs to be dealt with and you know it.’

‘Just you?’

‘No.’

Silence.

He said, ‘I should have done this ten minutes ago.’

He buzzed the window down and hurled the phone out.

Alexis’ stomach lurched, like she was in an elevator that had abruptly slowed.

She tried to save face. ‘That was a mistake.’

He sighed. ‘What the hell have I gotten myself into?’

‘You made this choice,’ she said. ‘Own it. Don’t pretend you’re a victim of circumstance.’

He lowered his voice, as if he were talking to himself, and said, ‘I’m going to be there. I’m going to be there the whole time. I’ll make sure nothing happens to you. I swear.’

‘How exactly is that going to work?’

She put every ounce of scorn she could into her voice, because she knew she was arguing for her life.

He said, ‘I’m on the back foot. I need to do this. It’s all happening too fast. If I hand you over, I can work on getting my grandma out of the house, and then I can come back for you.’

‘You won’t,’ she said. ‘Because you’re weak enough to hand me over in the first place. You don’t have the guts.’

‘I do.’

‘Then prove it,’ she said. ‘Let me out of these cuffs, and let me out of this car. Don’t let me die.’

He gripped the wheel but didn’t say anything.

‘Alan,’ she said. ‘Don’t let me die.’

He gripped it tighter.

She said, ‘Drop me off, go home, get your grandma, and get out of this city.’

That seemed to sway him.

In the wrong direction.

He went pale and shook his head. ‘They’ll be watching the house. I can’t get her out. I have no choice.’

He pulled off the artery of Blue Diamond Road into the unincorporated community of Arden. He let the squad car collect sand and dust as it trawled through the desert heat, passing more sparse clusters of houses. Finally he took a side path and entered an industrial zone. He beelined for a smaller warehouse resting in the shadows between two colossal structures — a huge truck repair centre and a welder’s.

There was no passing traffic.

But there were a couple of workers way in the distance on their lunch breaks, devouring cigarettes and coffee and pies.

Ward parked the car and waited, just in case.

Alexis didn’t speak.

She was exhausted to the bone.

Five minutes later the workers gathered their trash and went back inside.

The hot wind howled.

Ward climbed out of the car. It only took him five seconds to round the hood, but the whole time Alexis thrashed in her seat, close to dislocating her shoulders in her desperation to get her fingers in her pocket.

She failed miserably. Didn’t even get close.

He opened the passenger door. ‘What are you doing? Stop that. Settle down.’

He hauled her out of the car.

She stopped thrashing.

What was the point?

Then he searched her, right there in the empty lot, surrounded by desolation. She lost all hope. He cleared three of her pockets before he came across the key fob. He lifted it out and looked at it, turning it over and over in a sweaty palm. She didn’t look. It’d hurt too much to watch her last lifeline stripped from her.

She stared at her feet.

The seconds drew out.

She looked back up.

He was staring at her. Not the fob. He held it between two fingers, held it up for her to see.

He raised an eyebrow.

Inquisitive.

She nodded.

Why lie?

He put it back in her pocket, put a finger to his lips, then led her toward the warehouse.

34

Thanks to the miracle of GPS tracking, King and Slater knew exactly where Violetta was.

Slater got up to ninety miles an hour in considerable traffic, veering in and out of lanes hard enough to throw them to the sides of the BMW with each jerk of the wheel. He had a relationship with adrenaline that King could never dream of. If the task required mayhem, Slater was the man for the job. When the operation absolutely had to succeed, he could embrace a death wish like no other.

So he drove, and King rode shotgun.

His eyes fixed on the road, Slater said, ‘How long ago did she push it?’

King worked the phone. ‘Eight minutes.’

‘Has she moved?’

‘No.’

‘At all?’

King zoomed in, further and further. ‘There’s tiny movements. All within the building. Hard to tell exactly.’

Slater made to speak, but didn’t.

King knew what he was about to say.

They could be moving her body.

Compartmentalisation was good in theory, but now it was impossible. Violetta meant everything to him. The fact that she was somewhere with hordes of potential witnesses and guaranteed security cameras barely registered. He’d make himself number one on Interpol’s Most Wanted to get her out safe. He yanked the glove compartment open and took out two identical SIG Sauer P226 MK25s, his weapon of choice at the range. He handed one to Slater, who took it one-handed as he ripped round a tight corner at fifty miles an hour. The back tyres slid out, screeching on the asphalt, but he didn’t seem to notice.

He was in the zone.

Slater said, ‘We’ll be there in three.’

King said, ‘Good.’

‘There’ll be cameras. There’ll be staff. Whatever’s happening to her, it’s in a back room.’

‘We’re going to cause a scene regardless.’

‘Is that smart?’

‘Is anything?’

Slater nodded. Roared into the limits of downtown Vegas and beelined for the business district. By some miracle, no cops were on their tail. If King saw lights in the rear view, he’d simply tell Slater to pull over and beat the unfortunate policeman into submission. It’d make them high-profile, sure, but time was of the essence.

‘Here,’ Slater said, and veered into a