Blood of Saints Page 32

  Even as she thought it, she knew she’d never make it. She might make it out to the desert, but he’d just run her down like he did Maggie Travers. She didn’t stand a chance. Her head was spinning. Her vision wavering. She knew she had a severe concussion. The bones at the back of her head felt loose, and they crackled every time she moved. She nodded, leaning her forehead against the door for a moment, her eyes slipping closed. She was tired. So tired …

  She knew what she had to do. Ellie turned, facing the room. Looking through the dark, she saw the tangle of foul, broken bodies shoved into the corner, revealed only by the dim light breaking through underneath the door.

  She had to hide.

  Seventy-nine

  Take the next exit.

  Sabrina did, taking a soft right at the off ramp marked Castle Dome Mine Rd. She’d been driving for almost twenty minutes with no other direction other than to head north on the 95.

  The two-lane blacktop wound through low-lying mountains and she followed it past a sign marked Castle Dome Airport. Past what looked like an industrial complex plunked down in the middle of nowhere.

  None of this was here when I found it. I’d been here for a few days, driving around looking for a place you and I could be alone. Not sure what made me come this way. Must’ve been divine intervention.

  She was about fifty miles outside the city. Wherever she was going, it was remote.

  Still clingin’ to the belief I’m not real? You still think your subconscious is coughing up suppressed memories or some kinda shit? I thought we were past that, darlin’.

  Her phone rang in the seat beside her and she reached for it.

  Church.

  “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you didn’t like me, Kitten,” she said as soon as she answered. “It hurts.”

  “I’m sorry,” Sabrina said, surprised she actually meant it. “Vega called and I—”

  “I know, Alvarez filled me in,” Church said. “He and Vega are at the ranch house with Santos, trying to sort through twenty years’ worth of telenovela bullshit.”

  “And Val?” She’d be foolish to think Church was unaware that Val was in Yuma. She’d probably known she was here the second her plane touched down. “And her mom?”

  “I’m on my way to them now.” Church gave her a long-­suffering sigh. “I’ll pick them up and take them back to the station. Get them settled in to wait this out.”

  Relief washed over her. As long as they were with Church, they were safe.

  “What do you need?” Church said. “Tell me where you are and I’ll—”

  This is a private party, darlin’. Your little friend ain’t invited.

  “I can’t,” she said carefully. “I can’t tell you where I am.”

  “Okay.” Church sounded concerned but she didn’t argue. “Call me when it’s over.”

  Any other partner would have been screaming at her to not go in alone, demanding to know where she was. Not Church. Whether it was because she was confident in Sabrina’s ability to make it out alive or because she was tired of chasing her around, she didn’t know. “Courtney—”

  “Ahhh, my first name again.” Church laughed but the sound of it rang hollow. “This oughta be good.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “For not doing your job.”

  “You’re a terrible influence on me, Kitten. Be careful.” And then she was gone. Sabrina held the phone for a moment before scrunching down in her seat to tuck it into the front pocket of her slacks.

  Stop the car.

  She pulled over, the car tires sliding into the soft shoulder of the road before coming to a stop. She killed the engine and waited.

  Get out.

  Popping the driver’s door, Sabrina climbed out of the car. As she did, her phone rang again.

  It was Croft.

  “Is she there?” she said by way of greeting. “Did you find her?”

  “You need to work on your people skills, you know that?”

  “Croft, I—”

  “I know, I know—you don’t have time for my bullshit.” He sighed. “Yeah, I found her.”

  “Well?” she said, reaching into the car to pop the trunk before slamming the door closed. “What did she say?”

  “She said, ‘Get off my property, I’m calling the police,’” Croft said. “And my personal favorite, ‘I have a gun.’”

  Bitter disappointment coated her throat. “So she wouldn’t talk to you?” she said, reaching into the trunk to pull out the duffle Church had put there when they arrived in Yuma. Inside was a collection of handguns and knives. Maps and flashlights. Clothes and boots.

  What does it matter, darlin’? You’re gonna find out who he is soon enough.

  It matters to me, she thought. Pulling out a pair of cargos, she checked the tag. Her size. Tucked inside one of its legs was a T-shirt and FSS-issue Kevlar tank. If Church were here, she’d kiss her. She started to strip, phone wedged between her ear and shoulder, hands flying over buttons and buckles.

  “No. But after a few hours of threats and bullying, mostly on her part,” Croft said, sounding smug, “she finally agreed to talk to you.”

  Sabrina paused for a second, listening to Croft’s cell phone being transferred from one hand to another. She put the phone on speaker and set it on the edge of the trunk before yanking the cargos up her hips, fastening them quickly. “Hello?”

  “You’re the FBI agent? The one who was at Paul’s house when …” Graciella let her words trail off. “I found Rachel.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” she replied. “My name is Agent Claire Vance.” The lie stuck in her throat. She yanked the tank on over her head. “I know Paul didn’t hurt Rachel when he was a boy and he didn’t kill her.” Next came the T-shirt. Suddenly, she felt like herself again. Reaching into the pocket of her discarded slacks, she pulled out the knife shed been carrying with her since she left Montana.

  Graciella let out a heavy sigh. “It was his brother.”

  Sabrina slipped the knife into the front pocket of her cargos. “Who is he, Ms. Lopez?” She didn’t have time to explain that Mark Alvarez, not this mysterious villain, was Paul Vega’s brother. What mattered was that the old woman believed that the man who’d come to her, claiming to be her abandoned nephew, was telling the truth. That’s why she’d helped him. Kept his secrets. Protected him all these years. “He needs help. I can’t help him if I don’t know who he is.” Dressed, she reached into the duffle again to pull out a police-issue Maglite. Clicking it on, she aimed the beam into the desert.

  “He’s so angry. Hateful,” Graciella said, her tone full of remorse. “When he found me, I was sure I could help him—be the family he needed, but …” She cleared her throat. “I don’t think he can be helped anymore. I think he’s damned.”

  Wade’s laughter rang in her head.

  Damned? Ain’t we all, darlin’—ain’t we all?

  Eighty

  Toss your phone in the trunk.

  That’d been the direction as soon as she hung up with Graciella Lopez. Rental cars came equipped with GPS. It’d take about thirty seconds to tap into the rental company’s database and locate the car. But if she ditched her phone, there’d be no way for Church to find her beyond this point.

  That’s the idea, darlin’. You’re wasting time Ellie don’t have.

  She tossed the phone on top of the duffle inside the trunk and slammed the lid. “Now what?” she said, aiming her gaze into the desert.

  Start walkin’.

  She struck out at a light jog, pushing herself deeper and deeper into the desert terrain that hugged the base of the Tank Mountains. About fifteen miles to the west of her, the Colorado River flowed and churned, winding its way through the dark. She wanted to move faster, needed to move faster, but the ground beneath her feet was unpredictable and thanks to an old injury, she wasn’t a
s nimble as she once was.

  The beam of her flashlight caught on something, the shine of it bouncing back to her, nearly blinding her. It was a reflective sign, wired to the chain-link fence that had to be at least ten feet high. She tilted the light downward, aiming it at the dirt, letting the glow of it illuminate the sign.

  YUMA PROVING GROUND

  AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY

  TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED

  “What now?”

  Up and over, darlin’, and don’t get caught.

  She hesitated again, this time not because of her leg or the terrain that stretched in front of her. If she was caught trespassing on a military installation, she’d be arrested. Her FBI credentials wouldn’t protect her here. They’d run her through facial recognition software. With his military connections, Livingston Shaw would know the second her picture was scanned into the system. And then he’d come for her.

  Like I said, don’t get caught.

  She clicked the flashlight off, tucking it into the long pocket of her cargos before digging the toe of her boot into a diamond-shaped hole in the chain link. Cresting the top of the fence, she swung over. Letting go, she dropped to the ground, landing in a crouch, the impact pulling at her damaged thigh.

  How is that leg of yours holding up, darlin’?

  Her leg. Wade had been the one to shoot her, sending bullet fragments scattering through her thigh. It’d taken years to rehab it and it still ached from time to time. Her days of running a five-minute mile were long gone but she could hold her own when she had to.

  “Better than your face, asshole.”

  He laughed at her, the sound of it ringing in her ears.

  That’s only because you shot me in it.

  She stood slowly, half expecting a swarm of camo-painted Humvees to descend, soldiers piling out, barking orders, waving guns. Nothing happened.

  “Now what?” she said quietly, still half believing she was on the verge of getting caught.

  Start walkin’. And you better hurry, darlin’. Little Ellie’s ’bout out of time.

  Eighty-one

  SNAPBANG!

  The noise, whatever it was, had been repeating itself for what felt like forever. Distant at first, it grew closer and closer with each revolution. Each volley jerked at her spine. Shot tension into her legs. Urged her to scramble from her hiding place. To run.

  Somehow, she knew that’s what he wanted. For her to run.

  She pressed her lips together to keep herself from crying. Even the slightest of movements shifted the pile of bodies she lay underneath, shifting the cold flesh that surrounded her, revealing the sickly warm pockets caused by decomposition. These people had been discarded like trash. No ceremony. No ritual. Like they’d ceased to be human the moment they served their function.

  SNAPBANG!

  She swallowed the tears pressing against her throat. Tried not to imagine what it’d been like to be trapped here, days stretching into months, with a monster.

  “Do you know what it takes to become a saint, Elena?” he called out to her, his voice echoing down the hall. “It takes pain. Blood and sacrifice. More than you can possibly imagine. It’s not easy.”

  SNAPBANG!

  “My mother did it—she died for me.” He was even closer now, the sound of his voice reaching for her from just beyond the door. “Gave her life so that I could be born. I had to be cut from her womb. If not for her sacrifice, I’d be dead.”

  SNAPBANG!

  “I was given a miracle … Just like you …” he said it softly, his voice carrying through the door that separated them. “Just like all of them.”

  SNAPBANG!

  The noise was deafening, reverberating around the room, and she squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for him to come for her. She listened as the door swung open, its hinges protesting slightly as it was pushed wider and wider, until it banged into the wall behind it.

  He’d found her.

  Eighty-two

  It was dark. Too dark to see anything. It didn’t matter though—she didn’t need to see to know she’d been led on a wild goose chase. She scanned the terrain anyway, hoping to catch sight of whatever it was that was supposed to be here without having to resort to talking to herself again.

  How many times I have to tell you? You’re not talkin’ to yourself, darlin’. You’re talking to me.

  Casting a quick look over her shoulder, Sabrina caught sight of the airbase, nestled in the basin west of the 95. It looked close, but looks were deceiving. It had to be at least ten miles away. Deciding it was worth the risk, she lifted the Maglite from her pocket and switched it on. Sweeping its beam from left to right, she caught sight of it. A concrete slab in the middle of the desert.

  “What the hell?” she breathed as she approached it. Smooth and level, she recognized it as the foundation of a building that was long gone. The disappointed was crushing. “There’s nothing here.”

  Sure there is, darlin’, you just have to know where to look.

  The foundation had to be several thousand square feet in diameter. The building that used to stand here would have been enormous. Gritting her teeth, she walked the slab, peering closely at the smooth cement beneath her feet, determined to find what she was looking for. While she searched, Wade talked.

  The building was still here when I found this place. It was a sanitarium—one of those places they used to stick TB patients back in the day. You and me, we had the run of the place … remember, darlin’? The fun we had?

  She remembered. She remembered running blindly, bouncing and stumbling her way down hallway after hallway. She remembered the feel of his eyes on her. Watching her, giving her hope that this time—maybe this time, she’d find a way out before he caught her. Before he hurt her again.

  Never did find that way out, did you? Even death couldn’t save you—not yours or mine.

  She wasn’t searching anymore. She’d gone still, lost in the memories this place and his words called up in her, face tipped down. Hand gripping the flashlight so tight her fingers were numb. She blinked, clearing the shadows from her vision.

  Something shined in the beam of her flashlight and she ticked it over just a bit so she could make out what it was. A padlock.

  Staring at it for a moment, she spoke. “There’s no way he brought Ellie here,” she said, shaking her head. “Government property? He wouldn’t be stupid enough to risk it.”

  Stupid? No. What he is, is obedient. She’s down there, darlin’. That’s a fact.

  “And then he relocked the padlock behind himself—from the outside?”

  There’s another entrance—more of an exit, really—about fifty yards in front of you. That’s how he gets in and out … and that’s where he’ll be waitin’ for you.

  She didn’t move, thinking it through slowly. If he was down there, he’d have both doors locked from the inside to deter anyone who might stumble onto the place from poking around.

  Unless he knew she was coming.

  She clicked the Maglite off and flipped it around so she held the handle of it like a baton. Next, she hunkered down in front of the door, hooking the index finger of her free hand through the arms of the padlock, securing it in place. Choking up on the base of the flashlight, she delivered fast, hard taps to the side of the lock while pulling down on it with the hook of her finger. She had it loose in less than a minute.

  There was a rumbling behind her and she turned, sure she’d see those Humvees coming for her, but it wasn’t arrest she had to worry about. It was rain. Clouds had collected overhead, pushing and crowding across the night sky, mottled and swollen like a bruise.

  Pulling the padlock free of the hatch, Sabrina kicked the lever open with the heel of her boot before crouching to lift it up at its edge. The door was heavy and heat drifted off of it in waves, its metal still hot from baking all day in the sun
. She pulled on it and it swung open onto a gapping maw so black it instantly swallowed the beam of her Maglite.

  Eighty-three

  She’s here. Time to stop messin’ around, boy, and get to work.

  The warning came, loud and clear, stopping him in his tracks. He stood in the doorway, bolt gun dangling from his fingers, gaze traveling around the room. He knew Elena was in here. Where else could she be? There was no way out. Her hiding places were limited. Still, he couldn’t see her. His gaze fell on the pile of bodies he’d tossed in the corner.

  There’ll be plenty of time to play with little sister later. Right now there’s a big, fat fish headin’ your way that needs fryin’.

  Melissa.

  “Okay,” he said, nodding his head, excited for what was to come. “Okay.”

  He hurried across the room to the place he’d piled his discards. Peeling them off one by one, he lifted them—letting them fall to the side until he found her.

  Crouching, he rolled her over, her arm flopping to the side, soft and boneless. Her hair was gnarled and dried stiff against the back of her skull by blood. He pressed a thumb against her wrist, feeling for a pulse. It was there, thready and erratic. But it was still there.

  Tick tock, motherfucker. We don’t have time for your little one-man show.

  He ignored the harsh words. Lifting Elena into his arms, he carried her down the hall, back to his workspace. He laid her on the hospital bed in full view before heading back the way he’d come.

  You really think she’s gonna save her, boy?

  He could hear her. The metered rapping as she broke through the padlock. The heavy clank of the lever that closed the hatch. The faint squeal of hinges as she pulled it open. She’d be down the stairs soon.

  “No,” he said, quietly. “But I want her to try … I want her to hope. It isn’t any fun unless they have hope. Isn’t that what you taught me?”

  In his head, Wade laughed.