The Hostage (8 page)

Elmore wasn’t beyond caring. He knew some of the things he did were wrong, but he wasn’t sadistic. He cared about his girls. If they did what they were told, they enjoyed their stay with him. It proved to Elmore that he had an ability to care. He derived pleasure from their pain because they deserved it. Like disciplining a child — if it was necessary, then so be it — he would enjoy teaching them.

He offered his girls the ability to control their future. If they did what was required of them, things got easier.

It was time to change the water in the bucket. Elmore lifted it and walked to the basement sink in the far corner.

What about Dali? What if he hadn’t painted a single canvas? It would be interesting to see what a novel would have been like had Dali written instead. On the contrary, what if Edgar Allen Poe had only painted and never wrote a single word? How mad and dark would his paintings have been?

This, Elmore understood, described him. He was an artist of sorts. One that dealt with flesh and the human condition. He knew he was brilliant because everyone had needs and yearned to have them fulfilled. For Elmore, it was easy because he simply took the needs that required fulfillment. That alone placed him above the rest.

With the bucket filled with fresh water, he returned to the area where Jackie had bled out.

He recalled the day when he was twelve and his mother had stopped him from painting anymore images of women with injuries. He had explained that it showed fragility and beauty in one image. She had projected that he wanted to hurt women.

“Well, you were wrong, mother dear,” he said to the empty basement. “I didn’t want to hurt women, and never have. They do it to themselves. I’m only the messenger. The female condition has nothing to do with me.”

He continued mopping and scrubbing for the next hour until it was time to take a break.

After cleaning his hands aggressively, he headed to his office and fired up his Mac where he began his routine browsing. First the financials of his vending machines in Japan. Then to Twitter to browse the newspapers that had defined his life.

Newspapers, the broadcasters of everyone’s dirty laundry. Death and mayhem. When he was twelve, after he wasn’t allowed to paint anymore, he had taken up reading the local newspaper and it had completely redefined him. It soon became an obsession. Across Toronto, rape after rape took place and got front lines in the Toronto Sun Daily. It aroused him to read all the details of how a man had gone after what he had wanted and taken it. The truth, Elmore felt, was that it belonged to him. That was why women were created and, at that early age, Elmore realized that he would one day be the same way. But he’d be smarter about it and make sure he never got arrested because it was socially unacceptable to have sex with a woman against her will. They enacted laws against it to protect women, yet it still happened every day. Politicians did it and got away with it. For the right price, you could buy anything you wanted in large cities like Toronto. But Elmore would never pay. Paying for something you could take belittles the spender.

While waiting for the Toronto papers to load on his screen he examined the last nails he’d ever get from Jackie. He placed them in the black container and closed it for later use.

With his right hand on the mouse, he used his left to pick at the scab on the side of his head and wondered what the next girl would look like. The excitement leading up to the caging of his next subject caused him to be permanently aroused.

“Days, it’ll only be days, and then I’ll have a plaything again,” he whispered out loud.

Across the room Sarah Roberts’ face stared back from all the pictures he had plastered on the walls. He smiled at her and blew her a kiss.

“One day …”

The computer screen filled with the latest news.

The image of Sarah Roberts stared back at him from his monitor.

His eyes widened. The nail on his scab stopped scratching and pushed down on the piece he’d been working on.

The caption said there had been a stampede at the Rogers Centre, and the root of the problem had been the failed apprehension of one Sarah Roberts by American authorities.

He couldn’t believe it. The scab fell away in his fingers and blood trickled down the side of his head.

This was his chance. Sarah Roberts had surfaced in Toronto. She was downtown. It couldn’t have been set up better. If things went well, he could have her locked up before the end of the day.

He looked again at her face on the Sony JumboTron at the Rogers Centre.

“Yes. Sarah Roberts. That’s you. How pretty.”

American authorities. What do they want with her? Why are they up here in Canada hunting her?

He’d have to play that angle if he needed it.

He turned off his computer and headed upstairs to get dressed. He would finish cleaning the basement after he had Sarah. She took priority now.

He reveled in the odds. How was it possible that Sarah could be in Toronto?

He changed into his authentic Toronto Police uniform and donned a suit over that. He grabbed his police scanner off the bureau and got behind the wheel of his four-door sedan that resembled an unmarked cruiser with its Plexiglass shield between the front and back seats. He drove off his property with thoughts of Sarah.

“Sarah, it’s only a matter of time now.”

Chapter 11

Sarah ran along with the crowd, Drake following close behind. They were on a street called Blue Jay Way, running around car after car and hundreds of people as they all left the stadium at the same time. She stopped at a wider street called Spadina, turned and headed north, walking away from the lake.

She was free. Rod had been left behind. The bracelet had been removed and there was nothing he could do about it now.

“How did you know who I was?” Sarah asked.

Drake caught up and walked beside her. “I saw your picture on the front page of the newspaper two weeks ago. I remembered thinking how I’d love to meet you one day. It was very brave what you did.”

They approached a red light. “Do you expect me to believe that?”

“It’s the truth.”

“So you saw a picture of me and two weeks later you see me at a ball game and that’s it. Here we are.”

“Yeah, that’s what I expect you to believe because that’s how it happened. Wait, why are you here?”

The light changed to green and they continued north over Front Street and then up to King Street.

“I came to save your life,” Sarah said.

“My life? Why? How did you know I needed saving?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Tell me. I have time.”

Sarah looked at him. “Maybe one day.”

She surprised herself at how she felt. Drake was gorgeous, if that was possible for a man. He seemed strong, witty, and brave, but she had no time to be interested in men. Someone tried to shoot him thirty minutes ago and he wasn’t crying like a baby.

“I see fire in your eyes,” Drake said.

“What?” Sarah turned to look the other way. Compliments sucked because they made everything awkward.

“Fire in your eyes. Your hair is stunning. Sarah, I remembered your face because it’s rare when a man sees a female as beautiful as you.”

“Drake, stop. Don’t give me any pick-up lines. I’m warning you, this could turn out bad. You are only looking
at
me — you aren’t seeing the real me. I’m dangerous. People have a habit of dying around me, or I end up having to kill them.”

He remained silent for a few steps, then said, “It’s an honor to know you, Sarah, but you don’t know anything about me. I just survived a grueling experience. An ex-girlfriend from high school, who I thought I would marry one day, tried to kill me, so I’m not afraid of your warning. I know it sounds corny, and we just met, but I feel I’ve known you for a long time and since you just saved my life, I’m indebted to you, or at least until I can save your life one day.”

Sarah snuck a glance at him. “Great. Look, I don’t want to sound unappreciative, but who writes your material?”

It was out before she could take it back. A part of her had no problem with such a hot guy hanging around and attempting to save
her
life, but the truth was, her way of life was too risky for others. Her stomach twitched, but not from fear or nervousness. It came from a place of anticipation, one borne of being a woman and feeling desired.

What the fuck are you thinking? A boyfriend? Are you crazy? You’ve never had one of those things. You don’t want one of those things. Fight it.

She looked at Drake and studied his jaw, his perfect nose, his stunning eyes. Everything about him melted her. Even his deep voice caused her to shiver.

Shit. What the hell is happening to me? This is stupid.

She saw what looked like a coffee shop on the other side of the street. She guided him to the left where they crossed Spadina and turned to cross Adelaide.

“What happened back there?” Drake asked. “How did you know they were going to try to kill me?”

“You were marked for death because of what happened to you recently, which I don’t have a lot of details on.”

“How come you’re here and not a bunch of cops?”

She looked up at his gorgeous eyes. “I don’t know. My sister has a sense of humor maybe? Is this place a good one for coffee?”

Drake smiled. “Absolutely. Tim Horton’s is the best. Come on.”

Before going in, Sarah scanned the street behind them. Nothing odd or out of place. No one followed them, as far as she could tell.
 

A moment later, she stepped in behind Drake in line. After ordering two coffees, they took a table near the back, Sarah facing the front to watch the door.

Drake asked why she was in Toronto.

“There’s not a lot to tell you,” Sarah said. “I’m what they call an Automatic Writer. Someone works through me to author notes about the future. I’ve since learned that that someone is my sister who passed away shortly after I was born. Here, I’ll show you what she told me an hour ago.” Sarah grabbed the note about Drake’s seat number and handed it to him, leaving the rest of the blank papers on the little table between them.

“Wow, I’ve never heard of this kind of thing before. I mean, I know there are psychics and stuff, but this is actually real.”

She could tell Drake was taken aback. Attempting to avoid direct contact with his eyes for fear of being swept away, Sarah told him about herself, some of what had recently happened in Europe and why she had gotten Drake away from Spencer.

“So you think Spencer was in on this somehow?” Drake asked.

“I didn’t say that. The note told me to beware of the cop and that he wants to kill me. Spencer took you to the game where you were supposed to be killed. To be cautious, I thought we needed to be alone.” She stopped and looked at him. “What I mean is …”

“I know what you mean,” Drake said.

There’s that fucking smile again. I feel like butter in the sun. It’s nice, but it fucking sucks too.

Drake went on for a few minutes, explaining what happened to him two weeks ago and what some girl named Monika and her brothers had done to him. Drake had barely survived, but with quick thinking and a lot of luck, he had gotten through his ordeal. Her respect for him went up tenfold.

She sipped at her coffee and watched the door, but no one who came or left paid them any extra attention.

Rod, you are going to be super pissed.

Sarah grinned at the thought.

Fuck him. I’m sitting with a real man.

“Innocent people died,” Drake said. “Monika and her brother Attila were killed. Their father wants revenge. As far as I know, that’s what today was all about. And all this because of falsified immigration documents.”

“I’ve had my share of dealing with immigration fraud. I’m sick of it. We need to do something because this has to stop. You can’t live under this threat.”

What am I saying? We have to do something about this? Since when is it
we
? Get it together, Sarah, there can be no
we
.

Her hand twitched and went numb.

“Oh shit,” Sarah said. “This is embarrassing. I’m about to blackout —”

She opened her eyes and lifted her head off the wall. She had slumped sideways, saving herself from the all-embarrassing kiss-the-floor routine.

Concern and fear clouded his face.

He actually cares. Shit, I need a man in my life like I need a scorpion in my panties.

“You wrote something,” Drake said. “What is it?”

Sarah looked at the paper in her hand and read the one word she had written in capital letters.

RUN!