Ignoring the other man’s whimpers and abortive struggles, he watched in silence. He knew the man would crack. They always did.
“Look, you have to want something.”
Paydirt.
“If you contacted him once, you can do it again.”
“I don’t have his direct number,” Travis whined. “I call a voice mail box, and then he e-mails me the location.”
It sounded like the “boss” was paranoid, rightfully so. There were people out to get him. Søren considered how to handle that information and then he smiled. “Very well. Call the voice mail and tell him you have me in custody. When he gets in touch with you, set up the meet.”
“You can’t make me sit here this whole time. It could be hours, and I have to piss.”
He considered, and he realized Travis was right. He didn’t need him anymore. “Good point. I’ll kill you now, then.”
“Wait! You need me to make the call, right? And answer the e-mail.”
Søren smiled and answered in a near perfect duplication of the man’s nasal tones, “No, I don’t. I only need your phone.”
He plucked the cell from the bedside table and checked the settings. Fortunately, it was clear what number he should dial; it showed up in the recently called list. Then he checked the e-mail. Beautiful. Travis was lazy rather than security conscious. His mail downloaded directly into his smartphone inbox. Søren had everything he needed now.
“I helped you. I cooperated. You can’t do this, it isn’t right.”
Oh, that was entirely the wrong thing to say. Raw fury became a bonfire within him. “Was it right for you to take my woman? Was it right for you to kill Kelly Clark? What about Noreen Daniels? What did you do to her that she wound up looking like that?”
Travis was shaking his head. “I don’t know names. I was just following orders. I don’t have a beef with you. Please, I can pay-”
“I have no need of your blood money, filth. Everything in the world I valued, you have taken. The only thing you can do for me now is die with dignity.”
He strangled Bruce Travis with cold determination. Once he was sure the bastard was dead, he checked his vitals and waited five minutes. There would be no errors here.
With silent amusement, he unbound the man’s hands and arranged him in the closet. With luck, the police would think he’d been indulging in autoerotic asphyxiation, badly gone awry. And if they carefully examined the forensics on a scum-bag like this, there still wouldn’t be anything to tie Søren to the crime. Travis didn’t deserve dignity in death.
Mia had liked Kelly Clark. Søren hadn’t known the woman personally, but he’d seen her in the halls at Micor. She didn’t deserve to die alone, terrified and in agony. Søren wished he could’ve inflicted more pain on Bruce Travis, but that would have required a different setup and more time than he could afford to devote to the endeavor.
Next, he dialed the number; his mimicry came in handy there. After arranging the meet, Søren pulled off his mask and pocketed his garrote. The last thing he needed was someone to spy him out of a window and start screaming.
The world was better off now, no question. Before stepping out of the motel room, he did the other guests a service and turned down the volume on the TV. As a final goodwill gesture, he searched the room from top to bottom and found a gray duffel bag full of money stashed in one of the ceiling panels. That, Søren took as well.
And I didn’t even break the lamps.
He made his movements slow and casual. Not those of a man fleeing the scene of a crime. Nobody saw him come down the stairs, and he avoided the cameras on the property. He had no ability to wipe them, unless he did so manually, so it was better to be cautious.
As he retraced his steps to the car, he passed a ramshackle church that doubled as a homeless shelter. Even with night coming on and a chill in the air, there were a few men loitering outside. There was a donation drop box, presumably for food and clothes, beside the cracked front stoop.
It was the right thing to do, he thought. Without hesitation, he shoved the bag down into the slot, forcing it through until he heard it hit bottom. Then he continued on his way. A light rain began to fall, making him glad of the gloves.
To the best of his knowledge, Mia had never sent that e-mail telling her friend what was happening. If Kyra didn’t hear something soon, she’d come barreling into the situation with all of the finesse of a Weedwacker, and more than likely, she’d have Reyes in tow. He couldn’t allow them to exacerbate the situation.
Søren drove to a better part of town before setting up the satellite on the roof of the vehicle. He could steal signal from one of the businesses nearby, but he didn’t want the IP to give away his location. Feeling vaguely guilty, he logged in using Mia’s account information, read some of their exchanges to get a feel for how Mia would communicate with Kyra, and then he typed:
Met a guy. Things are complicated. I’ll talk to you soon.
He felt like an absolute shit hitting send, but the truth would scare Kyra to death. She and Reyes were good at what they did, but they weren’t subtle, and he wouldn’t risk Mia’s safety with wild cards in play. He could handle this. He would. Nothing had ever been so important.
Hesitating for a few seconds, hands over the keyboard, he typed the words in the search bar and soon he had an answer. Jane Doe identified: Local woman Noreen Daniels has been claimed by next of kin and will be buried in two days. He stopped reading then, fixating on her picture beside the article. Noreen had been young and pretty, dark-eyed and vivacious; he could tell by her broad, open smile. More interesting, she wore a large saint medallion, which had a border of leaves.
“That made the imprint on her hands,” he whispered.
Whatever they’d done to her, however they’d done it, she had died praying for mercy, praying for deliverance. Oh, God, not Mia. Not. Mia.
Gathering his composure, he disassembled the rig on the roof and moved on. No need to attract police attention by loitering. He’d get a room now. The killer’s phone felt heavy in his pocket, his one link to saving Mia.
Now he just had to wait.
CHAPTER 25
Things were falling into place.
Rowan smiled in satisfaction as he read the e-mail from the liaison. It appeared that the idiot had come through a second time. He had the male accomplice in custody and wanted to turn him over for a bonus. Excellent. The liaison wondered if he would like to make use of the man, rather than wasting the parts.
Ordinarily, he would say no, but as “Smith” already knew, due to intelligence Rowan had provided, the male wasn’t Thomas Strong. Mia Sauter wasn’t the real threat; she was bait. When a lab tech pointed out a discrepancy in Strong’s medical records, Rowan took it upon himself to verify.
And indeed, Thomas Strong was not AB negative. Which meant the man posing as him-and working with Mia Sauter-had to be someone else. With that information in mind, it had been child’s play to pull a DNA sample from the HR office. Thank God for the slovenly cleaning service.
Rowan now knew that Thomas Strong was Søren Frost, a test subject who had eluded Foundation agents for years. And Rowan was about to scoop him up. The board of directors would be so pleased; too bad he no longer cared what they thought. He had moved beyond their petty concerns.
It was a pity he had no data on Frost or the man’s abilities, but he would find out soon enough. Frost couldn’t be very powerful if the hired muscle had managed to trap him. With a pleased smile, Rowan sent the information regarding the rendezvous.