The Belial Stone (The Belial Series #1)(18)

Jake tried to reign in his frustration. “A medical doctor?”

“That’s just the thing. He’s not a medical doctor. He’s an archaeologist. And he’s also disappeared. He handed in his notice to the University of Saint Paul yesterday unexpectedly and there’s no trace of where he went. And here’s where it gets more interesting: Dr. Priddle’s research partner, Dr. Drew Masters, committed suicide yesterday. Spider senses tingling yet?”

“A little,” Jake admitted. “So if I’ve got this straight, AFP is arranging for undocumented flights at times that coincide with ex-cons going missing, and is also sponsoring this archaeologist who’s disappeared and whose partner just killed himself. That right?”

“You got it.”

“So I guess I'm heading to Saint Paul.”

“Actually, Danny thinks you should head to Syracuse.”

Jake frowned. “Syracuse? What’s the Syracuse connection?”

“Apparently, Dr. Masters sent an email to a criminologist, a Dr. Delaney McPhearson, shortly before he died. The email was then rescinded, a few hours after Dr. Masters was killed.”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “And dead guys tend not to do that. Now my spidey senses are really tingling.”

“Good.” Jake could hear the smile in Henry’s voice. “But I think you should get to Dr. McPhearson quickly.”

“Why?”

“She was attacked in her home this morning. And Jake, it was an unusual attack.

“Unusual? How?”

“Apparently Dr. McPhearson is quite a fighter. She shot the assailant twice and stabbed him once. And each time he took a hit, the guy seemed to pop back up like a jack-in-the-box. Sound familiar?”

Jake went still. “Yeah. It does. And it means I need to find Dr. McPhearson as fast as possible.”





CHAPTER 13



Havre, Montana



When Tom had been in prison, he’d taken an online Introduction to Psychology course. One of the topics they discussed was Lorenz’s concept of learned helplessness: how people believed that there was nothing they could do to help themselves even when opportunities for betterment arose.

As Tom looked around the enclosure, he thought that prisons and places like this were what Lorenz had been talking about. The inmates outnumbered the guards by forty-to-one, but no one had any thoughts of rebellion. After only a few hours, they had all learned that lesson too well.

The first day, Tom had been in shock. He kept thinking he wasn’t really here, that any moment he was going to open his eyes and wake up. His only awakening had been the realization that whoever set this place up didn’t care who died in the process. He’d helped carry four abused and emaciated bodies into the pit in just the first two days. After that, he’d stopped counting.

Last night, although exhausted, he again hadn’t slept. He kept trying to think of a way to escape. But there were too many guards, too many guns, and nowhere to run to. By dawn, he’d reached an uncomfortable truth: the only way he was getting out of here was as a corpse. His destiny was in that pit outside, with all the others held here.

And it wasn’t just the place that convinced him of that. It was the reality of his life. Who would be looking for him? Who cared enough about whether he lived or died? His Gran cared, but she’d been the last of his family. There were the people from the church. They probably just thought he skipped town. Cleo slipped into his mind. Did she think he’d just left? He’d finally found the right girl and now it was gone. She’d write him off.

An image of Jake appeared in his mind and gave him pause. He’d always hoped he’d see him again, that maybe they could be friends once more. He thought of the last time he’d seen Jake. He’d been only eleven. Jake was leaving for boot camp and had just walked out the door to head to the bus station. Tom had watched from the porch until Jake turned the corner, feeling like his world was ending with each step Jake took.

He’d slowly walked back into the house. He’d whirled around when the door flew open again. Jake grabbed him in a giant, crushing hug, and whispered into his ear. “I’ll miss you, little man.” And then he was gone.

Tears pooled in Tom’s eyes when he thought of that hug. Jake had cared. He knew he did. But Jake didn’t know he was missing. He hadn’t even seen him in almost ten years. And if he did know, why would Jake come looking for him? He was an ex-gang-banger con.

Tom ducked his head down as a guard walked by, spearing his shovel into the dirt as tears slowly made tracks through the dust on his face. No, he was on his own. No one would be looking for him.





CHAPTER 14



Syracuse, NY



Rocky had arranged for Laney to be placed in a safe house until they ran down the man who’d attacked her. Laney had argued against protective custody, but Rocky had won the argument by pointing out the danger she could be placing other people in by not being in custody.

Laney leaned back against the headrest in the Cutlass. She knew she should feel relieved and that the danger had passed. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t over. That Paul, whoever the hell he was, was going to keep coming.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Detective Frank Miller as he drove. In his early forties, with dirty blond hair carefully combed to try and hide the beginning of premature balding, he was the picture of confidence, a man in control. Detective Marcos Sanchez, who was Frank’s physical opposite with an olive complexion, dark hair, and serious demeanor, was behind them in another Cutlass. Sanchez, though, was cut from the same cloth: unflappable. But the tingle of fear wouldn’t leave her.