“You shouldn’t have come.”

Not the child’s voice.

36

Session Five

Three Years Ago

The digital recording drones with silence for a good thirty seconds.

“Are we finished with this session before we start?” Holden asks.

“What do you want me to say?”

“It would be helpful if you said you were prepared to begin.”

“Get it over with,” Sadie grumbles.

The doctor releases a heavy sigh before beginning the steps that would relax Sadie and allow her to go back to the time when she was a prisoner of the Osorio cartel.

“It’s late October, more than a year since you first arrived at the compound. More than eight months since anyone on your team has heard from you.”

“I clutched at my belly.”

Sadie’s voice is low and small.

“Why did you clutch at your belly?” Holden asks.

“The baby was gone. He was born already. But he was dead.”

“The child was stillborn?”

“Yes. That’s what they told me. And I saw him . . . touched him. He was dead.”

“Where are you, Sadie?”

“I don’t know. There were no windows. I had no grasp of time. Night or day. The passing of seasons. The temperature was always the same. The lights were always on.”

“Were you alone?”

“Yes.”

“Were your medical needs attended to?”

“I’m not sure. I believe so.”

“And you’re certain you were alone.”

“At first, but then he came into the room.”

“He?”

There is a delay in her answer.

“Eddie.”

“I thought he was dead.”

“He would be in a few more minutes.”

“You intended to kill him?”

“Yes. I hid an ink pen in my waistband.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“I waited until he was close enough. He hugged me. No matter that I was a traitor; he still felt something for me. I took advantage of the moment and jammed the pen into his jugular. The blood spewed and flowed like a river. I remember his eyes and the way he looked at me as he died in my arms.”

“Were you taken away when his body was found?”

“No . . . wait.” A long pause. “That’s wrong.”

“What do you mean wrong?” Holden prods.

“Eddie was dead before . . . a long time before. I killed him when they first discovered who I really was. The old man wanted me dead. Eddie pleaded with his father to keep me alive until the child was born.”

“Are you saying you didn’t kill him?”

Silence.

“No,” she says. “I did. Except it was when he came into the room to tell me my life would be spared long enough for the child to be born.”

“But you said the child was stillborn.”

“I don’t remember telling you about the baby.”

“You did, Sadie. Just a moment ago. You told me the baby was dead.”

“I don’t remember telling you, but it’s true. He died.” Her voice is high now, strained. “I remember the voices.”

“Whose voices?”

She doesn’t answer for several seconds.

“Someone I trusted. His. And . . . and hers.”

“Whose voices?” Holden repeats.

“I don’t want to talk anymore.”

37

11:55 p.m.

Finley Boulevard

Birmingham

Mason had listened to Sadie’s regression therapy sessions at least a dozen times. The past few days he’d put himself through the torture once more. His daughter had come so very close to learning his secret during the therapy. The final session was the reason he had halted the appointments and taken possession of the recordings. Holden hadn’t argued. After all, Mason had paid him a great deal of money. Initially, Mason had intended to destroy the recordings, but he could not bring himself to do it. Each time he listened, he was reminded of how very much Sadie had paid for his mistakes.

He would see that she never paid for anything he did ever again.

This would end now.

Before leaving home a half hour ago he had carefully packed the recordings of the sessions in the box with the rest of the things he wanted Sadie to have when the time was right. Much would be explained when she had an opportunity to go through the items he had saved. Her name and phone number were on the box to ensure it was passed on to her in the event he was unable to tell her about it.

It was time to finalize one last step.

He watched as the rented luxury sedan pulled into the parking lot of the abandoned warehouse on Finley Boulevard. Mason emerged from his Lexus and strode toward the dark sedan without hesitation. The engine continued running, the parking lights on. As he approached the front passenger-side door, the auto lock disengaged. He opened the door and settled into the leather seat. The dim interior lighting closed in around him and the man he’d asked to meet him. Mason placed his hands loosely in his lap.

“I was surprised you called,” Leland Walsh announced. “I thought our business was finished after our last meeting.”

“I thought so, too, until I spoke with her.” Mason knew her better than she knew herself. When she did not refute his allegation, he had known he was right. She would never have permitted Mason the leeway to move on a conclusion that was unfounded. She was far too exacting for such an allowance.

Walsh had the audacity to laugh. “Really, Agent Cross. I can hardly see the problem. She has every reason to feel exactly as I do, wouldn’t you say?” He turned to face Mason. “An eye for an eye, after all. Except we aren’t talking about eyes, are we?”

Mason gave a nod, primarily at having his conclusion confirmed straight from the horse’s mouth. “No, we are not.” As he spoke, he slid a hand beneath his jacket and wrapped his fingers around the butt of his weapon. “You made a mistake, Walsh.”

“She made no move to stop me,” he tossed back. “We both know who’s in charge here.”

“Always recognize your limitations.” Mason withdrew his weapon, pressed the silenced barrel to the man’s forehead. The dim interior lighting cast an eerie glow on his suddenly pale face. Fear bloomed in his eyes. “Never cross a man who is more merciless than you.”