Allison Brennan - Playing Dead

“Meg-”

“I have to go.”

“Thanks. For everything.”

She sighed, but it wasn’t her exasperated sound. “Be careful.”

Mitch hung up, watched as the plane with Collier on board descended.

Grant said, “I have the list of S550s in the greater Sacramento area. There are 210, half of which are black or dark blue or green.”

In a regular investigation, narrowing the list that much would be a major lead. But researching over two hundred owners would still take time and right now they didn’t have that luxury.

“I just e-mailed Meg and asked for as many people as possible to start weeding through the list, starting with Sacramento County and working out.”

“Good work, Grant.”

After the plane landed, Mitch walked over to the tarmac and waited. The side door opened and two armed Marines stepped out. Next came Collier, handcuffed, followed by a familiar face.

Mitch smiled. “Hans Vigo! Meg didn’t tell me you were bringing Collier back.”

“She didn’t know,” he said. “I volunteered when I heard about the case.”

Agent Hans Vigo, closing in on forty-five and on the stout side, was one of the top behavioral scientists at Quantico, though he’d opted to stay in the field rather than join the elite BSU. He’d been a longtime friend of both Mitch and Meg. Most recently, Mitch had worked with him in Montana tracking two of the San Quentin fugitives through a harsh blizzard.

“I’m glad you came. I’ll put you to work. I’m still trying to figure out what motives are at play.”

Hans said, “My specialty.”

Mitch glared at Don Collier. “And I think this man will be instrumental to putting the pieces together.”

Jeffrey knew something was wrong as soon as he couldn’t reach either Chad Harper or Richie Mancini on any of their phones.

He was sitting in his car outside the gates of Richie’s tacky mansion. Hamilton was in a panic earlier when Jeffrey had talked to him, and then an hour later Jeffrey heard the news that his longtime friend and partner had jumped or fallen from the balcony of his penthouse.

Fell, my ass, Jeffrey thought.

Hamilton was gutless. How could he have killed himself over this bump in the fucking road?

Hamilton had caused far more problems by killing himself than they had with the Feds and that bitchy little investigator from Rogan-Caruso. The police would be all over his penthouse and the courthouse. And no matter how careful Hamilton had been with the records, something was going to leak out.

Which meant damage control.

Jeffrey needed a good plan. When the police came calling, he and Richie would of course be shocked and dismayed over Judge Drake’s secret life. They had no idea he was involved with anything illegal. The cops might not believe them, but they’d need proof. And right now, there was proof of nothing.

“Dammit, Richie, where are you?”

Jeffrey got out of his car and typed in the code to the gate. It swung open and he drove his car through. The gate closed behind him, and he circled around to the front door, stopping behind Richie’s Escalade.

Damn them all, Richie was panicking, too. Was he going to skip town and leave Jeffrey alone to answer all the questions? They’d agreed last night that as long as they stuck together and gave the same story, they’d be able to ride out the storm. Jeffrey couldn’t just walk out. He was a public figure. A congressman, and he was going to win the U.S. Senate seat. These problems were deterring him from his responsibilities and his job. He was a winner. This crap wasn’t going to touch him.

Jeffrey jumped out of his car. He looked in the Escalade. Dammit, packed bags were in the back. Bastard.

He stormed up the front steps and pounded on the door.

It swung open.

Jeffrey stared at the bodies in the foyer. Richie was dead. Shot multiple times in the head and torso. His wife was lying in the living room, dead. And Harper. Harper had taken out his gun, had seen a threat, but he hadn’t reacted fast enough.

Jeffrey knew only one person who had the ability to kill in cold blood like this. Ability, and a reason to do it.

Hamilton hadn’t killed himself. He was pushed.

Jeffrey was next.

“Not on your life, fucking asshole. I’ll nail your tough hide to the wall.”

He needed to watch his back, because Jeffrey was certain that he was next on Bruce’s hit list. But what if Jeffrey surprised him instead?

Jeffrey’s entire life, his future, was in jeopardy. Everything he’d worked for, all the bribes, the lies, the manipulation, the hours he’d put into obtaining power and control. He was so close! The United States Senate! He’d had plans. Senate pro tem, and then who knew? President? He would have been the greatest of the twenty-first century.

His dreams shattered in front of him.

He would kill the bastard assassin Bruce and then Jeffrey would disappear. As much as he didn’t want to give up everything he’d earned, everything he’d worked so hard for, self-preservation was the most important thing. He would have to change his name and alter his appearance and create a power base in some pathetic third-world country.

After all, he still had plenty of money. And with Richie and Hamilton dead, he now controlled it all.

Though Claire had told Bill and Dave that she didn’t mind them bringing the rest of the gang, she felt overwhelmed within ten minutes, even though Manny was with Jill, who was at the hospital in labor.

Bill sensed her distress. He eased her out of the kitchen where the three cops were dishing up take-out Italian, and sat her in the living room. “One hour, kiddo. You look tired.”

She smiled. “It’s okay. I tried to sleep, but couldn’t. Dad was supposed to go into surgery at eight last night, but the surgeon was concerned about some test results, so they ran more tests and took more X-rays and didn’t even start until three this morning. And he’s still there. It shouldn’t take this long, should it? What if-”

Bill squeezed her hand. “Don’t do that. He’s still in surgery and that’s positive. Trust the doctors.”

Claire just wanted her dad back, her life settled. “I hate not being there. I talked to Nelia this morning, and she’s worried, but I think my pacing made her nervous.”

“Are you sure you don’t want us to get out of here? We’ll leave the food and let you-”

“I want you to stay.” She kissed him on the cheek.

Dave came in. “Do you want me to serve you up?” he asked Claire.

“I’ll eat in the kitchen,” she said, standing.

“There’s plenty,” Dave told Agent Warren. “Help yourself.”

“Save me some,” he said. “Though a cold soda would be good.”

“I’ll get it.”

Phil said, “I got it, Dave. Grab the bread out of the warmer.”

Claire walked into the kitchen and saw the spread-and the accompanying mess. “I’ll clean up,” Dave assured her.

“You’d better,” she said and smiled. Even though she’d have preferred to be alone, all she’d been doing this morning was sulking and worrying about her father’s surgery. That was hardly working to prove her father’s innocence. Though Agent Elliott told her that they were taking her father’s claims seriously, as well as following up on everything Claire had uncovered, Claire wasn’t there to know herself. She was tired, but she couldn’t sleep if she tried.

“Thanks for coming by,” she told Dave quietly.

He rubbed her shoulder. “I love you, kid.”

Claire didn’t feel much like eating, but to appease Dave and Bill, she ate a small plate of spaghetti. Agent Warren took his soda and stood guard, leaving her alone with her friends. She wondered what Mitch was doing. Following up on information? Leads? Was he interviewing Collier yet? She wished she could go down to FBI headquarters and find out exactly what was going on. The waiting game was going to kill her.