Allison Brennan - Killing Fear

“Ms. Robin McKenna, this is Officer Diaz from the San Diego Police Department.”

Robin froze as the answering machine continued with the message.

“I’m sorry to be calling so late, but this afternoon there was an earthquake near San Quentin State Prison and Theodore Glenn escaped when a wall collapsed in the prison exercise yard. We are taking precautions and notifying everyone who was involved in his prosecution that Glenn is missing and presumed at large. If you have any questions, please call me at 619-555-1100.”

Robin pounded the erase button, as if it could make tonight disappear. Like she didn’t know Theodore had escaped! What good would it do to notify her? What good would it do anyone? If Theodore wanted to get to someone, he’d find a way.

Petting her cat, she walked through the loft to her bedroom. Her sleeping area was separated from the rest of the loft by three antique black silk screens. She put Pickles on the bed and sat, staring at her nightstand. Her fear was palatable: she tasted it, her pores oozed it, her hair tingled.

Why me?

Robin rarely indulged in self-pity. Seven years ago she’d had to shore herself up against it as well. It would have been easy to hide forever, to move back home with her mother, to disappear. But she hadn’t. She’d faced the press, faced the court, helped put Theodore Glenn behind bars.

“Why don’t you like me, Ms. McKenna?” he’d asked.

How to answer a question like that? She’d felt his evil. Deep down, she knew it. The way he looked at her. The way he made her feel: cold and petrified.

He’d never said anything cruel to her. He’d never done anything to her. He simply watched her, but she had grown terrified. Irrational. At least she’d thought so at the time.

When Bethany was killed, she just knew he was responsible. After, he looked at Robin as if they shared a secret. The way he tried to hold her, to console her, when she found out. It was-odd. Different and strange. How could she explain something she didn’t understand?

Robin had put her gun away last year when Glenn’s first appeal had been denied. It had been time to put the past behind her, once and for all, and the weight of the gun had reminded her constantly of why she had a concealed carry permit in the first place.

When Glenn was convicted of murdering four of her friends, he vowed to the courtroom that he would kill Robin. When he stared at her that horrible day, she was certain he would do it the moment he had the opportunity.

She had to make sure he had no such opportunity. If he came back to San Diego, she had to protect herself. She would not be a victim. She would not allow him to win.

She opened her nightstand. There was nothing in the drawer except for her gun, her belt holster, and a box of bullets. She picked up the 9 mm and held it in her palms.

The fear she had repressed for the last hour overwhelmed her.

It was as if she were back in her old apartment. In the dark. She had walked in, wondered why the lamp wasn’t where it was supposed to be. Pickles wound around her feet. She picked him up. He was wet. The smell. God, the metallic, wet smell! It was like she knew, but still stepped forward. Tripped over something, fell in a slick, foul-smelling mess. It was Anna’s blood. Her blood was everywhere; Robin was covered in it.

Now she put her head in her hands, shaking. For seven years she had lived with fear, but she’d dealt with it. Minimized it. Robin forced herself to work, stand up to rowdy guests, defend her dancers, run her business. She would not be cowed into hiding. She’d taken self-defense classes while in college, had taken even more of them after Anna was killed. She had gotten the gun. Learned to use it.

One year ago she put the weapon away and stopped going to the range. It had been time to get on with her life. To finally conquer the cold fear that chilled her every night.

The fear was back.

She walked to her dresser and opened the top drawer, pulled out her favorite leather belt, and threaded her holster through it. She checked the ammunition, though she didn’t have to. The first of every month she cleaned the gun, reloaded it, chambered a round, and flicked the safety on. She’d never grown up with guns, but she was comfortable with this one.

If Theodore Glenn walked through that door, she would shoot him without hesitation or remorse.

The thought that she could kill repulsed her. What kind of person did that make her? What had fear created?

Detective Will Hooper came up from the basement where he’d retrieved the files on Theodore Glenn in preparation for the task-force meeting.

Chief Causey thought Will was crazy when he insisted on calling the meeting first thing Sunday morning, insisting that Glenn would head for the border. Will argued passionately, knowing Glenn would return to San Diego to make good on his threat.

Though unconvinced, Causey ordered everyone threatened by Glenn to be notified. He also agreed to put together the task force as a precautionary measure.

Chief Causey’s opinion aside, there was no doubt in Will’s mind that Theodore Glenn would try to kill those who had put him in prison. The only question: Who would he target first?

Carina Kincaid, Will’s partner, entered the bull pen and made a beeline toward the coffeepot, her dark hair still damp. “Bastard,” she mumbled when she saw Will. “You called me at four in the morning. ”

“Wimp.”

“I’d tell you to fuck off, but I’m too tired.”

“Late night?”

Carina blinked. “Why do I feel we’ve had some version of this conversation before?”

“Because you have someone to share your bed and I don’t.”

“Your dry spell will be the death of me,” Carina said. “What happened to Monica?”

“That was over months ago.”

“Nicole?”

“I’m surprised you even know about her. That was before we were partners. We split amicably.”

“What about that cute girl who works for Jim? Maybe you should ask her out.”

“Diana? Cute girl? Last I checked, she was older than you.”

Carina waved her hand in dismissal. “Whatever. I think she likes you.”

“Diana and I had a thing years ago.”

“Hmm. She still has it bad for you. Why, I can’t imagine.”

Will shook his head. “I doubt that. It didn’t work out with Diana. Not all of us get as lucky as you.”

“You’ll get no argument here, but I’m not sharing Nick with you no matter how much you beg.”

Will rolled his eyes and pulled open the cardboard box.

“What’s in there?” Carina asked, pulling her hair back with a metal clip.

“Everything related to the Glenn case. Except the evidence, which is at archives.”

“Why isn’t this in archives? The case was closed seven years ago.”

“I needed it during that appeals court hearing last year. Plus, I expected Glenn to file another appeal, and I wanted to stay fresh.”

“You’re obsessed with that case. Remember? We got the guy.”

It was a generic “we” because Carina had still been a beat cop when Will and his former partner, Frank Sturgeon, had investigated the homicides that led to the arrest of wealthy corporate trial lawyer Theodore Glenn.

“I’m not obsessed.”

He wouldn’t admit it to Carina, but he still dreamed about the murders. He supposed they’d be called nightmares if anyone was going to get technical about it.

Theodore Glenn had enjoyed playing with his victims. Seeing the bodies, knowing what he did to those four women, interviewing Glenn after he’d been locked up-Will continually replayed the investigation in his mind.