Allison Brennan - Cutting Edge

Duke couldn’t protect everyone he cared about 24/7. The plane quickly picked up speed as it traveled down the runway. Then it was airborne, and disappeared into the inky black night.

Duke wasn’t surprised that J. T Caruso was in the office when he turned the key at four that morning, but he had something else to do before greeting him.

He slipped into his office and closed the door. The desk light was on, and that was all he needed. He strode across the room and sat in his executive chair and opened the bottom drawer.

His Colt was still there, its bullets boxed and waiting.

For thirteen years he hadn’t needed a gun, and in that time he hadn’t lost a client or a case. And though Nora was a trained FBI agent with strong instincts, and she certainly hadn’t hired him, he still considered her his case. He was her consultant, and he’d promised to keep her safe.

He might need a weapon other than his brains and brawn. There was too much at stake to continue to appease his guilt.

Duke reached into the drawer, grabbed the Colt, and automatically checked the magazine and barrel. Both were empty.

He loaded a magazine with seven bullets, slammed it into the grip, chambered a round, then popped out the magazine to fit another round in and slammed it back in again, double-checking that the safety was on. It was an automatic process, something he’d done over and over until he could load and unload, clean and put together his gun in his sleep.

He cleaned this gun on the first of every month, so he knew it was in good working condition, but he hadn’t held it loaded in thirteen years.

He pulled his holster from another drawer, threaded it through his belt, and holstered his gun. He filled two more seven-round magazines and pocketed them.

He only needed one bullet, but he was a Marine. Marines were always prepared.

Duke heard voices from Mitch Bianchi office at the opposite end of the hall, but first went to talk to J.T. in his office next to Duke’s. He stood in his doorway and said, “Thanks for the plane.”

J.T. waved off his appreciation. “Sean knows what he’s doing. He’s a quick study. Someday he’ll be better than me.”

It wasn’t an arrogant comment. J.T. had been a Navy SEAL and had flown fighter jets, landing on moving aircraft carriers at sea.

“Any luck?”

“Some,” he said. “Jayne has sorted the property records and extracted those in the area Megan felt were most likely to be Maggie’s home base. If anyone knows psychos, it’s Megan.”

They were using Rogan-Caruso equipment because it was better and faster than what the FBI had locally. The Menlo Park cybercrimes unit could match them, but they had other cases and priorities and couldn’t drop everything to devote the majority of their server time to find one missing adult. Rogan-Caruso could.

“We have the best people mapping the area,” J.T said. “Then we’ll pull down satellite photos and overlay in the high-target areas.”

This was where it would get dicey. J.T. had high security clearance and worked extensively on top-secret projects, but he was using his clearance for nonsanctioned activities. When Duke had first asked him for help after Quin was kidnapped, J.T. said he wouldn’t ask permission, because he already knew the answer. “And,” he’d added, “I know you’ll be able to clean up any trail we leave.”

“I can’t tell you how much-”

J.T. put up his hand. “Don’t. You’d do the same.”

“I’ll see how I can help. Are they in Jayne’s office?”

J.T. shook his head. “Megan wanted to see the maps printed, so they took over Mitch’s office. Megan’s on the phone with Hans Vigo at Quantico as they narrow down the range. Since you know a lot more about the case, you’d be invaluable. I thought you were going to Victorville with Nora.”

“I need to be here to act on any information she gets from her mother. I feel like we don’t have a lot of time. When Maggie O’Dell decides to kill, she does it fast. I keep thinking about the three college students-her friends. Did she plan to kill them then, or was it a reaction to the investigation? Did one of them say something and that was it? Quin Teagan is spirited; she’s not going to sit meekly by and wait.”

“Psychopaths aren’t my area of expertise,” J.T. said. “The killers I deal with are completely sane with motivations that are never personal.”

Personal . That was what this was about. O’Dell’s personal vendetta against Nora. When she’d killed Russ Larkin for information, it had been quick. He wasn’t made to suffer. She’d had personal reasons for wanting the others to die. She’d prolonged their agony. For Nora, the most important thing in the world was family. There was only one thing Nora cared about more than her own life: her sister.

“I think Quin’s still alive,” Duke said. “She’s bait. And Nora will walk right into it. The million-dollar question is whether Lorraine Wright is part of setting the trap, or the key to springing it.”

Nora watched as the lights of Victorville Federal Penitentiary brightened upon the plane’s descent. They’d just seen the thin line of dawn on the eastern horizon before their approach; by the time they landed it had disappeared again. But Nora knew that morning would come, just as surely as she knew that Lorraine Wright would lie to her.

But Nora didn’t have any other option.

Warden Greene himself met the small plane. “I have Ms. Wright waiting in a private room,” he said. “I hope you’re not wasting your time.”

Me, too . She glanced at Sean. “Are you staying here?”

“Unless you need me.”

It was a kind thing to say. Duke had done a terrific job raising his younger brother. Sean was ready for the world, whatever it held. Nora hadn’t done the same for Quin. But she’d tried, damn, she tried.

“I’m okay.” She walked with the warden to his open-air Jeep. They’d landed a thousand feet from the outer walls of the prison on a little-used road. The warden had a guard block it off at both ends so they’d had a safe place to land.

It was cool this morning up here in the high desert, but Nora liked the dry air and vast starry sky. The stars began to wink out as she watched, as dawn caught up with them. She’d slept under the stars many times, and that was the only thing she’d appreciated about her mother’s gypsylike lifestyle.

The closer Nora got to her mother, the tighter her chest felt. She hadn’t seen Lorraine since she’d been sentenced, nearly a year to the day from when she’d been arrested at Diablo Canyon. She’d sat in the courtroom and watched as her mother impassively accepted her sentence of life without the possibility of parole. She could have gotten the death penalty, but the federal prosecutor told Nora the jury wouldn’t give a pregnant woman the death penalty.

And Nora had been relieved. She hadn’t wanted Lorraine’s death on her conscience, too. She already had too much pressure. For Quin, for herself. From Cameron Lovitz nearly killing her. From Lorraine killing Andy Keene. It was all coming down on her, and sparing her mother’s life at the time had been the only thing to do. But for years she didn’t know if opposing the death penalty for her mother was as much her mother’s indoctrination of her, or her own beliefs. Because to this day, Nora didn’t like the death penalty. It made her uncomfortable knowing someone she arrested might die at the hands of the justice system. But she still did her job. When Maggie O’Dell was apprehended, she would be eligible for the death penalty. And Nora would testify. Not just because it was her job, but because she believed in the system. The system her mother had made Nora fight against for seventeen years.