Allison Brennan - Fatal Secrets

“I know you. Watch your back, sweetheart.” Kane hung up.

Ten seconds later the contact information she wanted came through on her text messaging. He included his brother, Duke Rogan’s, private cell phone number.

She trusted Kane Rogan with her life. If it weren’t for him, she would have died ten years ago when Charlie went off on his own mission and left her, only a year out of training, in a situation that forced her to kill for the second time in her life.

But Kane was God-knew-where fighting battles only true heroes had a chance of winning. Once she had called him a cat with nine lives, and he’d actually smiled -a rarity.

If she could trust a man she saw once in a blue moon, why couldn’t she trust FBI agent Dean Hooper, a man she was working side by side with? She already knew more about Hooper after knowing him less than twenty-four hours than she did about Kane, a man she’d known for ten years.

Dean returned with two bottles of cold water and handed her one. Nothing had looked so good; she was parched. “Thank you,” she said.

He didn’t ask, he simply looked at her with piercing brown eyes that demanded answers.

“All right,” she said. “I’ll set up a meeting with my informant. But first, there’s something else you need to know.”

Riley Knight stood sentry outside Jane Doe’s hospital room. Ann , he reminded himself. That was so like his sister to give an unknown victim a personal name. One of the psychological games traffickers and other abusers used to demoralize their victims was to dehumanize them, make them forget they were individuals and program them to believe that their only value was in what they did and not who they were. Naming people “Jane” or “John Doe” grated on Sonia like fingernails on a chalkboard, though she’d never said anything.

There were many things Sonia never said, but after twenty years of being virtual twins, Riley knew her better than she knew herself. This was no exaggeration; Riley didn’t think Sonia cared to be introspective. Like any good cop, she could handle her complex and emotionally demanding job because she could compartmentalize. That trait enabled her to put her past in a box she rarely, if ever, opened. But that didn’t mean her past didn’t shape her present and future. Maybe that was why Riley still worried about her even though she was one of the most self-reliant people he knew.

He hoped Charlie Cammarata-that bastard who nearly got his sister killed-didn’t mess her up with whatever insane mission he was on. She had never spoken about it again, after telling Riley what had happened on that undercover assignment ten years ago. But Riley couldn’t forget that Cammarata had set up his sister so he could get the glory. Cammarata had never apologized for what he had put Sonia through, only said he was sorry that “it had gone too far” and he “never meant for her to get hurt.”

Cammarata was like an extremist Muslim on a jihad; he didn’t care who he hurt as long as his goal was achieved. Riley didn’t give a rat’s ass how noble the goal was; the bodies Cammarata laid in his wake made him the enemy. Riley didn’t want one of those bodies to be his sister.

Dr. Peter Miller left Ann’s room, acknowledged Riley, and walked down the hall, passing Detective John Black, who approached with a cup of coffee. “Thought you could use some,” he said.

“Thanks.” Riley sipped. It was nowhere near as good as his mom’s.

“I have Ericson relieving you at twenty-one hundred. You good till then?”

“I’m good.”

“Then I’ll see you in the morning. Let me know if there’s any change. We have no witnesses, except that girl.”

Black walked off and Riley sipped the coffee, then put it on the low table next to him. He wasn’t sleepy, his shift had technically just started a couple of hours ago, and he had plenty of energy. His mom didn’t understand the allure of the swing shift, but for Riley it was great. He’d always been a night person, and now he had an excuse to sleep until noon.

An orderly approached and ignored Riley, making a move to open the door.

Riley blocked him. “You’re not authorized to enter this room.”

“Sure I am,” he said, showing his name badge. Jose Martinez .

“You’re not on the list.”

“I’m just changing bedpans.”

Riley didn’t budge.

Martinez swore. “Look, my boss is gonna get on my ass if I don’t get this done. I don’t know why I’m not on your friggin’ list. Let’s go talk to him, fix this.”

Riley didn’t like the way Martinez’s eyes darted back and forth. He squinted at Riley with dark mousy eyes. Riley glanced at the photo on the name badge again and realized this man wasn’t Jose Martinez. Same general look and race, but two different people.

“Let’s call him,” Riley said, motioning to the house phone. “What’s his name?” He needed the fake orderly to believe he was playing along, to get him away from Ann’s door. As casually as he could, he tapped a code into his radio with his badge number and “officer needs assistance” signal. He hoped Black was still in the building with his radio on.

The imposter nodded, moved toward the phone, then started running down the hall.

“Shit!” Riley started down the hall, then stopped. He couldn’t leave Ann, and the fake orderly was acting overtly suspicious. A decoy, Riley realized, to get him away from the door.

He whirled around and saw a tall, lean, blond Caucasian male with his hand on Ann’s door. Where had he come from so quickly?

Riley commanded, “Don’t move.”

The man didn’t stop and in three long strides Riley was in a position to restrain him. The man pivoted and backed into Ann’s room. He had a scalpel in his right hand, and something Riley couldn’t see in his left.

“Security!” Riley yelled at the top of his lungs and saw a nurse scurry toward a phone.

Riley couldn’t let him near Ann. He grabbed his Taser, but the suspect kicked his wrist. Riley held on to the Taser, but his arm went straight up, and his attacker lunged with the scalpel aimed at Riley’s neck as if it were an ice pick.

Riley faked right, then pivoted left toward Ann. The suspect was fooled by the move, but recovered quickly and tackled Riley, plunging the scalpel high in his thigh. Riley bit back a scream as the sharp blade was pulled several inches up his leg. He Tasered the bastard in the chest, but the darts bounced off. He had a fucking vest on!

Already the perp was scrambling up and moving fast toward the unconscious girl. Riley grabbed his legs and pulled him down. Then saw what the attacker had in his left hand: a syringe. If that syringe had pricked him or Ann, Riley was certain they’d be dead.

Sweating, his vision blurry and fading, blood flowing from his leg, Riley grabbed the killer’s left wrist and slammed it hard against the floor. Again. Again. The perp said nothing, but he grunted in pain and frustration. Riley didn’t see the scalpel coming toward his head.

There was commotion behind him, then a sharp pain in his cheek, and John Black shouted, “Knight!” Riley sensed more than saw John grab the suspect’s right hand and slam it against the floor.

“The syringe!” he tried to shout, his words slurred.

Black’s hands reached over and clasped the perp’s wrist, squeezing, and Riley heard bones crack and the bastard beneath him scream in pain.

“I got him,” Black said.

Riley rolled away and lay there, barely registering two cops cuffing the blond man and pulling him out of Ann’s room.

“Riley,” Black said. “Help’s on the way.”

“Should be,” Riley said, seeing nothing but gray. “I’m in a damn hospital.”

Black ripped Riley’s pants away, grabbed a blanket from the foot of Ann’s bed, and applied pressure. “I got your radio signal,” he said.