Allison Brennan - Fatal Secrets

Sonia’s chest heaved and she bit back the self-pity that threatened her calm professionalism. It wasn’t these kids’ fault that she hadn’t had a normal childhood. It wasn’t their fault they had a loving mother and father who wanted to spend time with them. She was blessed with an adoptive family who loved her, and she was grateful for them, but sometimes when she thought of all the children who never had that support, never had the hugs, the unconditional love … She thought of Ann lying in the hospital after being raped and strangled and left for dead. She might be all of sixteen. Who were her parents? Had they sold her or had she been kidnapped like Charlie’s Ashley Fox? Where was she from? Was she going to make it? Could she have a normal life? Would she find a family like the Knights or be sent back to where she came from?

“Hey, I can’t believe you’re that speechless.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So?”

“So what?”

“Damn, you didn’t even hear the news. I can’t believe it!”

“I’m distracted. I’m sorry, Simone, it’s been a tough day.”

“Okay, I’ll cut you some slack. The head forensic pathologist performed the autopsy after hours on Jones instead of waiting until the morning, knowing that this case is red-hot. So get this: his bullets don’t match. Not one of the five match the unknown vic or Mrs. Vega.”

Sonia straightened. “You’re positive?”

“Of course I’m positive. They’re not even the same caliber. Jones was shot with nine-millimeter slugs; the other two vics with forty-five caliber hollow-points. And based on the angle of the entry wounds and knowing that Jones was shot in the parking lot, I assumed that both men were standing face-to-face. I did some preliminary calculations using the county lab, and I’m pretty confident that the killer is between five foot nine and five foot eleven.”

“You’re incredible.”

“So I’ve been told. I have more.”

“Give it to me.” Sonia grabbed a notepad from a neat stack in the corner and opened the top drawer for a pen as she listened to Simone.

But as the criminalist spoke, Sonia froze. She was speechless.

“Did you hear me?” Simone asked.

“Are you one hundred percent positive the knives match?”

“Well, technically, ninety-nine point three percent positive. But I’m looking at both of them now.”

“I’ll call you back. Thank you.”

Two minutes later, Sonia stepped back into the war room as Dean was finishing up his explanation of how he suspected Jones was laundering money. He glanced at her as he said, “We need to tread carefully with regards to Rio Diablo. We have no jurisdiction on their land and will have to work with the multitribe council to gain even minimal access.”

Trace Anderson looked at Sonia and said, “Something happened.”

“I just spoke to Simone Charles from Sac P.D. She confirmed that Mrs. Vega and the first victim found in the river were killed with the same gun; however, Jones was killed with a different gun. Time of death is the same. The blood evidence collected at the scene indicates that Jones was killed in the parking lot and carried to the edge of the dock where he was dropped into the river. The second victim was shot on the dock and fell into the water. There wasn’t much blood, so he must have been near the edge.”

“Like walking the plank,” Trace said.

“Simone also said, based on the angle of the wounds, whoever killed Jones was between five foot nine and five foot eleven. They shot him three times point-blank in the chest. When Jones fell, he was shot two more times, once in the chest-it went through at a completely different angle-and once in the head.

“The second victim was killed with a different gun and likely a different killer,” Sonia continued. “The second victim was six foot two inches and his killer was about the same size. He wasn’t dead when he hit the water. He drowned, though the two gunshot wounds would have been fatal.”

Dean said, “So our top guy has a henchman? That makes sense.”

“There’s more. The knife used to kill Greg Vega is unique. In fact, though the company has several factories around the world and in the United States, this particular knife is only manufactured in Argentina.”

Sam Callahan said, “Please tell me there were custom initials or engraving that leads directly to the owner.”

Sonia glanced at him. “We’re lucky, but not that lucky.”

“How are we lucky? Are we going to be able to get the database of buyers from the company? In the U.S., sure, but in another country?”

“I sent an email to my boss to work on it,” Sonia said. “But here’s the big news: the knife used in the hospital attack on Officer Riley Knight, my brother, is almost identical to the knife recovered from Vega. The same company, and only made in Argentina. Which means that Ann, the Jane Doe at the hospital, is connected to this case.”

Suddenly, Sonia yelped and everyone stared at her. Dean crossed over to her, but even his commanding presence couldn’t stop the fear from invading every cell in her body. “Andres. Andres is connected to Jones, and he’s from Argentina. What if the killers are looking for him? He’s at my parents’ house. Oh, God-”

Sonia had never been so relieved to see anyone than when she ran into her parents’s house and saw them sitting at the kitchen table with Andres, their German shepherd curled at their feet. They were playing cards, but both Owen and Marianne looked strained after Sonia’s phone call. Owen wore his holster and gun, which he hadn’t put on since he’d retired five years ago.

She hugged all three of them in turn. “Okay. Okay.” She took a deep breath.

Dean stepped into the kitchen. “The grounds are clear.”

“Did you meet FBI Agent Dean Hooper at the hospital yesterday?” Sonia asked her parents.

“Briefly,” Owen said. He extended his hand. “Owen Knight. My wife, Marianne. And Andres.”

“Pleased to meet you. I wish it were under better circumstances.”

Owen asked, “Are you sure you’re not overreacting, Sonia? From what you said you’re making some huge leaps to arrive at the conclusion that we’we in danger.”

“I don’t care if the risk is less than one percent, that’that still too great with people like this.” Sonia scratched the German shepherd’shepherd ears. Sarge sensed she was tense and stood beside her like a sentry. Petting him calmed her, and in response the former K-9 relaxed as well. She wished she had a dog, but with her erratic hours she’she feel guilty leaving a pet home alone.

“I called in a bodyguard,” Sonia said. When her dad was about to protest, she put her hand up. “Please, Dad. This is serious. The next forty-eight hours are going to heat up. With Riley out of commission and Max in Afghanistan, there’s no one else here to keep an eye out. His name is Duke Rogan. He’s the brother of a friend of mine.”

“Rogan,” Owen said flatly. “You mean Kane Rogan.”

Sonia’s father had never liked Kane, nor did he approve of his daughter’s longtime friendship with him. Kane was a man who, like Charlie Cammarata, had forged his own path in the world and played by no one’s rules. The difference, a crucial difference, was that Kane Rogan never put anyone but himself at risk.

Owen Knight believed absolutely in the rule of law. He didn’t like that Kane had influence over Sonia.

Sonia trusted few people, but Kane was on her list. When she’d called Duke Rogan as Dean sped through the streets from FBI headquarters to her parents’ house, Duke had said, “Kane told me you might call, and that if you did I was to drop everything. I’m at your service, fair lady.”