Allison Brennan - Sudden Death

“An at-risk youth group. I don’t remember the name. But he’d go speak at high schools about joining the military instead of gangs or dropping out of school. There was even a write-up in the paper about him a year or so ago-nice spread, too.”

Megan thanked them for their time, got their numbers in case she or Hans had follow-up questions, and they left. Vasquez dropped them off at the hotel. Hans and Megan sat in the nearly empty restaurant before they checked in, both of them famished.

While waiting for their meals, they discussed their notes and observations, but their meals had just been served when Hans’s cell phone rang.

He excused himself and left the restaurant. Megan thought it was odd, but dug into her meal realizing she hadn’t eaten since a quick pastry at the airport as she boarded the plane before eleven. It had been another long day.

Her phone rang. It was a restricted number. “Hello,” she answered.

“Megan, J. T. Caruso.”

“Got news?”

“Price was stationed at Fort Bragg and attached to Delta Force, Special Operations.”

“I know about Delta.” She dropped her fork and grabbed her notebook. Her heart raced as she said, “The first victim was Delta out of Fort Bragg.”

J.T. continued. “Price went AWOL when his commanding officer, Lieutenant Kenneth Russo, charged him with assault and attempted murder. He hasn’t been seen since.”

“Attempted murder?”

“It was nasty and political. From what I’ve heard- and this is not public information, and the army will deny it, so it’s FYI only-five years ago, Russo was assigned an operation to extract a Taliban leader who was quietly seeing a prostitute outside Kabul. Price was assigned to his team.”

“I thought the purpose of Delta was to create teams of men who worked together and trained together, not put together randomly.”

“Generally, that’s true. I don’t know the details of this operation, I just know this was the first time Price was under Russo’s command.” He paused. “I put out a message for Kane to see if he’s familiar with either Russo or Price or that operation, but it may take him a couple days to make contact.”

Kane Rogan, one of the three Rogan partners in Rogan-Caruso, worked out of the country extensively on sensitive projects for business and governments. Megan remembered he’d done time in the military, but she had no idea in what capacity.

“I appreciate it,” Megan said.

“A few months after they returned stateside from this failed mission,” J.T. continued, “Price and Russo got into a fight in the barracks. Price supposedly pulled a knife, stabbed Russo, and ran. Russo was in surgery for a couple hours, and when he recovered, he retired.”

“And now Price is dead.”

“So is Russo.”

“What?” Megan straightened. “When?”

“Last summer. Robbery. Shot multiple times.”

“Where?”

“When he retired, he moved to Florida. I’ll email you the stats.”

“You’re incredible.”

“So I’ve been told. Do you think there’s a connection?”

“The first victim was stationed at Fort Bragg. I’m waiting to hear on the second victim. But I’m putting my money on the same background.”

“Oh, I almost forgot.”

“I doubt that.”

“Price didn’t die of a gunshot wound. They did the autopsy. He had a heart attack. He was dead or close to it when he was shot.”

“Then why shoot him?” Megan pondered.

“That’s your arena, darling. I just supply the facts. Maybe they didn’t know he was dead, or thought he might recover if someone found him quickly.”

“Would you know he was dead?”

“I’m special.”

“These killers would know.”

“If you say so.”

Megan frowned. How did it all fit together? “Thanks, J.T “

“I’ll let you know if I hear from Kane, but I don’t know if he’ll be able to shine any more light on the situation.”

“I owe you one.”

“I think we’re up to twenty-two, but who’s counting?”

“Ha.”

“Anytime, Meg. Watch your back.” He hung up.

Megan shut her cell phone. J.T. walked a fine line between legal and illegal security work, but he was her brother Matt’s closest friend. Megan didn’t know everything that had happened between J.T. and Matt, but they would move heaven and earth for each other, and that included helping her out.

Hans sat down and Megan told him everything in a rush. “We need to contact the Orlando FBI office and have them look into the circumstances of Russo’s murder. That may be the beginning. He may have been the first victim.”

“We should do that,” he said absently, and Megan said, “You didn’t hear a word I said.”

“I did. Sorry. That was a friend, Dr. Dillon Kincaid. He’s a civilian consultant with the FBI and I’ve worked with him on several cases.”

“He’s helping us on this?”

“Now he is. His brother just contacted him. We might have another victim.”

“Who? Where?”

“Former Sergeant Major Lawrence Bartleton, now a soldier for hire based in Hidalgo, Texas. Dillon’s brother Jack runs a small mercenary group focused on rescue missions and foreign hostage situations. Jack was Delta, as was Bartleton. This is our first real lead, with people who have an in with the victims and might give us something tangible we can work with.”

“Did the local police call it in?”

“There’s a bit of a problem with the local police.”

“Dammit, we can’t just walk in there and take over. It’s just not done that way anymore. And they don’t have to give us anything.”

“True, but the police chief isn’t pursuing the same investigation. He’s following a personal vendetta against Kincaid’s group by running with the idea that one of the rebels Kincaid ticked off in Guatemala or some such country is behind the murder. Kincaid saw the news report on the other victims, and made contact. He’s willing to help us. We need it.”

Megan didn’t like the idea of walking into a small town and taking over an investigation, officially or unofficially, but as she learned from J.T., she had no easy access to the military and their methods. How could she find out how these men were connected without inside information? While she could get name, rank, and serial number-and not much more-through proper channels, any personnel records would take time- a commodity they didn’t have. It had been less than seventy-two hours since George Price was killed in Sacramento. The killers had escalated exponentially. Two months, two weeks, two days. Having a real in, someone like this Jack Kincaid, might be their only hope to stop two killers who had killed four, maybe five times, with impunity.

“When are we leaving?”

Hans grabbed two rolls from the bread bowl and stood. “Now.”

It was dark while Jack sat in the cab of his truck outside El Gato watching who came and went, waiting for Dillon to call back about the possible serial killer. Jack called a Delta buddy Scott Gray, who now worked for the Rangers, and filled him in on the murder in Hidalgo on the Q.T. While local authorities could work their own murder investigations, generally the small towns like Hidalgo would call in either the county or, more commonly, the Texas Rangers to work the case. Scott confirmed what Jack suspected: Art Perez had not contacted them about Scout’s murder.

“But we’re interested,” Scott said. “I’ll pass this up the chain of command, but I suspect someone will be down there tomorrow.”

“I’m having some problems with the chief of police,” Jack said without further explanation.

“I got a call from a reporter,” Scott said with a wink in his voice.