Allison Brennan - Sudden Death

“And who might that be?”

“Jack Kincaid.”

The sergeant grunted. “Sorry, it’s after hours. Unless you’re his attorney.”

A loud thump and slam against the back wall made Megan unconsciously jump.

“Is that the jail?” she asked, gesturing toward the door in the back with the words Authorized Personnel Only.

“So?”

Megan felt as if she’d walked into the Twilight Zone. “Sergeant, I think you have a fight in your jail.”

Father Francis said, “Jorge, you don’t want to be party to Art’s vendetta against Jack.”

Jorge hesitated a second.

A body was slammed against the wall, making the room shake. Megan strode past the sergeant without waiting for an invite. Someone was getting the shit beaten out of them, and Megan feared it could be fatal.

She tried the door. It was locked.

“Key. Now!”

The sergeant hesitated, then pressed a button that released the door.

Megan opened it, holding it only briefly so Father Francis could join her. “Stay back,” she told him.

Inside the jail were two small cells on the left and one large “drunk tank” on the right. Megan quickly assessed the situation-three against one-in the larger cell. Oddly, or not, considering the priest’s fear, the cell door was ajar.

Megan drew her Glock and held it steadily on the men. “FBI. Put your hands behind your head and get down. Now!”

They stopped, all four registering surprise.

The priest stepped forward. “I told you to stand back,” Meg said. Though Father Francis looked fit, she didn’t want to bring a man of God-or, frankly, any civilian-into a potentially dangerous situation.

He ignored her. “You okay?” he asked a tall, dark-haired, olive-skinned man.

He-Jack Kincaid, most likely-nodded slightly, never taking his eyes off his three attackers, none of whom had obeyed Megan’s orders. Megan saw a flash of steel in the palm of one man. He had a knife.

“This isn’t your business, Padre. Take your girlfriend and go. Five minutes.”

“You’ll need more than five minutes to kill me,” Jack said, voice low. “You’ve been trying for ten.”

What was this, Megan thought, the Wild West? Didn’t these guys hear her? “FBI!” she said ag ain. “Drop your weapons, now!”

The wiry guy with the knife lunged for Jack. Dammit, the situation had rapidly deteriorated. “Knife!” she shouted. She aimed for the attacker’s hand, pulled the trigger, and the bullet clipped his wrist. He dropped the knife, clutching his hand to his chest, and backed away against the wall.

Jack kicked the knife out of the way and stepped toward Megan, eyes still on the other men.

“Fucking bitch shot me!”

Megan gestured to the other two men. “Hands up. Up where I can see them. Now!”

Jack was two feet from her. She wasn’t sure he wasn’t dangerous as well. He certainly looked it, especially with the blood around his nose from the fight and a cut along his neck. At second glance, she realized it was a knife wound. They’d gone for his throat. Father Francis had been right. They’d fully intended to kill him. He was favoring his right side. Had he been stabbed? Did he need medical attention?

“Kincaid?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“You okay?”

“Fine.” His voice was casual, laced with a hard edge.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw one of the two uninjured men pull a switchblade into a throwing position.

The priest said, “Paul, put the knife down. It’s over.”

Jack stepped toward Megan in a protective move.

The slam of a door had Megan glance toward the entrance. A tall, bulky man in a Stetson entered with the desk sergeant who’d ogled her breasts.

Everything else happened fast.

“Down, Kincaid!” Stetson shouted, a Taser in hand.

Megan’s badge was on the front of her belt, clearly visible, and she again identified herself.

“Megan Elliott, FBI. Blue shirt has a knife.” She didn’t want to shoot another man, but a knife thrown this close could kill. She inched in front of Jack, who was unarmed and obviously the target. Why these thugs wanted him dead Megan had no idea, but it was clear neither her gun nor her badge panicked them even with their friend down.

“All fours, Kincaid,” Stetson said again.

The priest said, “Art, don’t.” Megan was perplexed but didn’t have time to reflect on it.

Jack stepped in front of her. Did he have a death wish? She turned her body to be a bigger shield, but Kincaid wasn’t making it easy. He was injured and bleeding and she was the one with the gun and the badge; why didn’t he stand back and let her do her job?

At the same time Jack moved, Stetson aimed the Taser not at the man with the knife, but at Jack.

The zip of the Taser C2 cartridge being depressed registered at the same time as two lightning bolts of pain hit Megan in her right shoulder, radiating instant fire through her entire body, blinding her. Her gun fell from her grasp and she hit the ground at the same time.

She’d been told what to expect if she was hit with a Taser and what options she had, but for a full minute- or longer, she didn’t know-she couldn’t think, couldn’t focus, couldn’t stop her body from convulsing. Breathe deep. Control her gun. Focus, dammit!

She heard voices, shouts, a lot of swearing. She pulled herself up on all fours, her vision returning, but she couldn’t see her gun. She felt around for it.

A low, deep voice so close to her ear that she could feel the brush of his lips on her earlobe said, “Relax, Blondie. It’ll pass faster if you relax your muscles.”

“Kincaid has the gun!” a voice shouted. She felt a hand on her back, and the weight of her gun in her holster. She relaxed as best she could and felt her body rising from the floor. Her vision cleared and she was staring into black eyes only inches from her face.

“Put. Me. Down.” Her words were faint and her throat raw.

Jack Kincaid smiled with half his mouth. “I don’t think you have your sea legs yet.”

Hans Vigo, a man who never raised his voice or swore, thundered, “Chief Perez, you’d better explain what just happened or I’ll have the DOJ on your ass so fast you won’t be able to shit.”

Jack carried her out of the cell and Hans rushed over. “You okay, Meg?”

She nodded. “Put me down,” she said quietly.

Jack set her on her feet and she swayed, legs shaking. He stuck his arm behind her, holding her up.

“You have no jurisdiction here,” Perez said. “Kincaid disarmed the woman, took her gun. She had no business being in here. It was a prison riot. We should have been in lockdown.” He glared at the desk sergeant, who was looking at the floor.

“That’s bullshit,” Jack said.

“You shot a federal agent,” Hans said, his voice still vibrating with emotion.

“She intentionally stood in front of Kincaid. She should know better than to walk into a brawl and get herself disarmed. Maybe you’d be in your element, little lady, kicking off those shoes and staying in the kitchen.”

Megan’s generation was rarely confronted with out-and-out explicit male chauvinism and she didn’t know what to say, if she could say anything. Her legs steadied and she took a deep breath.

“I wasn’t disarmed. I didn’t drop my weapon until you Tasered me, you bastard.”

“That’s not how it looked to me,” Perez said.

Father Francis said, “You allowed three men with knives in a jail cell with an unarmed man.”

“I allowed nothing. I wasn’t even here. I’ll mount a full investigation. Back in the cell, Kincaid. You’re still under arrest for breaking and entering.”