Allison Brennan - Sudden Death

“What type of mercenary work?”

“Primarily hostage rescues in Central America, according to what I’ve learned, but I don’t have independent confirmation. He’s at least bilingual-Spanish and English-and I suspect he might know other languages.”

“Suspect?”

“He has a lot of books, not all in English and Spanish, and I don’t think they’re for show.”

“One of the Rogans should know of him. Why?”

“He’s a potential victim of our killer. And he has weaseled himself into my investigation.” She didn’t honestly believe Jack was a possible victim, though she suspected Francis Cardenas was in danger. But it sounded better than her simply wanting to know everything about Jack Kincaid because he’d gotten under her skin. Besides, she was running a murder investigation. She had every right to know about Kincaid.

“Anything else?”

She gave him what little she knew about Father Cardenas and his friend Jerry Jefferson. “Jefferson is supposedly still enlisted and stationed in Afghanistan. I need to make sure. If not-”

“He’s in danger.”

“Or a killer.”

“Is it always black or white with you?”

“Are there other colors?”

“You think a priest is involved?”

“I think he’s a target. I want to get him into a safe house, but he refuses to leave his church. Somehow thinks that because he’s a big bad former Delta warrior he’s invulnerable.”

“All of us special forces ‘warriors’ are invincible,” J.T. said. “I thought you knew that.”

She sighed. “Right. You bleed just as red as the rest of us, J.T. The four known victims were all Delta trained, I remind you. I don’t suppose you’ve heard from Kane yet.”

“Not yet. I’m on it, Meg. Be careful. Matt is ticked that you’ve been calling me and not him.”

“I’m thirty-eight years old, I don’t need to call my big brother every day.”

“But you’ll do it because he’ll worry.”

“Right, as soon as I can. Thanks, J.T.”

She hung up.

“So who has the privilege of giving my life a rectal exam?”

She jumped and whirled around. Jack Kincaid stood against the wall, trying to look casual yet was anything but. He was angry. She was embarrassed that she hadn’t noticed he was standing there. Talk about stealth …

“You’re a potential target, and-”

“Bullshit. All you had to do was ask me.”

“I don’t know what to ask.”

“You sure knew what to ask J.T. J.T. who? Some snot-nosed desk nerd at Quantico running me through his fancy computer database?”

“That would be Harrison Ng,” she retorted. “I decided to keep this off the books.”

“Off the books?” He took a step toward her. “Dragging my name, and my life, through some slimy private investigator? A former cop maybe? Your lover?”

“What’s with the attitude, Jack? You’d do the same thing in my shoes. And I’m not going to apologize for doing my job. I’m not going to violate your privacy.”

“You already have.”

This was important to him, Megan realized. His privacy, his anonymity. He lived in the far reaches of a distant county next to a depressed border town where he was smarter and sharper than the entire police force put together. She couldn’t help but wonder why he chose to live here, why he had become a soldier for hire, why he’d distanced himself from mainstream society.

“J. T Caruso. He’s a principal with Rogan-Caruso Protective Services, and a good friend of the family. He and my brother were Navy SEALs together. When I say this is off the books, it’s way off the books.”

Jack’s anger faded away. Not just because he had heard of Rogan-Caruso-and had taken a few assignments from Kane Rogan-but because Megan was sincerely contrite, flatly honest, and she didn’t back down. This was her job. He had to remember that. Her job was going to come first. It was helpful now, but later … later he would have to re-evaluate.

“I called in Lucky, one of my team members. He’s going to sit on Padre twenty-four/seven. Tim is coming down from San Antonio as well, and I even got Mike coming in. They’ll be here tonight. It’s probably a good thing, with Perez showing his true colors yesterday, and Hernandez sending his goons after me.”

He stepped closer to Megan. She had changed clothing, but he couldn’t tell much difference. Another blouse, another cami peaking out, tailored slacks. Low-heeled boots. He liked the shoulder holster she wore. Most female cops he knew wore their guns on their belt. Her hair was tied up in the back, like she’d had it yesterday when she burst into the jail cell to save him. He had no idea how she got that much hair to stay in place. He’d like to watch her put it up sometime. And take it down.

His eyes betrayed his thoughts. Megan flushed slightly, her red lips parted to reveal straight white teeth. Her green eyes darkened, then glanced almost demurely downward. She blinked, then looked at him, expertly hiding her reaction to his close proximity.

Before she could say anything snappy or formal, Jack touched her on the shoulder where the Taser darts had penetrated. “I noticed you were bruised last night. Does it still hurt?” Jack wanted to deck Perez for firing the damn Taser at Megan. Not just because she was a fed. Not just because she was a woman. But because she was …

What? What exactly is Megan Elliott to you, Jack?

No one. Blondie was no one to him, and he needed to remember that.

“Not much. Funny thing was, I’ve never been hit with a Taser before, and I swear, it hurt more than the time I was shot.”

“Shot? Where?” He’d seen a lot of her skin the night before. White, creamy, perfect. He hadn’t seen a bullet scar.

Her face changed, dramatically, from light to very, very dark. Bad memories. He recognized the transformation and wanted to know the circumstances of the shooting.

“Kidney,” she said quickly, her hand unconsciously moving to her lower right side. “But God gave us two just in case someone shoots you in the back, right?”

She was trying to lighten it up, but Jack saw that her mind was years in the past. He wanted to know who shot her and why. Was she on the job or not?

Padre came into the kitchen. “I saw a Ranger’s truck drive past as I was leaving the church. They were headed toward the police station.”

“That’s my cue,” Megan said. “I’ll find Hans and gather as much information as we can about Scout’s murder, and then come back here and talk about what you remember, Padre.”

Jack stole a glance at her. Did she even notice she’d adopted the nicknames of his friends? He didn’t think she did. She spoke smoothly. He actually liked it, she’d personalized the case, which meant, at least to Jack, that she cared about the people involved. Even Scout. A drunk, but a loyal soldier. A friend. Damn. Jack didn’t want to think about him being dead.

“Agent Elliott-” Padre began.

“Call me Megan, okay?”

“Can you find out about Scout’s body? I want to have a funeral and arrange for his body to be transported to Arlington.”

“Of course.”

Jack said in a rough voice, “He wanted to be cremated.”

“I remember,” Padre said.

“I’ll let them know,” Megan said. “There should be no reason you can’t have the body by the weekend.”

Hans drove Father Francis’s Jeep to the police station and parked next to the Ranger truck. He hadn’t said anything to her the entire ride, and Megan couldn’t help but worry that she’d overstepped her bounds last night or this morning or … when?

“Are we okay?” she asked when they stopped. She looked up at the sky. A dark blanket of clouds blocked out the sun, but still no rain since the brief downpour last night. A flash of lightning made Megan jump, and the responding thunder had her grabbing the dashboard.