Allison Brennan - Sudden Death

“I should be asking that.”

“I’m fine.” She hated storms. She’d spent two months in New Orleans after Katrina. Her experience in Kosovo identifying the remains of the dead had been invaluable in Louisiana, and while she’d been good and much in demand at that distasteful job, it had been emotionally and physically devastating. Ever since, she dreaded storms, knowing that floods and levees breaking and high winds created not only property damage, but extensive human casualties.

“Meg?”

“I just need to know that we’re okay.”

“Of course we are.”

“You acted like I was a dumb rookie last night. What did I do wrong?”

“I don’t know, I wasn’t there-”

“But you assumed I did something wrong.” It hit her hard.

“No. That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what?”

Hans ran his hand through his thick head of salt-and-pepper hair. “I was scared to death. I care about you, Meg. Too much, I know. It’s more than a partnership.”

Meg’s stomach churned and her face burned. “Hans … I …”

He laughed, took her hands. “Oh, God, Meg, you should see your face.” He squeezed her hands and said, “I love you like a little sister. Hell, I’m almost old enough to be your father.”

“Hardly. You’d have been a very young dad.” But she smiled. “Okay. As long as we’re good.”

“I overstepped last night, and I’m sorry.”

“No apologies. I understand. I would have done the same if the situation was reversed.”

“I don’t know if I would have had the courage you showed last night.”

“Courage? I don’t know about that.” She’d been as scared for herself as she was angry at the sheriff as she was fearful that she’d have to use lethal force.

“Courage doesn’t mean you’re not scared.”

“I know,” she said firmly, though she wasn’t quite sure about that. “I’ve run the scene through my head a dozen times and I can’t see any other way to have done it.”

“Then you did it right. Besides, even if you did think of a better way, you can’t go Monday-morning quarter-backing your split-second decisions. You’re one of the best on your feet, Meg.”

She jumped when the thunder rolled again. “Let’s go in and talk to the Rangers.”

They got out of the Jeep and she added, “I called J. T. Caruso and asked him to quietly look into Jack and Father Francis. I don’t think there’s anything suspicious about them, but I need to cover all the bases.”

“I’ve already talked to Quantico about them.” Hans sounded contrite.

“You had to.”

“Jack’s brother Dillon is a good friend. I don’t like going behind anyone’s back.”

“Well, I didn’t. Jack overheard part of my conversation, so I told him exactly what I was doing.” She paused. “What do you think of Jerry Jefferson? Did you find him?”

“Working on it. I’m going off Father Francis’s knowledge that he’s in Afghanistan. I should know exactly where within the next couple hours.”

“If he’s not there?”

“Then we’ll find him.”

The two Rangers were standing outside the main entrance, one smoking a cigarette. Hans extended his hand and flashed his badge. “Assistant Special Agent in Charge Hans Vigo, FBI. My partner SSA Megan Elliott.”

The Rangers tipped their hats. “Pleasure.” The smoker was Rich Barker; the quiet Ranger was Ted Hern.

Hans glanced at the station, then pointed to the threatening sky. “Is there a problem here? Where’s Perez?”

“Hasn’t come in yet,” Barker said, taking a drag on his cigarette. “So the Hamstring Killer hit Hidalgo. You sure?”

“As sure as we can be without seeing the evidence or the body,” Megan said. “We’re going off a witness who saw the body and recognized the M.O. from a news report.”

“Ain’t surprised Perez didn’t call us.”

“Problems?”

“Territorial.”

“Have you had problems with him in the past?” Megan asked.

“Here and there. We keep a close eye on the town. It’s a border town. There’s a strong drug trade, other issues. Perez isn’t part of the real problem, but he sure ain’t part of the solution.

“So we just wait?” Hans was getting antsy; normally he was the patient one.

“We had the desk sergeant call Perez. He should be here any minute.”

Megan said, “Unless he wants to make you wait, just to flex his muscles.”

“He’ll be here. We have jurisdiction; we can walk in when we want. We’re just playing nice.”

Hern said, “You came all the way from D.C.?”

“Quantico,” Hans corrected. “Megan’s from Sacramento. She pulled the third victim. The killers are escalating.”

“We read the hot sheet y’all sent over,” Barker said. “Ted, you were Delta, right?”

Ted Hern nodded.

“Did you know any of the victims?”

“Only Scout. Bartleton,” Hern said. “But not until he moved here to join Kincaid’s men a few years back.”

A truck turned onto the street and sped into the lot. Art Perez, in uniform, jumped out and put on his hat. “Rangers, this wasn’t necessary.”

“Art,” Ted tipped his hat. “Let’s go look at what you’ve got on the Lawrence Bartleton homicide.”

Perez looked from Hans to Megan and back to the Rangers. “As I told Lieutenant Gray last night, I’m certain that Bartleton was taken down by one of the Guatemalan rebels Kincaid’s group has been battling. They just returned from an unofficial operation not three days before the murder. And-”

“Gray? You mean Scott Gray?” Barker nodded to Hern. “Were Kincaid and the lieutenant at boot camp together, or was it Desert Storm where they hooked up? No matter, Scott tells the story to anyone who’ll listen, how Kincaid, then just an Army Ranger, saved his ass when he walked into the middle of a minefield without detonating a single one, but got trapped. Damnedest thing, really, but Kincaid hotwires a Chinese chopper, never even flew one before, and lowered a rope for Scott to grab on to. The bastard almost got himself killed in the process, but hell, they all came away without a scratch.”

Hern nodded. “I don’t see Kincaid leaving loose ends in Guatemala.”

Perez reddened. “Kincaid isn’t a saint. He was arrested for obstructing justice.”

“How so?” Hans asked.

At the invitation to expand, Perez went off. “He’s been all over town asking questions as if he were a cop. Talking to everyone who was at El Gato, where Scout was drinking the night he was killed. He even had one of his mercenaries track down three college kids from UTSA and interrogate them! He’s been asking everyone about this woman who was in the bar, he attacked one of the bar owners, and he threatened one of my deputies. I’ve been saying since he came to town that Jack Kincaid is dangerous, but just because he’s friends with the priest, no one listens. I caught him red-handed at the crime scene after the fact. He wouldn’t tell me why, and it supports my argument that he brought back trouble to Hidalgo from Central America, and he’s trying to cover it up.” Perez was red in the face when he was done, but satisfied that he’d finally gotten his thoughts off his chest.

Barker said, “Hidalgo has plenty of trouble all on its own.”

“What woman?” Megan asked. “Have you followed up with the bar owners? What did they say-”

“Go ahead and talk to them yourself. My reports are all filed.” Perez opened the door and said to the desk sergeant, “Jorge, let them have the Bartleton files and anything else they want to see.” He glanced at Megan, then turned to the Rangers and said, “You think Kincaid is a saint? Go pull my file on him.”

“If you had anything on Kincaid, he’d be in jail,” Barker said.