Allison Brennan - Sudden Death

She didn’t agree, but simply said, “It’s my case.”

“I’m the senior agent.”

He was pulling rank again. Her stomach flipped. She pressed on when all she wanted to do was run away-or scream at Hans. Something strange was going on with him, and she didn’t know what it was.

But his words niggled at her. Maybe he was right. Maybe she shouldn’t have let George Price walk away. Maybe her judgment was completely off.

“Price told me he left his dog tags with Russo’s body after he accidentally stabbed him.”

“He accidentally stabbed his commanding officer?”

“Price said the knife was Russo’s. Russo had gone on a news program and blamed his team for a failed mission in Afghanistan that resulted in a civilian being taken hostage. Rosemont-Padre mentioned him.”

“The same ex-soldier who miraculously located an AWOL sergeant in less than a day.”

Megan had had enough with Hans. “I don’t know what is wrong with you, Hans! I followed a lead and it paid off. For years you’ve been telling me I need to trust my instincts more, and when I do you tell me how wrong I am. I’m telling you right now that I believe everything Price told me. He had nothing to do with these murders. He’s been living quietly in the mountains of Colorado for five years. If he had anything to do with it, he would never have agreed to meet with me. He didn’t know it wasn’t a trap; he came willingly because Padre asked him to.”

“And you believed everything he said. He could have been laying out a nice false trail so we didn’t go looking for him. To throw us off track.”

“We’d have never found him! If CID couldn’t find him for five years, we wouldn’t have. He’s off the grid.”

“If I were you, I’d spend tonight writing up a detailed report of what you did and said and heard. You’re going to need it.”

“What?”

“You fucked up, Megan. I wish things were different, but I’m going to have to file a report with the Office of Professional Responsibility. So you’d better be damn sure that you followed proper procedure or you’ll be lucky to have a job next week.”

Jack ran hard for five miles, but the workout did little to curb his appetite for a certain lanky blond fed who had legs that went up to Heaven and lips that begged for sin. He’d have to take a cold shower if he was going to get any sleep tonight.

He jogged up the path leading to his room and glanced toward the pool. It was closed, but maybe a quick jump in the deep end would get rid of the ache in his groin. Not the ideal way to ease his hard-on, but he didn’t think slipping into Megan’s bed would go over too well.

Jack wanted to drown the little devil sitting on his shoulder telling him to go to Megan, consequences be damned.

The pool was gated, but the gate wasn’t locked. He approached the edge of the pool and removed his shirt, then saw a lone figure sitting at the opposite end, feet in the water, hands back, face upward.

He’d recognize her silhouette anywhere. Megan.

The breeze was warm and dry even at one in the morning. The underwater lights were dim, framing her curvy, athletic frame. Jack walked around the pool and sat next to her. “Up for a little skinny dipping?” he teased. Why did you say that? What are you planning on doing? “Everyone else in this place is sleeping,” he added.

“Umm,” she said, averting her face.

He touched her cheek to turn her face to his; it was wet.

She batted away his hand, wiped her face with her shirt. “Why aren’t you sleeping?” she asked, her voice cracking. She coughed into her hands and cleared her throat.

“I went for a run.”

“At one in the morning?”

“I needed to release some energy.”

She didn’t say anything and he realized she knew exactly why he was in discomfort.

He asked, “What’s wrong?”

“I’m okay.”

“I didn’t ask if you were okay.”

Of course she was okay, she was a cop. They had to be okay with senseless death and violence. In many ways, cops and soldiers were alike. They saw the worst of mankind and they continued to do the job. The dead and dying; the helpless and hopeless. Dead women, dead children, dead soldiers and cops. Jack had seen more than he’d ever wanted, or expected. He’d been raised by a military father, but he didn’t know what that meant at the time. Not until he saw his first corpse. Buried his first friend. Killed his first enemy.

Megan explained, “Fifteen years ago I graduated from Quantico. I hadn’t wanted to be an FBI agent. I didn’t know what I wanted to be. I’d never been close to my mom, and although I know I romanticized my father as perfect, especially after the divorce, he was still my hero. When he was gone …”

Her voice drifted away. Jack stuck his feet in the water and watched her toes stretch and relax, stretch and relax. Her toenails were painted dark red. What was that on the big toe? A flower? Jack couldn’t imagine Megan sitting still long enough to allow someone to paint her toes. Maybe he didn’t know her well enough. Yet.

“One of my professors had a family emergency,” she said. “We had a substitute for two weeks, a guest lecturer, Hans Vigo from the FBI. I thought that was silly for a psychology class, until I listened to him. I was hooked. He recruited me and the rest is history. I can’t imagine being anything other than an FBI agent. This is what I am supposed to be. I’m nothing without the job. I am the job.”

She looked out at the ripples that their feet made as they moved lazily in the cool water. Her eyes were still bright, but there were no more tears. Jack breathed a silent sigh of relief, though her words pained him. They were familiar and foreign at the same time.

“Before I left the military, I couldn’t see myself in any role other than soldier,” he said quietly.

“You’re still a soldier.”

“It’s different when you can walk away when you want.”

“But can you? Really? Just walk away and never do what you know, what you love? What if it was taken from you?”

Before Jack could say anything, she continued. “I had a kidnapping my first year in Sacramento. A five-year-old girl. At first they thought her father had snatched her because he and the mother had been in court fighting over custody ever since the girl had been born. But we quickly realized he hadn’t, that a child predator had grabbed her.

“I knew the statistics, that if we found her alive, she would have been … hurt. But I also knew that if we didn’t find her fast, she’d be dead. My team worked closely with the sheriff’s department, analyzed every tip, every trace of evidence, and based on a small flower, we tracked them to Amador County, east of Sac. We talked to everyone about our suspect’s black van. We found them. In eight hours, forty-nine minutes. And the little girl was not only alive, but untouched.”

She smiled. “Melody. Her name is Melody and she’s nine years old now. And it’s her and everyone else I can save-and can’t save-that keeps me going. If there’s a victim, I want to catch the perp. If there’s a crime, it needs to be solved. I hate loose ends.”

“But.”

“Most crimes I understand. Melody’s kidnapper, he was a repeat sex offender. I understand that. He needed to be stopped, but at least I could look at the victim and look at the criminal and figure out who and what and why. But those folks at the rest stop? Where’s the why in their murders? Why them? Why did they die? It was senseless and wrong. Hell, if they’d been robbed I could understand it! Hate it just as much, but at least there would be a reason. But the killer just shot them and walked away. Let a family die for nothing. And the baby … oh, God, I haven’t felt this helpless since Kosovo.”