Allison Brennan - Sudden Death

He was still watching the arriving plane when he heard a car squeal through the open gates of the small, private airstrip outside Santa Barbara. It slowed, headlights so bright Jack had to put up an arm. Out of instinct, he had his hand on his gun and stepped out of the direct light.

The doors opened and two tall men stepped out. Dressed in khakis and black T-shirts, they were armed.

“Kincaid?” the brown-haired man questioned.

Jack nodded. “Jack Kincaid.”

The brown-haired man extended his hand. “Matt Elliott.” He gestured toward the black-haired man. “And J. T Caruso. Meg’s my sister.”

Jack nodded. “Elliott. Caruso.”

“Where are we?” Matt asked.

Hans approached from where he’d been talking in the hangar. He obviously knew both men. “We’re looking for property that Karin Standler owns or has possession of. We believe she took Meg to hold her captive, not kill her.”

“Torture her, you mean,” Matt said. “Then kill her.”

“We have time.”

Matt’s jaw tightened. “J.T” was all he said.

J.T took out his phone. He pressed one button and said, “Jayne, you’re up. What have you found?”

“The program’s still running, J.T, I’m going as fast as I can.”

“I’ll wait.”

Out of the corner of Jack’s eye he saw a familiar figure walking from the runway. Turning, he saw his brother Dillon. He couldn’t have been more surprised.

Dillon approached the group and gave Jack a tight embrace and slap on the back. “I’m here to do whatever you need.”

“You didn’t have to come from Washington.”

Dillon raised his eyebrow. “You’re family. We don’t turn our backs on family.”

The emotions coursing through Jack were violent in their intensity. Family. Matt Elliott came for Megan, Dillon came for him. And Jack hadn’t asked either.

Family mattered.

“I got it,” Jayne said over the phone.

“Give it to me,” J.T. said.

“Four possibles. A house outside St. George, Utah, owned by Kenneth Russo, Sr. It’s vacant, on five acres and in probate. Has been for more than a year.

“A hundred-plus-acre ranch outside Amarillo, Texas, owned by Barry Rosemont’s brother-in-law, Bryce Tyson.”

“Is it occupied?” Dillon asked.

“Yes, but Tyson has a record and the ranch has been in the red for years. He’s facing foreclosure.”

“Next?” Jack said, impatient.

“A cabin in Lake Tahoe owned by Bernard and Millicent Rubin.”

“That’s it,” Hans said.

Matt asked, “Where in Lake Tahoe?”

“I’m looking on Google Earth right now. It’s on about one acre fronting the lake. They’ve owned it for more than forty years and a rental company manages it.”

Hans called in the information to his office for them to immediately contact the rental company.

“What’s the fourth?” Jack asked.

“A cabin in Flagstaff, Arizona, owned by Crystal Gardner.”

“Who’s that?” J.T asked. “That name wasn’t on the list I gave you.”

“I did some research. Gardner is the maiden name of Karin Standler’s mother.”

“That’s it,” Dillon said.

Jack opened the door of the Cessna. “I need an address. I’m taking off in two minutes, whoever wants to come.”

Hans said, “We need to send in the local sheriff. It’ll take at least an hour to fly there from here. By then, Meg could be dead!”

Jack’s jaw tightened. “You don’t need to tell me that, Vigo. I’m aware of the danger.”

Dillon said, “Have the sheriff’s men approach with caution. Do not expose themselves. If Standler thinks she’s cornered, she’ll kill Megan and run. She has an escape plan, probably multiple plans. They have to approach cautiously and devise a rescue plan. Ascertain where the hostage is and the layout.”

Jayne said over the phone, “I’ll get a layout and send it to you, J.T.”

“Thanks, Jayne. Send me the coordinates and the closest level area to land a Cessna Caravan.” He hung up. “Let’s go.”

Jack and the five men boarded the plane. Within minutes, Jack was airborne and pushing the capabilities of the Cessna, while Hans placed as many calls as he could to get Arizona law enforcement to locate the Flagstaff residence.

Dillon slid into the co-pilot seat. “We’re going to find her. Alive.”

Jack couldn’t speak. He focused on the plane’s controls. “Caruso,” he said, “where are we heading?”

J.T. rattled off numbers and Jack made adjustments. As soon as they were level, he pushed the plane as fast as it could go.

“ETA?” Matt Elliott asked.

“Fifty-five minutes.”

Hans said, “The county sheriff has been briefed and dispatched.”

“They’d better not fuck it up,” Jack said.

“They’re aware of the seriousness. The city of Flagstaff has a SWAT team and they’re sending it out as well. The cabin is off the major roads. They’re about thirty minutes out.”

“Good,” Dillon said. “We don’t want to spook her.”

“What will she do?” Jack asked.

Dillon looked uncomfortable. He glanced from Jack to Megan’s brother.

“I’m a big boy,” Matt said. “I want to know exactly what’s happening and what Karin Standler plans to do with my sister.”

“It’s only an educated guess,” Dillon said cautiously, “but if Standler feels threatened, she’ll kill Megan without hesitation.”

J.T. pulled out a laptop and brought up a map. “I have the specs of the cabin and the terrain. We don’t have a lot of time to plan this mission, and there is no room for error. Kincaid, I need you here. This is your specialty, right?”

Jack glanced at Dillon. “Can you handle the controls?”

Dillon nodded and took over flying the plane.

Jack crossed to the rear where J.T. had his laptop open. Jack forced himself to think of Megan as a hostage, not as the woman he was falling in love with. It was the only way he could focus on the mission, and not on his fear.

“We have one thing going for us: it’ll still be dark when we land. But not for long. We’ll have less than thirty minutes to get in position and execute the plan. There’s no room for error,” he repeated.

Dillon said, “We have one more thing going for us.”

“Besides darkness?” Jack asked.

“We have Father Francis,” answered Dillon.

“What does Padre have to do with this?”

“Karin Standler didn’t kill him.”

“I’ll break open the champagne,” Jack snapped.

“I did some research while flying out here, and I think I know why she spared him. Remember when I said I thought she had a religious background?”

“So?”

“Karin Standler went to Catholic school for elementary and high school, and then was a registered parishioner at St. Thomas More during college. The pastor, Father Michael O’Malley, was murdered in a confessional when Karin was a senior.”

“She killed him?” Jack said, glancing at Padre who had a poker face.

“No,” Dillon said, then frowned. “Maybe she did, but I don’t think so. The murder was thoroughly investigated and there were no suspects.”

“Then why is this important?”

“Because he was a religious figure who was important to her, for whatever reason. I don’t know when Karin Standler started killing, but Father O’Malley’s murder may have been the trigger that sent her down this path. And Father Francis may be able to temporarily replace him.”

Padre nodded. “I agree.”

“What?” Jack said. “What are you talking about?”

“I’ll talk to her.”

“No. No. You’re not risking your life, Padre. We go in like a traditional rescue mission. We’ve done this hundreds of times.”

“This isn’t a traditional rescue mission,” Padre said. “The soldiers we face have orders and protocols and their goal is not to kill their hostages, but to barter with them.”