“We need to go in. I can talk Amanda down.”
“I hope so, because if she’s desperate she may shoot first.”
Lucy had gone through hostage rescue training and critical negotiations, but she was still new to it, and when someone was emotionally volatile and grieving like Amanda, it would be doubly hard.
They walked into the store and the manager immediately ran up to them. Mike and Lucy had their badges around their necks and FBI jackets on, so it was clear they were law enforcement. “I just called nine-one-one and they said two FBI agents were on their way. We have a situation in the back of the store. A woman is screaming and pounding on the bathroom, which is locked from the inside. She has a gun.”
“We’re on it,” Mike said. “Get your customers out and into the parking lot away from all exits.”
Mike and Lucy ran down an aisle, then paused at the back of the store. They could hear Amanda sobbing and banging. “Let me in! Let me in!”
“Cover me,” Lucy said. She revealed herself to Amanda. “Amanda, it’s me, Agent Lucy Kincaid. Do you remember me?”
Amanda was partly shielded by the alcove. She flattened herself against the wall so Lucy didn’t have a shot even if she wanted. “Go away!”
“Amanda, I was at the house. I know what happened.”
“You don’t know anything. Go away!”
“You’re grieving. You lost Reggie. Your family is in jail. You lost your baby. Let me help you. Put down the gun and kick it to me.”
“It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter anymore. I have nothing,” she sobbed. “I have nothing and no one!”
“You have more than you can imagine. You have two brothers who love you and would do anything to protect you. They helped us find you because they don’t want you to die. You have to put down the gun.”
“I thought I had everything. And I lost my b-b-baby.”
She sobbed. Lucy risked getting closer.
Amanda saw the movement out of the corner of her eye. She held up her gun, aimed it at Lucy. Lucy still didn’t have a clear shot. “Stop!”
Lucy kept coming forward, slowly.
“Amanda, you have never hurt anyone. I’ve read every report from every robbery, and you never hurt anyone. That was all SueAnn and Kirk. I know it. The courts will know it. Jacob isn’t going to do much jail time. He might even get out in a year or two, and then you two can start a new life, far from here.”
“You’re lying.”
“No. He helped us find you, and I’m going to tell the court that. That without his help, we would never have known you were grieving so much you wanted to punish the person you blame for killing Reggie. He did the right thing. He’s never been in trouble before. Neither have you. That means something. I will help you as much as I can, I promise you that.”
“I don’t believe you.” But her voice was weak. She sank down onto the floor. That’s when Lucy saw blood on the floor.
“Mike,” Lucy said, “she’s hemorrhaging. Call an ambulance, stat.”
Lucy had to risk it, because if she didn’t get Amanda to drop the gun, she would be dead.
“Amanda, I’m coming to help you. You’re bleeding.”
She stepped closer. Amanda waved the gun, but she was so weak, her arm dropped.
Lucy ran over to her, kicked the gun out of her hand, and laid her down on the floor. “Mike! I got her.”
“The ambulance is on its way.”
“Maggie Castillo?”
“Yes?” a voice said from behind the door.
“Stay put for a minute, but you’re safe. Call your husband and tell him you’re safe.”
“I heard everything,” she said. “I’m a nurse, I can help.”
She opened the bathroom door and got on her knees. Amanda was pale and half-conscious.
“She had a miscarriage four to six hours ago. There was a lot of blood at her house.”
“She’s going to need blood and most likely surgery. Keep her legs elevated.”
Mike said, “ETA on ambulance is four minutes.”
“Send them right back here,” Maggie said. “Honey, you’re going to be okay. Just hold on.”
“Let me die,” Amanda moaned. “Let me die.”
“No,” Lucy said, holding her hand. “We’re not letting you die. You’re suffering. I know how you feel.”
“No one knows.”
“Yes. We know. I’ve been where you are.” Lucy had never been pregnant, but she had lost her uterus to an infection that could have killed her. She grieved for the children she could never have. She felt Amanda’s pain, her despair. “I promise what I said before—I will do everything to help you and your brother. I know you never shot anyone. I know you didn’t want to hurt anyone. I know how these things get way out of control, especially when family is involved.”
She closed her eyes, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”
“I know you are. Tell the court that. Okay?”
Mike brought the paramedics to the rear of the store and they took over. They whisked Amanda off and Lucy thanked Maggie. “That must have been hard on you, knowing that she threatened you.”
“That girl was in so much pain—helping her was not hard.”
Chapter Twelve
Monday Evening
Home of Sean and Lucy Rogan
Lucy was glad to be home and relaxing. It had been a tumultuous weekend, and she just got off the phone with Mike Crutcher—he had gone to the hospital and waited until Amanda was out of surgery. They’d stopped the bleeding and given her blood and medicine for uterine atony, and the doctors expected her to make a full recovery, but she couldn’t be moved for at least forty-eight hours. The hospital put her under a suicide watch based on what she’d said and done, and Lucy was glad—once she got over this despair, with help she could make a full recovery, physically and mentally.
But it would be a long road. And no one was out of the legal woods yet. All Lucy could do was hope that making the right choice in the end would help some of the Tremblys get their lives back—even if it took a few years of jail time in between.
Lucy was sitting in the backyard listening to Kane and Nate argue about their gun range competition. She turned to Jesse. “Were you there?”
“Yeah, it was bad-ass.”
“Who won?”
“I did,” Kane and Nate said simultaneously.
Jesse laughed. “I’m not getting in the middle of it.”
“There has to be a score.”
“It was a tie.” Sean came up behind Lucy and rubbed her shoulders.
“He cheated,” Nate and Kane both said.
Siobhan walked in with Rachel Vaughn. “Sorry to disturb you,” Rachel said. “I was on my way home and wanted to give you a file, since you’re taking the day off tomorrow.”
“I am?”
“It’s an order,” Rachel said.
“Thank you very much, Agent Vaughn,” Sean said.
Lucy took the file. “What’s this?”
Rachel glanced around, and the others walked out of earshot. “They didn’t have to go, but it’s kind of sensitive. Remember the guy who was killed off Farm-to-Market Road five weeks ago?”
“Not really.”
“Well, it’ll all in there. There was some media, they billed it as a robbery, but it wasn’t. He was beaten, then shot in the face.”
“I remember now.”
“There’s now a second, and the Bexar County Sheriff called Abigail and asked if we could assist. Not take over, but they think there may be a serial murderer, and they’re worried about more victims. It’s their case, but right now you’re all I can spare. I already assigned Nate to work with Kenzie on a big case, and everyone else is juggling. You just finished the CHR case and wrapped it up with a bow for the AUSA, so you’re available—not to mention if we are dealing with a serial murderer, you have more experience there than the rest of the team.”
“I can come in tomorrow, it’s not a problem.”
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“No—just maybe put some time on the file tomorrow, there’s a lot of information to absorb, but stay home. You have family visiting, and you put in extra hours on a three-day weekend.”
“You don’t have to twist my arm.”
“Sometimes I think I do.”
Lucy glanced over toward the barbecue where Kane and Nate were still arguing and Sean was laughing with Jesse. “No, you really don’t,” she said with a smile. “Do you want to stay for dinner?”
“No, I don’t want to intrude.”
“Seriously, no shop talk, just have a beer and be social.”
“Well, okay, thank you. Though I think I’d rather have what you’re drinking.”
“Yes, it’s very good. I’ll get you a glass.”
Lucy walked into the kitchen and poured Rachel a glass of the Pinot Noir she had been enjoying. Sean followed her inside. “It was really classy of you to invite Rachel to stay, after all the shit that went down earlier this year.”
“She’s my boss, and she really had our back on this case.”
“So I heard. Well, I guess I can bury the hatchet.”
“It’s going good, Sean, I’m willing to accept it.”
“I was surprised.”
“I don’t think I was. She’s very predictable. It just took me a while to figure her out.”
She watched through the window as Nate sat down and Bandit was immediately at his feet. Nate had been struggling with a lot lately—and Lucy was worried about him. Not that he would do anything rash, but just . . . she wanted him to be happy. She didn’t know if being a cop made him happy.
Sean wrapped his arms around her and said, “Penny for your thoughts.”
“My thoughts are worth far more than a penny, Mr. Rogan.”
“They’re priceless, sweetheart.”
“Just thinking about our friends.”
“I’m worried about him, too,” Sean said, knowing exactly what she was thinking. “But Nate will figure it out. And he has us.”
“That he does.”
Sean kissed the back of her neck and whispered, “When would it be tacky to kick out our guests and take you to bed?”
“Mr. Rogan!” she admonished with a laugh.
“I’m serious.”
“I think we should eat first. And my boss is here. And I promised her this glass of wine.”
“Party pooper.”
“I have tomorrow off. Jesse has school. Just you and me all day. Alone.”
“You? Me? Alone?” He laughed, then kissed her.
“What’s so funny?”
“You don’t remember that you invited Kane and Siobhan to stay all week?”
“Oh. No. I guess I didn’t.”
“Well, they can entertain themselves. I, for one, am going to pamper you all day.”
“I can hardly wait,” she said, and kissed him. “You can start now by fetching me another bottle of wine from the wine fridge—this bottle is empty.”
“Your wish is my command.”
He bowed and she laughed, watching him walk down the hall to the pantry.
She was so lucky to have Sean. He’d rebuilt her foundation after she was barely holding her life together. She was so much stronger now than before, and she owed it all to Sean’s love and faith in her.
If he was killed—like Amanda lost Reggie—she might fall down that slippery slope of despair. Depression. Grief was complicated and no two people handled it the same way. She didn’t want to face it. She didn’t want to think about the possibility. Because she didn’t know who she would be without her anchor.
“Lucy.”
She turned. Jesse stood there with Bandit on a leash. An overwhelming sense of love washed over her. Jesse wasn’t her biological son, but she loved him as if he were.
“Hey.”
“I’m going to walk Bandit. Want to come?”
She shouldn’t leave her own party . . . but a short walk would be good. She could clear her head and spend time with her stepson.
“Absolutely.”
Sean returned with her wine. “Where are you going?”
“We’re going to walk Bandit,” Jesse said. “Come with us.”
“We have a houseful of people.”
Jesse waved at the laughing crowd outside. “They won’t miss us for fifteen minutes.”
Sean ran out and gave Rachel the glass of wine Lucy had already poured, the full bottle, and the opener. He said something, then ran back in.
“You’re right. No one will miss us. Let’s go.”
Read on for a sneak peek of the next thrilling Lucy Kincaid novel
NOTHING TO HIDE
Available May 2019
* * *
Chapter One
Saturday Morning
FBI Agent Lucy Kincaid squatted next to the latest victim of a possible serial killer. The victim had been identified as thirty-four-year-old Julio Garcia, the head chef of a convention hotel in downtown San Antonio.
Beaten then shot in the face. Fast, efficient, brutal. It was a gruesome sight, but Lucy was used to violence.
“I can give you five minutes,” senior crime scene investigator Ash Dominguez said. “Until Walker gives me the thumbs-up, this is still his crime scene.”
Lucy bristled. Ash was doing her a big favor, but the entire situation would have been a whole lot easier if the sheriff’s deputy investigator Jerry Walker didn’t have a chip on his shoulder about the FBI. She honestly hadn’t expected the pushback. The FBI office had a terrific working relationship with both the sheriff’s office and SAPD, but from the beginning of this investigation Walker had made everything more difficult than it had to be.
Besides, he knew she was coming to the scene, it had already been cleared by their mutual bosses. That he’d slipped away irritated her, but she wasn’t surprised. The sheriff asked the FBI to assist shortly after the second murder three weeks ago, and the criminal investigations unit sent their office copies of the reports. But Walker hadn’t followed up or returned her calls. It was clear he didn’t like working with federal agents, but he didn’t have a choice. The orders had come from higher up, and the three murders were almost identical. That fact put these deaths in a whole new category.
Don’t blow it.
Her boss SSA Rachel Vaughn hadn’t actually said those exact words, but she had lamented that there was no one she could send with Lucy to the crime scene, which was now an official joint investigation.
“It’s not that you aren’t capable of running solo with this, Lucy, but you’re still a rookie and it’s a touchy situation. As soon as I can juggle the workload of another agent, you’ll have a partner.”
Lucy shouldn’t need an FBI partner—Walker was supposed to be working with her. She’d reached out to him this morning when she’d learned about the third victim, yet he’d disappeared from the crime scene before she arrived.
She pushed aside interoffice bullshit and visually inspected Garcia’s body. The smashed hands. The gunshot to his face. If the MO from the previous two held, the autopsy would reveal that he’d been hit in the stomach and groin by the same object that shattered the bones in his hands—likely a small sledgehammer or mallet. There were conflicting interpretations of the murders and Lucy couldn’t say exactly what they were looking at. On the one hand it seemed personal; on the other, sexual. Yet again, an act of revenge or retribution. Or even possibly a thrill killing, because the victims were beaten before they were murdered. In fact, they couldn’t even confirm that the killer worked alone—each victim was a physically fit male with minimal or no defensive wounds.
The attention the killer paid to smashing his victim’s hands suggested a thief, that the victims had taken something from the killer. But so far—at least between the first two victims—there was absolutely no connection that law enforcement could find.
This was the type of crime Lucy had the most experience with: violent. What that said about her, she didn’t know—other than she was good at getting i
nto the heads of both killers and victims.
Ash said, “It’s not pretty.”
“I read your other reports,” she said. “Does this victim present the same way?”
“Damn near identical. The killer got up close and personal—several blows to the torso and groin, possibly one to the back of the head. Possible Taser burn on the victim’s shirt”—he gestured—“but it was a contact stun, no cartridge and no confetti.”
Virtually all personal Tasers now have AFID confetti to track to the owner. That put the killer in the smart category. Smart and confident.
But why the stun? It hurt like hell, but wouldn’t keep the victim down. Was it before or after the initial blow? Had the victim tried to get up? Fought for the weapon so the killer used the jolt to stun him long enough to retrieve another weapon?
Except there was little sign of a struggle. The victim had been found only a dozen feet from his car.
Ash said, “For some reason, the victim pulled over into this parking lot. He got out of his car, left his phone and keys. Then he was attacked. Though no way we can confirm this without an autopsy, he was likely attacked from behind because there don’t appear to be any defensive wounds on his arms. Then whack, whack, whack, the killer used a blunt object similar to the first two murders. I should be able to confirm once I get a trace from the autopsy. If it’s consistent, I’m leaning toward a steel mallet with a diameter of between two and a half and three inches, but I can’t tell you exactly what yet.”
“It’s unusual that the focus was on his hands,” Lucy said. Extremely odd. “The groin suggests sexual, but the victims were all fully clothed, and the genitals weren’t mutilated.”
Ash shivered. “I don’t know about you, but getting hit in the balls with a hammer would hurt like hell.” He squatted across the body from Lucy. “You know, getting hit in the balls would bring most guys to their knees. Maybe that was the first hit. There just doesn’t seem to be any reason. Nothing taken, no message, no purpose.”
“You sound like a cop now,” Lucy said. “And there’s always a purpose. We just don’t know why yet.”
She swatted flies from the body and looked closely at the mouth, unable to avoid seeing the brain matter and blood from the close-range gunshot in the face. In the previous murders duct-tape residue had been found on and around the victim’s mouth, but no tape was found at either scene. The killer had taken it with him, likely to avoid it being traced back to him. Tape is a terrific medium to obtain prints, trace evidence, or DNA. Here she could make out the rawness on the skin from the tape being pulled off. If they could find the tape—was it a souvenir? Did the killer dispose of it between the crime scene and his home? Destroy it? Why duct-tape the mouth at all? The kills had been quick. Not as efficient as they could have been—but was that part of the thrill? To beat a man down, then shoot him?
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