If I Should Die

by Allison Brennan

  FORTY-TWO

  Two days later

  Sean and Lucy walked into Albany FBI headquarters Tuesday afternoon. Sean was glad to finally leave Spruce Lake, confident that Tim and Adam Hendrickson could move forward on their resort. In light of the continuing police presence as local and federal authorities shut down the drug business and raided multiple buildings, seized several tons of marijuana, and removed all related computers and files, the brothers decided to postpone the resort opening until next year. Tim believed his financial knowledge and collateral would help bring redevelopment money into the area, and Adam planned to simultaneously open separate Boy and Girl Scout camps, something their father had dreamed about. They vowed to work closely with the people in town to develop a viable tourist area. Tourism wouldn’t bring in the big money of drugs or gunrunning, but it also wouldn’t get the townsfolk killed or imprisoned. Already, residents were calling Tim to thank him for standing up to the Swain family and for the first time in their lives, they felt both safe and hopeful.

  Sean suspected the coming changes weren’t going to be easy and nothing would be quite the same. But with enough people committed to rebuilding the foundation of Spruce Lake on legal businesses, there was definite promise.

  After the adventure in the mine, Sean had hidden Lucy away in the cabin while Noah coordinated four law enforcement agencies that descended on the Adirondacks by dawn—the sheriff, FBI, DEA, and ATF. Every agency sent a dozen or more people, and Sean wanted nothing to do with the initial interviews and justifications. Noah’s ability to organize the disparate groups into a unified team highlighted his military officer training, and Sean grudgingly admired his skill. He was more than happy to pass on any credit—or criticism. Sean just wanted to spend as much time alone with Lucy as he could. He’d never get tired of hearing her say I love you.

  Their idyllic two days were over. They were called to Albany for a debriefing, and then would head home.

  Lucy introduced Sean to the well-groomed Brian Candela, a stereotypical “suit” in the FBI. But his eyes were sharp and his manner professional. “We spoke on the phone the other day,” Candela said.

  “Good to meet you, sir.” Being in this building made him uncomfortable, but Sean was trying to be polite and diplomatic for Lucy’s sake.

  “There are just a few of us in the conference room. Marty and Dale went up to Spruce Lake Sunday, will probably be there for a few weeks as they weed through all the facts and fiction.” Sean grinned at Candela’s obvious play on words, feeling more comfortable than he had when he first walked in.

  Noah was sitting at the table with an older agent introduced as SAC Hart, a young woman, Agent Tara Fields, on loan from the cybercrime squad, and a secretary who typed on a steno machine like a court reporter.

  “I know you’re eager to get home,” Hart said, “so we’ll make this as quick and painless as possible. Agent Armstrong has already written his report, so we have most of the information we need.”

  Sean caught Noah’s eye, but couldn’t read his expression. Sean stood by every decision he’d made. But there were some things he didn’t want in any official record.

  Fortunately, the questions were straightforward and related solely to the facts. It took them not much more than an hour to recount the events from when he and Lucy first arrived in Spruce Lake to Bobbie’s death in the mine.

  Hart dismissed the secretary. “The official part is over. Off the record, I wanted to tell you that ATF Agent Omar Lewis is on official leave. ATF wasn’t happy about it, but I insisted. He acted with complete and total disregard for your lives, contrary to all training and protocols. I suspect, however, he’ll be back after an internal audit.”

  While Sean was still furious about the sniper incident, he’d developed an understanding and even some respect. “When the bad guys win one time too many, sometimes we have to bend the rules to stop them.”

  “Bending the rules, yes. Breaking them?” Hart shook her head. “Nevertheless, ATF is livid that they lost Sampson Lowell after more than a year of field work and twice that in research. However, we’re sharing everything we learn from those we arrested and the files we seized. Hopefully they’ll get him next time.”

  Lucy asked, “What was in Jon Callahan’s safe deposit box? Was it incriminating against Bobbie Swain as we’d thought?”

  Candela nodded. “That and much more. First, all the evidence and files Victoria took from the office were in the box, including the tape of Bobbie Swain’s interview in Miami where she turned on her brother. We’ve sent it to the Behavioral Science Unit at Quantico for further analysis, hoping we can learn something from her performance to help us in the future.”

  Lucy said, “She was certainly a unique personality, but she was also a cold-blooded sociopath.”

  Noah said, “I’ll get you clearance to review the tapes, Lucy. You’ll probably see something no one else did.”

  Sean glanced at Noah, agreeing with the Fed but wondering why he chose to lavish the praise on Lucy now. Then he dismissed his flash of jealousy. It didn’t matter what Noah’s feelings were, if they were professional or personal. Lucy loved Sean, and that was all he needed.

  Candela continued. “The box also included a journal Callahan had kept recounting his early drug smuggling days with Paul Swain when they were teenagers. There was a falling out between him and Swain because Callahan had originally gone to law school to become a criminal defense attorney to represent Swain; while in college, Callahan decided to put it all behind him. He lived in Spruce Lake part time in order to keep his eye on things, but he knowingly turned a blind eye to the drug operation. After Swain went to prison, Callahan moved back permanently. But when he realized Bobbie Swain was behind it—and had covertly taken over her brother’s operation—he worked out a deal with Swain to get inside her operation. Swain wanted his sister dead, and Callahan wanted her influence gone.”

  “And then she brought in Sampson Lowell,” Lucy said. “Raising the stakes and the danger.”

  “Joe Hendrickson learned of the gunrunning plan—Callahan was unclear how—and he went to Callahan to do something. They agreed to contact the ATF, but at the same time Bobbie Swain’s people found out what Hendrickson knew and poisoned him, having the doctor rule it as a heart attack. Callahan went to the ATF to speed up the investigation, and that’s when Omar Lewis was sent undercover to work as the cook at the Lock & Barrel. Only Callahan knew Lewis was law enforcement.”

  “I’m still unclear why Jon Callahan brought Agent Sheffield in, and why she didn’t inform your office,” Lucy said.

  “The first part is easy—you were absolutely right that Victoria met Callahan while investigating the pirated DVDs in Canada. They started seeing each other romantically. After Joe Hendrickson was murdered, Callahan told her everything. By this time, Lewis was already in place. Victoria thought if she reported what she knew, she’d be called off because it was an undercover ATF operation at that point.”

  “And she would have been,” Noah interjected.

  Candela nodded. “She still should have filed a report. There was nothing else about her in Callahan’s notes until last December when she brought Callahan the files and evidence on Bobbie Swain. She’d been looking into Swain on her own, and coupled with the information she knew through her boyfriend, she came up with a plan. Apparently, the first meeting Lowell had with Swain was on January second—and Victoria got it in her head that she needed to be around to protect Callahan, who was playing the dangerous informant game with the ATF.”

  Sean asked, “How did Bobbie know she was an agent?”

  “She didn’t—Sampson Lowell did. He had scouts in town once he decided to work with the Swain operation. Apparently, his intelligence is exemplary. When he uncovered Victoria’s identity, he canceled the meeting and told Swain to take care of it. She sent him proof that Victoria was dead. Lowell waited four months to ensure there was no increased police presence or chatter, then rescheduled the meeting for this past
Sunday. Swain was providing storage and distribution channels for his gunrunning operation into Canada. It was a megadeal. If all went well Sunday, the guns would have been in the warehouses by midnight.”

  “And now Lowell has disappeared,” Sean said.

  “He’s not our concern,” Hart said. “He’s ATF’s problem.”

  Sean disagreed. Sampson Lowell was everybody’s problem. But he kept his mouth shut.

  “What’s going to happen to Ricky Swain?” he asked.

  “We’re recommending leniency, and Detective Dillard is helping smooth things over with the prosecutors to give the kid probation and wipe his record when he turns eighteen. The Hendricksons aren’t filing charges and Tim Hendrickson offered to serve as the boy’s guardian. Dillard thinks they’ll get what they want.”

  Sean was relieved. That someone was willing to step up and help Ricky meant he had a real shot at a future.

  “We may have some follow-up questions,” Candela said, “but we’ll run them through Agent Armstrong. Again, thank you. Because of you, we know what happened to our field agent, and we can move forward.”

  After final good-byes, Noah walked Sean and Lucy out of the building. “I’ll be returning to D.C. late tonight,” he said. “Take the rest of the week off, Lucy. You can start fresh next Monday.”

  “Thank you, but if you need me to come in tomorrow, I—”

  Sean cut her off. “Monday morning, Luce.”

  Noah smiled. “Monday is soon enough. Good work all around.” Noah looked directly at Sean as he spoke. “This was a dicey situation and a testament to your skills that we all came through without major injury.”

  Sean was surprised at the clear compliment. “I appreciate that, Noah.”

  Lucy let out a breath and Sean glanced at her. She wanted everyone to get along, especially the people she cared about. He might not like that Noah was important to Lucy, but he loved Lucy. Sean vowed to make a real effort with the Fed.

  Sean broke the awkward silence. “Now, there’s the matter of you getting my plane shot down.”

  Noah nodded soberly. “I thought you might be a little upset, so I’ve taken care of it.”

  Sean couldn’t hide his surprise. “I don’t get it.”

  “I called in a friend of mine, a former Air Force mechanic who now works at Lockheed. He’s flying in this afternoon to take your plane to his shop.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” Sean said in all seriousness.

  “I know.” Noah extended his hand. Sean shook it. Then Noah grinned broadly and winked at Lucy. “You never know when I’ll call in the favor.”

  Sean returned the good will. “Anytime.”

  For the Sacramento Valley Rose

  You were with me from the start. Thank you all for

  your support, encouragement, and friendship.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Though writing is a solitary profession, many people help with the details. I want to especially thank those who helped make the details so much richer in this story.

  First, Rench of the band Gangstagrass and Tomasia who granted permission to use their lyrics to lead this story. I bought the album after hearing the intro to the television show Justified; the songs inspired me and set the tone for this book.

  Thanks to Joel Margot with Argus Thermal Imaging Products who answered my many questions regarding air surveillance. The extraordinary Margie Lawson and her husband, Tom, who lent me their expertise about aircraft. The Sacramento FBI regional office is always willing to help, especially Special Agent Steve Dupre, media liaison and all-around great guy who responded to the most arcane questions I could come up with, including researching the history of badge numbers. And also FBI SWAT Team Leader Brian Jones, who let me role-play in a variety of training scenarios, including a recent medic-training session, which helped tremendously for the field-medic details in this book. If I got anything wrong, it’s my own fault.

  For seventeen books, the Ballantine team has really shined. Without my amazing editors Charlotte Herscher and Dana Isaacson, I wouldn’t have this book to share with my readers. Gina Wachtel’s enthusiasm and smile are contagious, and I truly appreciate her efforts. Thanks especially to Linda Marrow and Scott Shannon for being supportive from the very beginning. And of course the unsung heroes—the production, sales, marketing, publicity, and art departments.

  I am blessed with amazing friends and family. My smart and diplomatic agent, Dan Conaway, who took me on mid-career with both faith and a vision. My blogmates at Murderati and Murder She Writes who keep me sane and focused. My mom and best friend who’s my biggest fan and strongest supporter. My kids, all five of them, who make me love them more each day, even when they drive me crazy. And of course my husband, Dan, who tolerates my hectic schedule, late nights, and wild questions. I couldn’t do any of this without your support and understanding.

  And last but certainly not least, I want to thank my readers who have embraced Lucy Kincaid and love her as much as I do. Writing a series character is both new for me and exciting, and I hope you enjoy this and future Lucy and Sean thrillers. To keep up with the latest news about my books, please visit my website at allisonbrennan.com where you can read excerpts, watch book trailers, sign up for my quarterly newsletter, and follow me on your favorite social media website.

  BY ALLISON BRENNAN

  If I Should Die

  Kiss Me, Kill Me

  Love Me to Death

  Original Sin

  Carnal Sin

  Sudden Death

  Fatal Secrets

  Cutting Edge

  Killing Fear

  Tempting Evil

  Playing Dead

  Speak No Evil

  See No Evil

  Fear No Evil

  The Prey

  The Hunt

  The Kill

  Read on for

  LOVE IS MURDER

  An original novella

  by

  Allison Brennan

  Published by Ballantine Books

  Dear Reader:

  Love Is Murder takes place a year before the events in Love Me to Death, the first Lucy Kincaid novel. I hope you enjoy reading this adventure about Lucy and her brother Patrick as much as I enjoyed writing it.

  Special thanks to Dr. D. P. Lyle for help on medical questions, and my pal Toni McGee Causey for a quick, early read. My husband, Dan, was particularly helpful this time around with brainstorming. And as always, thank you to the Ballantine and Writers House team.

  Happy Reading,

  Allison Brennan

  ONE

  Twenty-four-year-old Lucy Kincaid had certainly needed a break, but skiing hadn’t turned out to be quite as much fun as her brother Patrick had promised. In fact, Lucy had spent more time in the snow than on the snow. Snowsuit notwithstanding, she was cold, wet, and miserable.

  “I told you I didn’t know how to ski.” Lucy shivered in the passenger seat of Patrick’s truck. She put her hands directly in front of the heater vent.

  “You just need more practice. We’ll try again tomorrow.”

  “No.”

  “Wimp.”

  “Is it wimpy to not want to freeze my ass off?”

  For just a second, Patrick took his eyes off the curving mountain road. “Since when have you been a quitter?”

  “It happened the thousandth time I hit the snow.”

  Patrick laughed. “You weren’t all that bad.”

  “It’s no fun to fail.”

  “You’re just cranky because everything usually comes so easy to you.”

  “Not true,” Lucy protested, though she wondered if her brother was right.

  Patrick grinned.

  “You think this is funny?” she asked.

  “I think you’re scared.”

  “I’m not scared.”

  “Are too.”

  “God, you’re a brat.”

  Lucy stared out the passenger window as they carefully made their way back down to the lodge where
they were staying for the four-day weekend. The winding mountain road was treacherous in parts, and the increasing wind coupled with the falling snow didn’t help. She found it strange that less than two hours ago, they were skiing under bright blue skies dotted with white clouds, but during the thirty minutes they’d sat at the coffee shop at the base of the ski lifts the sky had darkened, as if a gray, fluffy blanket had been laid over the mountains. The snow flurries had begun blowing almost as soon as Patrick started the ignition.

  “I’m glad we didn’t take the snowmobiles this morning,” Lucy said. “We’d be coming back in this.”

  “We’re almost there.” Patrick’s expression had grown from light to concerned as he slowed and kicked the SUV into four-wheel drive.

  The drive to the Delarosa Mountain Retreat yesterday afternoon had been lovely, with striking scenery and crisp fresh air. Lucy loved the outdoors, though she preferred it at least forty degrees warmer. Now, unfamiliar with the treacherous road, she was as tense as Patrick, and wondering why the weather report had told them a “mild” storm system would be passing overnight, when it was four in the afternoon and this was no mild storm. With every passing minute the snow increased, and Lucy suspected a blizzard would be in full force before sundown.

  She trusted Patrick to get them safely back to the lodge and hoped that though fierce right now, the storm would quickly pass.

  She closed her eyes, considering Patrick’s comments about how she didn’t take failure well. While she was in great shape from running and swimming, being fit didn’t seem to matter when she couldn’t find her balance on those damn skis. She was more than a little irritated that she’d failed her first day skiing because anything athletic usually came easily to her. In fact, most things came easier to her than to others. She studied in school, but never as much as her peers. She’d been an honors student, received two bachelor’s degrees and a master’s from Georgetown, and spoke four languages fluently. And because her mother had nearly drowned when she escaped Cuba, Rosa Kincaid made sure every one of her seven children could swim. Lucy ended up being on the swim team in high school and college and had been scouted for the Olympics, but she couldn’t commit the time and energy such an opportunity required. After she’d been attacked on the day of her high school graduation, her priorities had changed dramatically.