Fatal Secrets

by Allison Brennan

  Dean added, “He has clients and the legislature is in session tonight. It’s entirely possible that Gleason is working. With Jones dead, he’s also probably getting a lot of calls.”

  “When was that released?” Trace asked. “We only confirmed it late this afternoon.”

  “We released the information about Jones’s death in time for the five o’clock news,” Dean said. “After consulting with Dr. Vigo, Richardson and Warner agreed that holding the information would empower the killer. Giving it to the media puts more pressure on him, which increases the chance he’ll make a major mistake.”

  Dr. Vigo’s voice came from the speakerphone. “That’s important,” he said. “This isn’t a guy you can easily rattle. Any move we make, he’s already thought about and has planned a half dozen possible responses. But the more pressure on him, the fewer options he has. Only when he feels trapped will he do something reckless, which increases our chances of catching him. Every time we take away a choice, we ratchet up his stress level. There is, however, a problem with this approach.”

  “What?” Sonia asked.

  “He’ll kill without thought if it gets him out of immediate danger or perceived danger. The more stress he’s under, the more paranoid he’ll get. This means he may go after more of Jones’s people or anyone blocking his end goal. While the benefit to us is that he’s more apt to make a major mistake, we should not underestimate him.”

  “Great. Don’t underestimate someone we don’t know,” Sonia said.

  “Exactly. I didn’t say it would be easy.”

  After Dr. Vigo hung up, the rest of the team laid out their plans for the next day. Sonia finally looked at her phone—someone had been trying to call her for the last ten minutes, but it was an unfamiliar number. She dialed her voice mail.

  “Dammit, Sonia, I need to talk to you right now. Call me back. It’s Simone Charles.”

  Sonia’s stomach did a little flip as she thought that something had happened to Riley or their unconscious “Ann.” She excused herself and called Simone.

  “It’s about friggin’ time,” Simone snapped.

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “Me, too. You’ll never believe it.”

  “What?”

  “I was going to make you guess, but that was fifteen minutes ago so I’ll just lay it out. I’m at the Sacramento County Coroner’s Office and am looking at two bullets that match perfectly. Okay, I’m not a ballistics expert but I can see the similarities under the microscope.”

  “What bullets?”

  “The unknown vic pulled from the river and Kendra Vega. And—”

  “Anticlimactic, Simone,” Sonia cut her off, wanting to get back to the meeting. “We already suspected that the two double homicides were connected.”

  “You interrupted the best part.”

  “Sorry,” she mumbled and rubbed her head. She sat down at the nearest cubicle. She needed to find some Tylenol or something. She glanced at the desktop. The tidy employee had classic cartoon strips pinned precisely on the thick, rough fabric walls, humorous quips and scenes from “The Far Side,” “Blondie,” and “Peanuts,” some yellowed with age. A corkboard held a collage of pictures, most of them three happy blond girls of varying ages. Laughing. At the zoo. Eating ice cream. Being hugged. Being loved.

  Sonia’s chest heaved and she bit back the self-pity that threatened her calm professionalism. It wasn’t these kids’ fault that she hadn’t had a normal childhood. It wasn’t their fault they had a loving mother and father who wanted to spend time with them. She was blessed with an adoptive family who loved her, and she was grateful for them, but sometimes when she thought of all the children who never had that support, never had the hugs, the unconditional love … She thought of Ann lying in the hospital after being raped and strangled and left for dead. She might be all of sixteen. Who were her parents? Had they sold her or had she been kidnapped like Charlie’s Ashley Fox? Where was she from? Was she going to make it? Could she have a normal life? Would she find a family like the Knights or be sent back to where she came from?

  “Hey, I can’t believe you’re that speechless.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “So?”

  “So what?”

  “Damn, you didn’t even hear the news. I can’t believe it!”

  “I’m distracted. I’m sorry, Simone, it’s been a tough day.”

  “Okay, I’ll cut you some slack. The head forensic pathologist performed the autopsy after hours on Jones instead of waiting until the morning, knowing that this case is red-hot. So get this: his bullets don’t match. Not one of the five match the unknown vic or Mrs. Vega.”

  Sonia straightened. “You’re positive?”

  “Of course I’m positive. They’re not even the same caliber. Jones was shot with nine-millimeter slugs; the other two vics with forty-five caliber hollow-points. And based on the angle of the entry wounds and knowing that Jones was shot in the parking lot, I assumed that both men were standing face-to-face. I did some preliminary calculations using the county lab, and I’m pretty confident that the killer is between five foot nine and five foot eleven.”

  “You’re incredible.”

  “So I’ve been told. I have more.”

  “Give it to me.” Sonia grabbed a notepad from a neat stack in the corner and opened the top drawer for a pen as she listened to Simone.

  But as the criminalist spoke, Sonia froze. She was speechless.

  “Did you hear me?” Simone asked.

  “Are you one hundred percent positive the knives match?”

  “Well, technically, ninety-nine point three percent positive. But I’m looking at both of them now.”

  “I’ll call you back. Thank you.”

  Two minutes later, Sonia stepped back into the war room as Dean was finishing up his explanation of how he suspected Jones was laundering money. He glanced at her as he said, “We need to tread carefully with regards to Rio Diablo. We have no jurisdiction on their land and will have to work with the multitribe council to gain even minimal access.”

  Trace Anderson looked at Sonia and said, “Something happened.”

  “I just spoke to Simone Charles from Sac P.D. She confirmed that Mrs. Vega and the first victim found in the river were killed with the same gun; however, Jones was killed with a different gun. Time of death is the same. The blood evidence collected at the scene indicates that Jones was killed in the parking lot and carried to the edge of the dock where he was dropped into the river. The second victim was shot on the dock and fell into the water. There wasn’t much blood, so he must have been near the edge.”

  “Like walking the plank,” Trace said.

  “Simone also said, based on the angle of the wounds, whoever killed Jones was between five foot nine and five foot eleven. They shot him three times point-blank in the chest. When Jones fell, he was shot two more times, once in the chest—it went through at a completely different angle—and once in the head.

  “The second victim was killed with a different gun and likely a different killer,” Sonia continued. “The second victim was six foot two inches and his killer was about the same size. He wasn’t dead when he hit the water. He drowned, though the two gunshot wounds would have been fatal.”

  Dean said, “So our top guy has a henchman? That makes sense.”

  “There’s more. The knife used to kill Greg Vega is unique. In fact, though the company has several factories around the world and in the United States, this particular knife is only manufactured in Argentina.”

  Sam Callahan said, “Please tell me there were custom initials or engraving that leads directly to the owner.”

  Sonia glanced at him. “We’re lucky, but not that lucky.”

  “How are we lucky? Are we going to be able to get the database of buyers from the company? In the U.S., sure, but in another country?”

  “I sent an email to my boss to work on it,” Sonia said. “But here’s the big news: the knife used in the hospital attack o
n Officer Riley Knight, my brother, is almost identical to the knife recovered from Vega. The same company, and only made in Argentina. Which means that Ann, the Jane Doe at the hospital, is connected to this case.”

  Suddenly, Sonia yelped and everyone stared at her. Dean crossed over to her, but even his commanding presence couldn’t stop the fear from invading every cell in her body. “Andres. Andres is connected to Jones, and he’s from Argentina. What if the killers are looking for him? He’s at my parents’ house. Oh, God—”

  CHAPTER

  NINETEEN

  Sonia had never been so relieved to see anyone than when she ran into her parents’s house and saw them sitting at the kitchen table with Andres, their German shepherd curled at their feet. They were playing cards, but both Owen and Marianne looked strained after Sonia’s phone call. Owen wore his holster and gun, which he hadn’t put on since he’d retired five years ago.

  She hugged all three of them in turn. “Okay. Okay.” She took a deep breath.

  Dean stepped into the kitchen. “The grounds are clear.”

  “Did you meet FBI Agent Dean Hooper at the hospital yesterday?” Sonia asked her parents.

  “Briefly,” Owen said. He extended his hand. “Owen Knight. My wife, Marianne. And Andres.”

  “Pleased to meet you. I wish it were under better circumstances.”

  Owen asked, “Are you sure you’re not overreacting, Sonia? From what you said you’re making some huge leaps to arrive at the conclusion that we’we in danger.”

  “I don’t care if the risk is less than one percent, that’that still too great with people like this.” Sonia scratched the German shepherd’shepherd ears. Sarge sensed she was tense and stood beside her like a sentry. Petting him calmed her, and in response the former K-9 relaxed as well. She wished she had a dog, but with her erratic hours she’she feel guilty leaving a pet home alone.

  “I called in a bodyguard,” Sonia said. When her dad was about to protest, she put her hand up. “Please, Dad. This is serious. The next forty-eight hours are going to heat up. With Riley out of commission and Max in Afghanistan, there’s no one else here to keep an eye out. His name is Duke Rogan. He’s the brother of a friend of mine.”

  “Rogan,” Owen said flatly. “You mean Kane Rogan.”

  Sonia’s father had never liked Kane, nor did he approve of his daughter’s longtime friendship with him. Kane was a man who, like Charlie Cammarata, had forged his own path in the world and played by no one’s rules. The difference, a crucial difference, was that Kane Rogan never put anyone but himself at risk.

  Owen Knight believed absolutely in the rule of law. He didn’t like that Kane had influence over Sonia.

  Sonia trusted few people, but Kane was on her list. When she’d called Duke Rogan as Dean sped through the streets from FBI headquarters to her parents’ house, Duke had said, “Kane told me you might call, and that if you did I was to drop everything. I’m at your service, fair lady.”

  A knock on the door interrupted the tension. Dean offered to answer it and left the kitchen.

  “Dad,” Sonia said quietly, “Kane is one of the good guys. I wouldn’t trust him if he weren’t, you know that.”

  Marianne spoke up. “Your dad is just concerned about the long-distance relationship. When you love someone who won’t give up his career to be with you—”

  “What?” Sonia exclaimed. “You think—” and she laughed. God, it felt good to laugh. Maybe she laughed a little too hard, a little too long, but it was either laugh or be worn down by the intensity of facing the potential threat to her family by a ruthless killer who had already killed four people, including her informant.

  Dean walked in with two men.

  One looked like a younger version of Kane Rogan—in fact, much like the Kane Sonia had met ten years ago. But it was the older, taller Rogan, with hair so deeply red it could have been mistaken for dark brown, who had to be Duke Rogan. His bright blue eyes were framed by laugh lines that became more pronounced when he smiled at Sonia’s laughter, revealing the same solitary Rogan dimple that the darker, brooding Kane also had.

  “Duke?” Sonia said, extending her hand.

  Duke took her hand, but pulled her into a hug. “Kane speaks highly of you,” he said. “And as you know, he doesn’t praise widely.”

  “I can attest to that,” the other man said.

  Sonia turned to the black-haired Rogan. He must be the youngest Rogan brother “Sean?”

  “At your service.” He smiled, with two dimples, and gave a slight bow.

  Duke said, “I thought under the circumstances two bodyguards were better than one.”

  “I really appreciate your help.”

  Duke shook Owen’s hand, then Marianne’s and finally Andres’s. Andres was overwhelmed and trembling. Sonia spoke to him softly in Spanish. “It’s going to be okay. These are my friends. They’ll make sure you’re safe.”

  “How is this going to work?” Owen asked, still standing, trying, Sonia realized, to keep authority and control over his house. She felt awful that she’d never fully explained her relationship with Kane to her parents, but she’d never thought to. That her dad had believed she was pining for an unattainable mercenary made her realize how little about her personal life she shared with him, not that there was much to tell.

  Sonia appreciated that Duke had assessed the situation quickly and correctly, and said, “Sir, I think you should walk me through the house, pointing out the strengths and weaknesses of your home security. I’d like Sean to stay upstairs with your wife and the boy, and you and I can monitor the perimeter.”

  Owen nodded. “Our alarm system is a good one,” he said.

  “Terrific. Security systems are my specialty. I’m not a full-time bodyguard, only when asked by friends of the family.” He winked at Sonia. While he could act serious, Sonia realized that Duke was far more fun-loving than his older brother. “In fact, my primary responsibility with our company—Rogan-Caruso Protective Services—is providing electronic security to local businesses. I designed the systems for the university as well as the new biotech research lab in Auburn. I might have a few tricks to beef up your alarm system for the duration.”

  “I heard about that lab.” Owen sounded both impressed and interested.

  Sonia breathed easier. “You have my contact information. I’m headed home because we have an early day tomorrow.”

  “It’s already after eight. You haven’t stopped working in days,” Marianne said. “I kept some stew on the stove. Please let me warm it up for you and Agent Hooper.”

  “Mom, you don’t—” she saw the determined look on her mother’s face. “Okay.” She glanced at Dean. He was looking at her … oddly. As if he could see under her professional shield. She cleared her throat, feeling scrutinized and suddenly nervous. “My mom is a terrific cook.”

  “I’m famished,” Dean said and sat down. He picked up the deck of cards. “What are you playing?”

  “We were teaching Andres crazy eights.”

  Dean smiled. “How about five-card draw?” He turned to Andres and said to him in Spanish, “Would you like to learn how to play poker?”

  Andres’s eyes lit up. “I know how to play poker.”

  “Well, let’s get a game on.”

  Owen Knight left the room for a moment and came back with a box of poker chips. “A penny a chip.”

  “You’ve gotten cheap, Dad,” Sonia said.

  “We have federal law enforcement in the kitchen, I don’t want to be under indictment for illegal gambling.”

  “I’ll grant you immunity tonight,” Dean said.

  Dean watched Sonia interact with her family. She was still a bit on edge, but the events of the day, starting with Charlie Cammarata breaking into her house at three-thirty that morning, had to have worn her down. The adrenaline from the fear for her family had been replaced by relief, and now she was simply exhausted. But content. She seemed to draw both strength and comfort from the Knights. He’d seen
how close she was to her brother, Riley, and now he realized that Sonia was all business, all the time, except when she was with her family.

  She wasn’t playing cards with them, but stood at the counter and ate stew, chatting with Sean Rogan who was young—maybe twenty-two, twenty-three. Duke Rogan sat with Owen, Dean, and the ten-year-old Andres as they played a couple rounds of five-card draw.

  Dean had a good childhood, but he wasn’t particularly close with his family. His dad died years ago; his brother, now married, lived in San Diego, three thousand miles from Dean’s home in D.C. He and Will had been pals growing up, but time and distance and demanding careers had separated them. Then their mother relocated to Florida and spent half the year traveling with her seniors’ group. They connected in person once or twice a year, and Dean had thought that was good enough.

  Seeing Sonia with her family made him realize that it wasn’t. He should have made more of an effort to stay in contact with Will. The last time Dean had seen his brother was over a year ago, at his wedding. Dean had taken a week’s vacation, but cut it short by two days because of a break in one of his cases. That was two days he could have spent with his brother.

  He envied the closeness Sonia had with her family. And he certainly now saw her in a different light. This smiling, relaxed Sonia was the Sonia hidden inside the fiery, passionate ICE agent. When she let her hair down, she was happy. Because she had her family to support and love her come hell or high water.

  Dean caught Sonia watching him playing poker. He couldn’t read her mind, but she didn’t avert her eyes. He was drawn to her in ways he shouldn’t be thinking about, physically attracted but also with feelings that went deeper than lust. Feelings he shouldn’t be experiencing. She was a colleague, not a potential girlfriend. Still, he couldn’t help that he was seriously attracted.

  Sonia Knight was beautiful, but she was also far more than a pretty face and hot body. She was smart and dedicated and driven. She didn’t let up on the job, she didn’t pretend to be anything but what she was. She had confidence, but in that confidence she was able to listen to others and allow others to help. Yet there was a vulnerability inside that showed itself only when she was worried. About Ann in the hospital, or the Vegas, or her family.