Sudden Death

by Allison Brennan

  “Accident? Why is there a policeman here, Mommy? Did I do something wrong? I don’t remember being bad, Mommy. Why is the policeman here?”

  “He’s here to help.”

  “I’m not bad, Mommy.”

  “Of course you’re not bad. Witnesses say that—”

  The policeman cleared his throat. “If it would be okay with you, Mrs. Standler, I’d like Karin to answer in her own words.” He smiled at her and Karin liked him. She could tell in his eyes that he felt sorry for her, which was good. If someone felt sorry for you, he didn’t think you were bad. If someone felt sorry for you, he believed what you told him.

  “Karin, your father picked you up last night from your friend Tanya’s house.”

  She nodded, winced.

  “Mommy, my head hurts.” Her head really did hurt.

  “I’ll have the nurse bring some Tylenol in a minute.”

  The policeman said, “It was raining. Do you remember?”

  “Yes. It was raining hard.”

  “Was your father upset about something?”

  “Daddy doesn’t cry.”

  “Maybe he wasn’t crying. Maybe he was mad. Yelling. Or sad and not talking at all.”

  Karin blinked back tears and looked at her mother. “Mommy?”

  “Tell the policeman. It’s okay. I promise, it’ll be okay no matter what happened.”

  “Daddy …” She sniffed and let the tears flow. She had loved her father, in her way. “He was sad. Mommy and Daddy were getting a divorce.” She looked at her mother. She nodded, smiled in that way only Karin could see.

  Karin kept going. “He wanted me to tell the judge that I wanted to live with him. But I didn’t want to. I love my mom and my dad. I didn’t want to choose. I started crying. Daddy said crying was for babies, and that made me cry more.”

  She stopped talking, glancing at her mom for clues. She knew she was talking too fast, so she took a break. Played with the sheet, rubbing the material between her fingers.

  “Karin?” The policeman prompted.

  “I don’t want to say anything. I don’t want you to arrest Daddy. He didn’t mean to do anything wrong. He’s not a bad man.”

  “Honey,” her mother said, the tears coming from her eyes now. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m so, so sorry. Your father died.”

  Karin’s lower lip trembled. She hadn’t known for certain until her mother said it. “Why?” She cried, her mother hugged her. “Why, Mommy? Why did he do it?”

  The policeman asked, “What did your father do?”

  “H-he said that h-he would choose for me. Then we were driving in another lane and there were cars and horns and everything got really loud. Then nothing.”

  Karin would not let Megan Elliott—that twit!—get away with destroying her perfect life. She had been doing exactly what her righteous father did: sentencing bad people to die. She had continued his proud tradition of sitting in judgment. It’s not like she killed people for the fun of it. She always had a good reason. Self-preservation or justice. She liked to think that she targeted the bad guys as a legacy to Daddy.

  If there was some fun in murder it was the irony that she provided a better system of justice than the court system her father lived for and believed in.

  She’d learned an important lesson the day her father died. She could get away with murder.

  Karin was no quitter. The last twelve years of her life had been spent planning how best to make Megan Elliott suffer. And now that she was so close, she was most certainly going to see this through.

  She’d sent Price’s dog tag to Megan to make her worry. In the back of her mind, she would wonder how long she’d been followed. How long she’d been watched. She’d start jumping at shadows, looking over her shoulder. She’d be following the investigations through the grapevine, never knowing what exactly was going on, not knowing who was next, and if it was going to be her.

  Karin had planned on sending Bartleton’s tag to her as well, until the pathetic Ethan killed two innocent people. That had been the last straw. He’d gone from borderline crazy to full-out lunatic. After Hackett, she was originally going to talk him into killing himself. That would have been no problem, considering she’d stopped him from blowing his brains out a half dozen times. But Karin couldn’t be sure of him anymore, and when he used the wrong gun …

  She broke out into a sweat. That had been her one mistake. She should have gotten rid of the gun she’d used to kill Kenny Russo, but she liked to have it with her for the memories. Her five-month affair with Kenny had been the most fun she’d had in a long time. She’d manipulated him beautifully, he fell in love with her, and she learned everything about his former Delta team. What she didn’t know, she obtained through his computer and e-mails to his friends and colleagues, ostensibly from him.

  Unfortunately, she had to kill him. She kind of liked him, but he would have known she’d stolen George Price’s dog tag. Kenny looked at the tags all the time, teary-eyed and lamenting his past mistakes.

  “I should have put my foot down and told General Hackett we couldn’t have a reporter with us on the mission. But we’re trained to obey orders, and Hackett wanted a P.R. piece like the Marines had.”

  Price’s dog tag was Kenny’s way of punishing himself. And Ethan insisted, besides. “All of them or nothing.”

  Now Ethan was gone, and Father Cardenas was safe. She didn’t want his death on her conscience. She was already to blame for one man of God dying.

  She squeezed her temples as she followed the patrol car.

  Crystal killed Father Michael, not you.

  You might as well have pulled the trigger yourself. You told him too much!

  I just wanted Crystal out of my life.

  She was smarter than you. She was always smarter than you.

  Maybe. Until I gassed her in her sleep. She never saw it coming.

  Because you’re weak and pathetic and couldn’t confront her yourself. Because she would have won. She always won. You cheated.

  Maybe I cheated, but who’s pushing up the daisies?

  Karin didn’t care how she got what she wanted, as long as she came out on top. And finally, victory was within her reach. Megan had won twelve years ago, but today? Today Megan would be the big loser. Fate had handed Karin the opportunity of a lifetime. If she hadn’t been watching the police canvass the resort, if she hadn’t been curious about what they were doing and how much they knew, she wouldn’t have seen Megan Elliott get into the patrol car. She wouldn’t have been in a position to follow.

  It was a sign, an omen. A very, very good omen.

  She continued watching, glanced at the clock on the dashboard. Any minute …

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-TWO

  The patrol car sputtered and died.

  Barbara Dodge barely managed to pull over. “I don’t believe it! No gas. It was full when we left.” Dodge radioed in that an officer needed nonemergency assistance.

  Megan stared at Karin Standler’s image on her Black-Berry.

  “You’re the sister I never had, Meg.”

  Why—how—had Karin gotten involved with Barry Rosemont? Megan didn’t want to believe that Karin had been in any way involved with killing the soldiers, but there was no doubt in her mind that she was capable of such violence. Karin had shot Megan in the back and gotten away with it.

  Her excuse had been stress. Her mother had committed suicide three weeks before and Karin hadn’t told anyone. She had been embarrassed and angry and depressed. The shrinks all agreed that Karin was suffering from acute depression. OPR removed her from duty because of “reckless disregard for human life and proper procedures” but with extenuating circumstances. As long as she went to counseling for a year, she wouldn’t be prosecuted for manslaughter and attempted man slaughter in shooting an unarmed suspect and her partner in the back.

  “It was an accident,” Karin sobbed at the hearing. “I saw the suspect going for Agent Elliott’s gun. I thought I did. It happene
d so fast, and I reacted.” She looked across the room at her still-recovering partner. “I am so sorry. Megan, I am so sorry. I love you like a sister, you know that.”

  But Megan had been immune to Karin’s pleas and lies. It had taken three years, but in that time Megan learned that Karin was a pathological liar and a murderer.

  OPR didn’t believe her.

  “Agent Elliott, you are justifiably enraged by what happened and this panel is taking this situation and your accusations seriously. But in light of Agent Standler’s mother’s suicide, we can’t help but consider the extraneous circumstances that impaired Agent Standler’s judgment.”

  Procedures and changes were made to prevent situations like this in the future. More counseling, more feelgood measures to make sure that the agents didn’t have external pressures that could lead to “reckless disregard for human life.”

  It was all bullshit, Megan thought. Then and now. Karin was a sociopath, only now she was far more dangerous. Megan dialed Hans. She hoped that Jack had received the sketch from Texas as well and that Hans was already jumping on tracking down Karin Standler.

  Officer Dodge said, “They’re sending a patrol with a gas can. I feel like an idiot.”

  “It happens to the best of us,” Megan said lightly. She was irritated only because she wanted to jump on Karin’s trail.

  “I’m going to stretch my legs. If you want to—”

  “I’m fine here, thanks,” Megan said. They were on a narrow turnout on the Pacific Coast Highway. Five feet away from Megan’s door was a cliff and a short guardrail. Megan wasn’t scared of heights, but she’d just as soon stay in the car. She also didn’t want to admit that she was nervous about Karin. Her ex-partner still scared her. Ironically, it was because of Karin’s lies that Megan herself had learned to discern truth and fiction from suspects and witnesses, one of the reasons Megan had ended up being so good at her job.

  Officer Dodge stepped out, stretched. Traffic had improved. “Once we get gas, forty minutes, tops,” she told Megan before walking down the shoulder.

  Hans picked up. “Meg, I was just trying to call you.”

  “It’s Karin Standler.”

  “I know—you got the sketch from Father Cardenas, then.”

  “Yes, but I also found a witness in Orlando who says that Karin had been dating Ken Russo for months and left just prior to his murder. Russo had Price’s tags, but the police didn’t find them after the homicide.”

  “I screwed up, Meg. I didn’t consider that the contact the killers made with you was personal. I assumed it was to taunt the police. I’m sorry.”

  “How could we have known about her? No one has heard from her in years. Last I knew, she was a physical therapist somewhere. Did you get my text message about Ken Russo?”

  “Yes, and Rick Stockton is sending four agents to the community to interview everyone who saw her, starting with Paula Andrews. Good work, Meg.”

  “Don’t pat me on the back. Karin’s at large and we need to find her ASAP. I don’t have to tell you she’s extremely dangerous.”

  “Are you okay?” Hans asked.

  “Yes. But I’ll be better when she’s behind bars.”

  “I’ve already sent out an APB and her picture is going out to law enforcement.”

  “You need to do a picture with shorter, blond hair. The witness said she dyed it.”

  Movement behind the car caught Megan’s eye. She turned and the driver’s door opened.

  The woman wore black jeans and a black T-shirt. Her short streaky blond hair looked like she’d cut it herself. But her wild blue eyes and the smug hatred on the woman’s face told Megan that nothing had changed. Karin Standler was still a sick, twisted sociopath.

  She had a gun in her hand.

  Megan dropped her BlackBerry and reached for her gun, but it happened too fast.

  Karin pressed the trigger. Megan expected to die, but there was no gunshot, only a faint pop. Her left shoulder stung. Her head felt thick and her gun fell from her hand. She reached for something that protruded from her shoulder and the last thing she heard was Karin laughing while Hans shouted from far away, “Meg? Megan! Megan!”

  Thirty minutes later Jack stared at the empty police car on the side of the Pacific Coast Highway. He pushed aside the quiet sobs of Officer Barbara Dodge who had been shot with a tranquilizer that had left her disoriented and ill. He ignored Hans Vigo and Detective Holden and a dozen cops walking around the area, looking for evidence—clues—as to where Karin Standler had taken Megan. He avoided looking at the plastic bag that held the tranq dart that had most likely been in Megan’s body, or the bag with her phone and her gun.

  He focused on being the soldier he was. Not the man still grieving for a friend who’d been cruelly murdered. Not the man worried about a hostage. Not the man falling in love with a woman who may not even be alive.

  She’s not dead. That bitch doesn’t want to kill her easy.

  Jack closed his eyes and took a deep breath to push away the image of Megan tied to a chair, screaming in pain as she was being tortured with a thousand needles.

  Megan’s strong. She’ll survive. She has to survive until I find her.

  “Vigo!” Jack shouted. They weren’t doing anything. Not even planning their next move.

  Hans approached. “We’re doing everything we can to find her. We have roadblocks—”

  “We were too late with the roadblocks. Standler had ten minutes before we even knew where the damn car was!”

  “We have aerial sweeps, until it gets too dark.”

  Which was imminent.

  “We have to find her fast.” Jack didn’t want Megan to suffer one needle of pain. He’d gladly take the torture to spare her.

  “Dammit, Jack, I know that! Everyone at Quantico is working on this. We’re looking into Karin’s bank records, credit cards, property she may own, vehicles, everything.”

  “The woman likely has cash and fake I.D.,” Jack said. “And a car that isn’t registered to her.”

  “What do you want me to do? Give up?”

  “Think like a killer.”

  “I knew Karin. I was her boss. I didn’t recognize her for what she was.”

  “Beat yourself up about it later. I need Megan’s phone.”

  “Why?”

  “She has friends who don’t always play by your rules.”

  “We’re doing everything—”

  “Give me her phone. What was that name again? J.T.?”

  “Caruso.”

  “Right. Rogan-Caruso.”

  After Hans nodded his ascent, Jack ran over and snatched Megan’s phone from the evidence bag. He quickly found J. T. Caruso’s number and called it.

  “Hi, Meg, I saw the news and—”

  “This is Jack Kincaid. Is this J. T. Caruso?”

  The voice turned from friendly to dead serious. “Yes. Where’s Megan?”

  “Rosemont’s accomplice kidnapped her. Karin Standler. The feds are working it, but she’s been missing an hour and no one knows where she is. Standler could have taken her anywhere, though most likely someplace driving distance from Santa Barbara.”

  “I’m on it. Keep this phone on you, I might need information.” He hung up.

  Jack felt marginally better calling in the cavalry. Rogan-Caruso was the top private security firm in the country. They would do everything they could to find her. Jack had to believe that.

  “Jack—” Hans began.

  “I’m calling Dillon,” Jack interrupted. “He knows this stuff.” Walking away from Hans and the others, he dialed his brother on his own cell, keeping Megan’s free for a call back from Caruso.

  “Jack?”

  “Megan’s gone. Kidnapped by Rosemont’s accomplice.”

  “Megan knows the woman.” Dillon stated it as a fact.

  “Yes. It’s her former partner. Karin Standler shot Megan during a fucked-up operation and was fired, but Megan said it was deliberate, not an accident. Get into her head, D
illon. I need to find Megan now.”

  Dillon said quietly, “I’m not psychic, Jack. I need information.”

  “I don’t know anything!” Jack ran his hand over his head, staring at the ocean without seeing the setting sun. “Where would Karin Standler take Megan?”

  Dillon began slowly. “We need to assume that Agent Elliott was the target all along. That however Karin became involved with Rosemont, her primary purpose was to abduct and torture Megan. Which means she’s most likely still alive.”

  “I already know that. She’s alive, and about to suffer horribly if I can’t find her. If I know where she is, I can extract her. That’s all I need, a location.”

  “Is the FBI running property records? Credit? Any—”

  “Yes, all of it. Megan is one of theirs, they’re doing everything they can.” Megan is mine.

  “Does Hans know this woman?”

  “Yes. He was Standler’s boss back then.”

  “Put him on the phone.”

  Jack motioned for Hans to come over. “It’s Dillon.” Jack put it on speaker. He wasn’t about to miss any of it.

  “What have you got?” Hans asked.

  “Do you have any of Standler’s aliases?”

  “No, though we’re pursuing a lead at a hotel near the resort where General Hackett was killed. During the canvass, officers found a witness who saw a woman in a red bathing suit and sarong enter through a side door with a card key. She looked disheveled and matched the description we had from the bartender. We now think she registered under the alias Erin Hunter and are pursuing that lead.”

  “What about Russo?” Jack said. “And the elderly people she conned?”

  “Rubin,” Hans said. “Hannah Rubin.”

  “What’s this about a con?” Dillon asked. “I need to know how she’s pulled all this off.”

  Hans explained how Karin passed herself off as the long-dead daughter of an elderly couple in order to get close to Ken Russo. “That’s where she got Price’s dog tags, and likely where she found the location of the other Delta team members. She was there for five months.”

  “Do you know anyone else she conned? Where are her parents? Siblings?”

  “She’s an only child. Her father was a Virginia Supreme Court judge killed in a car accident when she was twelve. Her mother committed suicide twelve years ago. Right before she almost killed Megan.”