Megan screamed. She didn’t even know where Karin had pricked her, but her entire left side felt like it burned from within.
“I learned some new tricks, Meggie, just for you.”
Megan’s screams were so loud her head hurt. Then there was nothing. No pain, no sound, no hope.
Jack paced back and forth in front of Scout’s Cessna Caravan.
It had been ten hours since Megan was kidnapped. Three a.m. and no word from her, no word from Karin Standler. Karin didn’t want to ransom Megan, she wanted to kill her.
Megan could already be dead. Suffering. Terrified. Jack closed his eyes and pictured a group of POWs he’d rescued ten years ago. The hollow eyes of men who had endured so much pain and suffering that they looked more dead than alive. Broken in every sense of the word. Hopeless.
“Don’t do this to yourself,” Padre said.
He’d flown out as soon as Jack hung up with him the night before. Padre stood with his friend on the airfield, trying to help.
“What are the damn FBI doing?” Jack said. “Taking a coffee break?”
“Jack, they found the truck Rosemont was driving when they killed the Hoffmans. They’re going over it with a fine-toothed comb, something will—”
“Have you called in favors? Is there anyone you know who can help with the search?”
“The FBI have the high-end toys in this case, Jack.”
“And they don’t know how to use them!”
A small plane landed on the lighted airstrip, and taxied over to the main area. Jack watched it, wishing he could take Megan away, right now. The two of them, no one else, on a beach, in a jungle, in the mountains. He didn’t care where he was, as long as Megan was with him.
Be strong, Blondie. You’re a survivor.
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.”
“I agree,” J.T said.
Dillon added, “If Standler feels threatened, she’ll kill Megan even if it means her own death. We need a distraction.”
“I’ll do it,” Padre said. He looked at Jack. “You know this is the only way.”
Jack didn’t want to risk Padre. He didn’t trust Karin Standler. And Dillon couldn’t give him good enough odds that Padre would come out uninjured. Or even alive.
“We’ll assess the layout when we get there,” Jack said. “If this is the only way, that’s how we’ll do it.”
CHAPTER
THIRTY-FOUR
Megan was jolted into consciousness by waves of pain radiating from her right foot. Her entire body spasmed, then she went limp like a rag doll. She had no energy. No strength. Both her feet throbbed as if they were buried in burning coals. It was all she could do to open her eyes.
“Much better!” Karin said. “I don’t like it when you get tired. It’s no fun. And if it’s not fun for me, I’ll just kill you.”
Megan worked her mouth, but no sound came out. She was so tired. She tried to look at the clock, but the red numbers were a blur. She squinted and still couldn’t see them. She thought it was still dark outside, but she didn’t know if an hour had passed or a full day.
“You know, I thought you had potential. I thought you understood. But you’re a people pleaser. Teacher’s pet. Hans liked you better because you fawned over him, you told him how smart he was, it was sick. I thought you had a thing for him, then I realized that you had replaced your father. No one could replace my father. Certainly not Hans. I was really sad when he had to die.”
Megan couldn’t have heard that right. Hans? Dead? No. “Wh-at?” she squeezed out of her raw throat.
“He read my diary. Asshole.”
She wasn’t talking about Hans. She was talking about her father.
“He wanted to send me to a shrink. I couldn’t— not then. I didn’t have the shields up. My mother always told me never to write anything down. I had them hidden, but he found them. I hated it when she was right.”
Karin had killed her father. It made sense, a very sick, logical sense. Yet—she’d been only twelve when he died. “H-how?” Megan asked.
“It was raining. I had the poor road conditions going for me. It was really stupid, but I was young. See this scar here?” She pulled down the collar of her T-shirt and pointed to a faded white scar—thin, about three inches long. “Piece of metal hit me in the neck. But I was young, I wasn’t thinking, I thought because I had my seat belt on and he didn’t … Well, it still worked and I was only in the hospital for a couple days. I think that was the first time my mom was actually proud of me. Maybe the only time.” Her voice trailed off.
Megan’s stomach rolled. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing about Karin’s sick family. Her mother knew that Karin was violent? That she’d killed her father? Condoned it?
“I’ve hated you for a long time, but never more than when you had me fired.”
“You tried to kill me!”
“See, that’s the thing. They didn’t even believe you! But they still fired me. I had to play this emotionally strung out depressed nervous wreck just to prove I didn’t shoot poor Meggie Elliott on purpose. I hate you for that. I hate you for being such a goody two-shoes, a premium saint. You know, there’s nothing wrong with executions, with or without a righteous judge. And I had hope for you, but you started investigating me. Looking into my life. My family. No. Not allowed! You crossed the line, and I had to take care of it.
“But,” she continued, “I do owe you one. A small one. I finally had the courage to take care of my mother. That fucking bitch was a thorn in my side for years, but when she—” Karin spun around and Megan couldn’t see her face. “She went too far,” Karin said, her voice low. “Just like Ethan.”
“The police.” Megan swallowed. “They thought it was suicide.”
“Yeah, well, it wasn’t too hard. A few pills to make her sleepy, a running car in a closed garage, a note on the computer … the only thing I regret is I couldn’t do this to her.”
Karin stuck in a needle and, although it hurt, it didn’t hit a nerve.
Karin frowned at the needle and threw it across the room. Took a deep breath, calmed herself, squeezed her hands open and shut. Megan watched the process, wanted to keep Karin talking because that seemed to distract her so she couldn’t concentrate. The reprieve gave Megan time to regather her strength and time for someone to find her.
“I don’t understand.” Megan tried to relax. She was so cold she couldn’t feel her fingers or toes. “Why did you have to kill your mother because of me?”
“It’s called planning. First, I wanted her dead. I had been trying to figure out a way to do it for years, but I didn’t want to be caught. Nothing worked, or there was too great a risk to me. Then you started investigating me, and all of a sudden, the plan unfolded.
“See, you always need an out, a Plan B. A Plan C doesn’t hurt, either. My Plan A was to put you in the line of fire and have a bad guy take you down. With my help but his gun. But if that didn’t work I might go to prison. Sure, I thought you’d be dead, and prison is not ideal, but I was willing to risk it. Then I thought—wait, Plan B. If my mom commits suicide and I don’t talk about it, start acting a bit different, but not strange enough to get myself committed, then if something went wrong and it was my gun that killed you, I could claim emotional distress. I might lose my job, but most likely I wouldn’t. Maybe administrative leave and counseling, then I’d be back. But you testified against me. You had me fired.”
There was a sick and twisted logic in her reasoning. Megan felt ill from more than the pain and cold.
Karin picked up another needle and held it in front of Megan’s face. She tried not to show fear, but it was impossible. She’d never been this scared in her life.
The needle twirled in Karin’s fingers. Megan couldn’t stop staring at it, shaking, half-frozen, pained and panicked. The anticipation of
pain was almost as emotionally devastating as the pain itself.
Karin pressed the needle gently against Megan’s chest without puncturing the skin. Using it like a pen, she moved it down Megan’s body.
Megan had thought Karin hadn’t cut into her, but a long, thin red line oozed out of a hairline incision.
Down her stomach, her right calf. Megan shook uncontrollably. Karin brought the needle slowly down to the backside of her knee and then poked.
Megan screamed in a voice so hoarse she thought she might lose it forever.
But she wouldn’t need her voice if she was dead.
Karin inserted a needle behind her other knee. Megan saw bright stars, then nothing at all.
J.T. and Jack met with the local SWAT commander, Lee Beck, around the bend from the cabin where Beck’s team had confirmed that Megan Elliott was alive, but restrained.
“What condition is the hostage in?” Jack asked, his stomach twisted in knots.
“Alive, but not in good shape. We have a sniper in position, but there haven’t been any clear shots. The target has at least one gun on a table about ten feet from where the hostage is restrained. She may have more, we don’t have confirmation.”
“We’ll integrate into your team,” Jack said, “but we have a plan. We can’t leave Agent Elliott in there much longer.”
“Agreed,” Beck said. “She is unconscious right now.”
Jack’s head jerked up. “Why didn’t you say so?”
“Because she’s alive. And when she passes out, the suspect leaves her alone.”
“Where’s the suspect now?” J.T. asked.
It was all Jack could do not to make a fool move on the cabin right then and there. He itched to see for himself that Megan was alive and breathing. But rash action would get her killed.
Beck asked for a status report, listened to his earpiece, and told them, “The target is standing two feet to the right of the hostage, back to my man, bent over a table. He can’t see what she is doing.”
“Does he have a clear shot?” Jack asked.
“Negative,” Beck responded. “The angle is bad. She needs to be directly at the window or at the front door to take the shot.”
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