The Imposter's Trail (The Sean Kruger Series Book 3)

by J. C. Fields

  “You.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you.”

  “Why?”

  She exhaled loudly. “I don’t want you taking vengeance out on this man, Sean. If you do, it will steal your soul.”

  Kruger stared at her for several moments. “I’m just trying to make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone else.”

  “No, that’s not it, Sean.” She stepped closer to him and put her arms around his waist. Looking up into his eyes, her voice was slightly shaky. “I love you, and I’ve grown to know you better than you know yourself.”

  He did not respond.

  “If you go to Columbia and find Bishop, you’ll execute him without hesitation. You’ll become judge, jury, and executioner within the time it take to blink an eye.

  Kruger was silent, his arms around her waist. Finally after looking into her eyes for a minute, he shook his head. “No, I won’t.”

  “Yes, you will.” She laid her head on his chest. “You’re still scared Kristin and I will be abducted again. The only way you can prevent another episode is to execute him.”

  The truth hurts sometimes. It was a first time for Kruger, his voice caught as he spoke. “I’d never…”

  “Never what, Sean?”

  He turned his head and stared at nothing. “When I received the call about you and Kristin being abducted, I faced a real possibility I’d never see either of you again.” He returned his gaze to her face. “I went into automatic mode, relying on my training and years of experience on how to be prepared for all contingencies. I knew what needed to be done, so I called JR. Without him, I wouldn’t have found you. It was when I realized you and Kristin might be gone forever, that I understood no one has ever been as important to me as you. No one. Trust me when I say, I will not do anything to prevent our growing old together. That includes executing Bishop.”

  She smiled and placed her forehead on his chest. He felt her nod.

  Chapter 34

  Columbia, MO

  “Allen, I need a couple of favors.”

  Major Allen Boone with the Missouri State Highway Patrol chuckled. Kruger was talking to Boone through the Mustang’s hands-free SYNC cell phone system. He and JR were cruising northeast on I-44 toward Lebanon, Missouri, at ninety-five miles an hour, the Mustang’s custom installed police emergency lights flashing. Sandy Knoll was several car lengths behind.

  “Name it, Sean.”

  “Remember Randolph Bishop?”

  “Hard to forget. Why?”

  “We think we’ve located him north of Columbia. I’m heading there now. The first favor I need is for you to alert your patrol units I’m running with lights only in a two-vehicle caravan. I’d like an escort once I’m heading north on 5 out of Lebanon.”

  “When do you think you’ll be there?”

  Kruger glanced at the dash clock. “Twenty-five minutes.”

  “Done. What’s the second favor?”

  “We’ve got three men on scene watching his suspected location. We know his vehicle. I would like some help isolating the area.”

  “Where is it?”

  “Hallsville.”

  Boone was silent for a few moments. “I’ll have a Rapid Response Team join your caravan as you pass through Jeff City. Plus, I’ll dispatch several patrol cars toward Hallsville now.”

  “Thanks, Allen. One more thing.” He took a breath. “I don’t want to step on any toes with this operation. We have three men on scene with our task force, ex-Special Forces. Their team leader, retired Major Benedict Knoll, will be directing the scene once we arrive.”

  Boone was silent again. “Under what jurisdiction are you operating? We can’t be a part of an illegal military operation inside the United States, Sean. You know that.”

  “It’s not military. We’re part of an FBI task force. If you need confirmation, call Deputy Director Alan Seltzer. He’ll take your call and confirm it.”

  “Good, I’ll make the call to cover both our asses.”

  “Thanks, Allen.”

  ***

  Rosie Singleton’s house was as anonymous as the rest of the homes in her quiet neighborhood of Hallsville. Built in the late sixties, a faux brick facade and new vinyl siding gave it a pleasant appearance on the outside. Its mature landscaping included two massive oak trees, numerous smaller decorative trees, and an abundance of bushes and flowers.

  Missouri Highway Patrol cars cruised the entrances to the subdivision, maintaining as low a profile as possible. Parked on the street in front of the house was a white Chevrolet Equinox, stationary since Sandy Knoll’s team of three ex-special forces operatives set up surveillance five hours earlier. Rosie’s house appeared empty.

  With the help of the Missouri Highway Patrol Rapid Response Team asking permission from current owners, the team set up two observation posts in the house across the street and the house directly behind Rosie’s home. Two members of the RRT and one of Sandy’s team occupied both locations. Sandy was in the house behind Rosie’s home using a state-of-the-art thermal imaging camera. Kruger and JR were with him.

  “I’ve got one heat source in the house, besides the furnace. Lights show up as heat sources and I’m not seeing any.” Sandy returned his attention to the east side of the house. “It’s horizontal, about three feet off the floor.”

  “JR found the architect for the subdivision. It’s a back bedroom. Can you tell the size of the image?”

  “It’s too small for a male. It’s either a large dog, or…” He removed his eyes from the camera and turned to look at Kruger. “A female. She’s still alive, Sean.”

  “No other heat signatures?”

  Knoll shook his head. “She’s alone in the house.”

  “She could be asleep.” JR looked up from his laptop.

  Kruger shook his head. “We’re going in. I don’t care if it’s a mistake and she’s taking a nap. I’ll apologize later. If she’s alive, let’s keep her that way.”

  Sandy nodded and handed the camera to his teammate. “Keep an eye on the heat signature. If you notice anything at all change, call me.”

  The man nodded.

  ***

  Sandy Knoll, Jimmy Gibbs and Kruger comprised the main entry team, while RRT members stood as back-up. Black jeans, black Kevlar vests over black long sleeve t-shirts, black watch caps and black steel-toed combat boots were the wardrobe. It was approaching 10 p.m. and the neighborhood was quiet. Knoll slipped night vision googles over his eyes and nodded at Gibbs. “I’m first in, you and Kruger breach the door. From what we can see on the thermal, it will be dark inside.”

  Kruger and Gibbs slipped their night vision googles down and stood ready.

  Knoll held up three fingers. “On three, one, two, three…”

  A loud crack was heard as the two-man breaching tool slammed into the back door jamb. Splintered wood flew as the door crashed against a wall. Knoll was in the room before the door hit the wall, moving fast through the laundry room into the kitchen. Gibbs and Kruger were close behind sweeping with their outstretched Glocks, making sure rooms were empty. Each man said, “Clear,” as they moved through the house, not seeing any obstructions or opponents.

  Knoll was first into the bedroom and rushed to the bed. “Female, shallow breathing, heart rate erratic.” He turned toward Gibbs. “Call 911 and get your kit.”

  Kruger found the light switch and called, “Lights.” All three men stripped off their night googles. Gibbs was on his cell phone directing an ambulance as Kruger moved back to the woman.

  She was naked, curled into a fetal position, with one leg handcuffed to a bed post. He found a blanket at the foot of the bed and quickly covered her. Once she was secured, he walked out of the room to check the other bedrooms they cleared before entering the back room.

  He turned a light switch on and stared at the contents. Knoll walked up behind him. “Looks like he’s planning to return.”

  Kruger nodded, but said nothing. He moved to the center of the room, and using his Glock,
moved one of the flaps of a duffel bag.

  “I’ve got cash here. Lots of cash. He definitely was planning on returning. I’ll tell Boone he’s still in the area.”

  ***

  Flashing emergency light bars of four Highway Patrol and two county sheriff’s cars reflected off the front bedroom walls. The sound of a medivac helicopter, with Rosie Singleton inside, could be heard receding into the night. Allen Boone stood in the doorway and leaned against the door frame.

  “How’d you know?” He stared at Kruger, who at the moment, was searching files in a cardboard box from the closet.

  Where Kruger was tall, slender and athletic, Boone showed the signs of a decade behind a desk. A year younger than his friend, Boone’s hair was mostly gray and thinning, the last remaining strands of black surrendering to the onslaught of middle age. He was dressed in jeans and a Highway Patrol windbreaker. His slightly round face tilted to the side.

  “Didn’t. But I couldn’t take the chance.” Kruger looked up. “Too many people have fallen prey to Bishop. It stops here.”

  “The EMT told me she was suffering from dehydration, hypothermia and trauma. She was just hours from death, Sean. ”

  “Will she be okay?” Kruger’s voice was steady, despite his building anger.

  Boone nodded, “They started fluids before taking off. The EMT I spoke to was optimistic, she seemed to think Rosie would recover physically. She was concerned about her emotional state. There was evidence of a beating and violent, repeated rape.”

  Kruger looked up, his eyes staring at nothing. “I was afraid of that.”

  He hesitated for a moment before returning his attention to the file box. “Garage is empty.” He held up several sheets of paper. “Insurance papers indicate she owns a 2011 Honda Civic. My bet is Bishop is using it to watch my son’s apartment.”

  Boone stood up from leaning on the frame, his eyes wide.

  Kruger smiled grimly. “There are three, very competent gentlemen, watching over Brian and Michelle. I’m not worried. Yet.”

  “I’ll dispatch some of these officers to start looking for the Honda?”

  Kruger nodded and handed Boone a sheet of paper. “Here’s her Department Of Revenue car registration.” He pointed to a spot on the paper. “There’s her license plate number.”

  Boone took the paper and left the room.

  Knoll walked in. “I’m sending my guys back to Brian’s house. I can go or stay, your decision.”

  “Go, Boone’s men have this covered. JR and I will join you after we secure the house.”

  After Knoll left the room, Kruger stopped searching the file box and turned to JR. The computer genius was typing on the keyboard of a desktop computer. The old style bulky tube monitor sat on a small desk in the corner of the spare bedroom. Cables draping over the edge were attached to the computer box sitting on the floor. Kruger could tell he was focused and asked, “Find anything?”

  Having known JR for several years, the lack of an immediate response was not unusual. Kruger waited. After several minutes, JR looked at him. “Maybe.”

  Kruger remained quiet.

  “I believe I found the crossing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve been curious about how Bishop crossed paths with someone like Rosie Singleton. She lives alone in an isolated community and was planning on being gone for several weeks. No one would miss her at work because she would be on a cruise. Her tickets and packed bag are still in the living room. A plane ticket showed she was to fly out of St. Louis yesterday. How did Bishop know?”

  “I’ve wondered the same thing.”

  “I found a debit in her bank account to a restaurant Thursday night.”

  Kruger looked at JR and waited. This was a typical dramatic pause from his friend when explaining a finding. “Go on.”

  “The restaurant was next to the hotel Bishop was staying in.”

  Kruger stood. “Damn, he overheard her talking.”

  “That would be my assumption as well.”

  Frowning, Kruger paced in the confided space of the bedroom. “Any way to find the Civic like you did the Equinox?”

  JR shook his head. “Bluetooth and Navigation were options on Hondas that year, but her car didn’t have it.”

  “Unfortunate.”

  “So, how are you going to find him?”

  “Well, looks like we’re going to have to do it the old fashioned way.” Kruger stopped pacing. “Put a BOLO out on the Civic.”

  Chapter 35

  Columbia, MO

  The shift change at Brian Kruger’s apartment failed to occur at the normal time. Holding binoculars against his eyes, Randolph Bishop watched the two men as they maintained their vigilance outside of Brain’s residence. The pattern had been two outside, one inside, rotating positions every thirty minutes. There were two teams of three, each spent twelve hours on, twelve hours off. Tonight, something was wrong. Since the missed shift change three hours ago, the two men outside were on their cell phones constantly.

  Bishop watched from a wooded area east of the apartment. Surrounded by bushes and trees, he stood just behind a large scrub oak. Where he stood was dark, the lights of the apartment complex failing to illuminate him due to the thick foliage. Rosie Singleton’s Honda sat in a Walmart parking lot several blocks to the south.

  How to get to Brian Kruger continued to elude him. He had been watching off and on for several days. Now, after three hours of watching this disruption in the security routine, he felt any chance of getting to the son was gone. Even as he watched, four police vehicles, their sirens screaming and lights flashing, could be seen heading toward the apartment complex on Providence Road. Bishop lowered his binoculars and observed the cars turning onto Green Meadows Road as they proceeded east, skidding to a noisy stop in the parking lot of Brian’s building. He raised the binoculars again and watched as Highway Patrol officers stepped out of the cars, their emergency lights still rotating, and conferred with the two men guarding the building.

  Bishop’s breathing rate increased, and he felt a chill crawl up his spine. He moved further back into the bushes. After several minutes of indecision, he started making his way back to the Honda. As he got within sight of the car, he noticed a Boone County Sheriff car parked behind the Civic. A sheriff’s deputy stood next to the open driver’s door speaking into a microphone from the car’s radio and staring at the back of the car.

  “Dammit.” The word slipped from his mouth without thinking. He stood still as he watched the deputy return the microphone to the car’s interior and place his right hand on his weapon. After several seconds, he withdrew it from his holster and stepped carefully around the hood of the patrol car. Gripping the gun in both hands, he approached the Honda’s driver’s side door. Once he confirmed the car was unoccupied, he returned the weapon to its holster and pulled a flashlight out of his belt.

  Bishop retreated from the Walmart parking lot into the darkness of the night. He rushed across Green Meadow Road into a Kohl’s department store parking lot. Checking his cell phone, he noted the time was approaching 11 p.m. The store closed at 9, but a few cars were still scattered haphazardly around the area. He checked several and found a twenty-year-old Mustang with the driver door unlocked. He climbed into the back seat and waited.

  Fifteen minutes later, he heard voices, both female. He lowered himself into the back floor of the car and held his CZ P-07 9mm pistol in his right hand. One of the voices said, “G’night, Sally, I’m off tomorrow. What about you?”

  “Have to be here at 4 in the afternoon,” Sally answered. “Gotta close tomorrow night and do the folding thing like we did tonight. Got any plans for your day off?”

  “Sleeping late. Have to be here early the next day.”

  Bishop felt the driver door open and the car dip as the owner sat behind the steering wheel. He waited as she started the car and drove out of the parking lot. The ride lasted fifteen minutes, with Bishop having no idea where they were. As the ca
r stopped and she placed the automatic transmission in park, Bishop rose, reached around the driver seat and placed his hand over the woman’s mouth as he simultaneously placed the pistol against her right temple and growled, “Don’t make a sound and I won’t kill you.”

  There was a gasp from the woman, but she nodded. He couldn’t make out too much detail about her appearance, but he felt sweat form on her upper lip. In the rearview mirror, he only saw a round face, his hand over her mouth. The eyes were wide and her hair dark. He asked, “Do you live alone?”

  She shook her head.

  Without hesitation, he removed his hand from her mouth and pulled the trigger.

  Bishop climbed out of the passenger door, looked around, saw no one, and started running.

  ***

  His arms crossed, Kruger stood behind Rosie Singleton’s Honda Civic as the Highway Patrol Rapid Response Team processed it for fingerprints and DNA. Sandy Knoll walked up beside him. “We’re transferring Brian and Michelle to a safe house Joseph owns in Christian County. They left ten minutes ago.”

  Nodding, Kruger looked at the taller man. “Thanks, Sandy.” He turned his attention west of the Walmart parking lot. “Allen’s spoken to the Governor. The Highway Patrol is issuing a statewide BOLO for Bishop. If he follows past behavior, he’ll find someplace to hold up for a while and let everything calm down.”

  As he finished the sentence, a Highway Patrol car skidded to a halt just behind where the two men stood. A man with sergeant’s stripes on his sleeve was behind the wheel. “You Kruger and Knoll?”

  Both men turned and nodded. With a neutral expression, the patrolman spoke, “A woman who works at the Kohl’s next door was shot inside her car. Her roommate heard a loud pop, looked out the window, and saw someone running from her roommate’s car. She called 911. First responders tell me it’s bad.”

  Kruger shut his eyes and brought his hand up to cover them. “Ah, geez.” He shook his head and then turned his attention to Knoll. “I’ll head over there, you get with Boone and shut this town down.”