Authors: Allison Brennan
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #General, #Suspense, #Thrillers
This was the break they needed. Megan was relieved that Karin wasn’t privy to her investigation. She had been feeling guilty about it as it was, but knew she couldn’t go to her boss about Karin without something solid. Something more than her gut. Karin had been preoccupied for weeks; maybe that was her way of handling the trauma of killing a suspect, Megan didn’t know. Maybe all this would come to nothing, and Megan could forget she thought Karin was trigger-happy.
The first inkling that something was wrong was when Megan didn’t see Marty and Ted anywhere at Metro Center. They’d worked with the two agents multiple times when apprehending a fugitive, both as the primary team and as backup. Even though the men were undercover and the station was crowded, Megan should have been able to pick them out.
“Where are they?” Megan had asked Karin.
Without answering the question, Karin pointed out Rentz’s mother to Megan. The fifty-year-old accomplice was carrying her briefcase, her purse strapped over her shoulder, and a small black backpack. She glanced over her shoulder several times as she looked down the tunnel, nervously waiting for the approaching train.
“I told them to get on at the stop before this one,” Karin said absently as the train pulled up.
That made sense, Megan thought as she followed Karin onto the train.
They split up—Megan in the front, Karin in the back—inside the car as Rentz’s mother entered. She got off at Stadium-Armory, a transfer station. She didn’t cross over to another line, but took the escalator up to the street level.
They followed. Though it was dusk, the gray drizzle that had dampened the streets all day had turned into a steady, cold November rain, making visibility poor.
Rentz’s mother approached a small, driverless car parked illegally across the street, near the corner of C and Burke Streets. She opened the passenger door and dropped the backpack inside, then turned around and walked back toward the Metro.
Karin spoke into her walkie-talkie, “Follow the mother.”
Megan turned to her. “What? Rentz is going to be here. We need them here.”
“You’re a wimp, Megan. I always suspected it, but now I know that you can’t do this job. You follow her, I’ll take Rentz down myself.”
“No,” Megan said. “He’s desperate, and desperate criminals do stupid things.” She didn’t want Karin to get hurt. The irony of this thought at that moment stayed with Megan the rest of her life.
“There he is,” Karin said three minutes later. Megan saw a figure that could have been Rentz walking with his head down toward the target vehicle. “We need to get him before he gets to the car.”
“Let him get closer,” Megan said. “He’s too far—”
But Karin jumped. “Rentz! FBI! Stay right there. You’re—”
Rentz ran. Of course he did, he was more than fifty feet from them. Easy to get away. He dodged traffic and ran through the grounds of D.C. General Hospital.
Karin went after him. Megan followed. Karin motioned for her to circle around. Megan saw the plan and agreed—if she could get to Rentz before Karin, she could talk him into surrendering. She was good at it, had gone through extensive training in hostage negotiations, which helped with talking to fugitives as well.
But the alleyway was dark, and although initially it had been a good idea, Megan realized that they were in a vulnerable situation. On this side of the hospital, lighting was poor, there were no public entrances, and Megan couldn’t see or hear Karin or Rentz. Worse, Marty and Ted had no idea where to meet up with them. Megan radioed her location over the open channel, but all she got was static. What was wrong with her earpiece?
The pop of a gun was far closer than Megan thought. Cautiously, gun drawn, she rounded the corner and nearly tripped over a body.
Karin?
She bent down, and realized immediately it wasn’t Karin but Rentz. He’d been shot in the stomach, blood poured from his mouth. “I-I-I didn’t see. She-she shot me.” He was shaking and Megan knew he was dying.
“Call an ambulance!” Megan screamed. She searched for a weapon and found none.
“Watch out!”
It was Karin’s voice behind her. She started to turn, then heard the loud pop of a gun followed immediately by an intense pain in her lower back and the smell of gunpowder. She fell to her knees.
Karin stood over her. There were shouts and voices Megan didn’t recognize. She vaguely remembered as she lost consciousness that she was in the loading dock for a hospital.
She thought she heard someone say, “Traitor.”
But maybe it had only been in her mind.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-ONE
When Karin Standler had met Ethan two years ago, he was barely surviving—a government-sanctioned drug addict. His shrinks had him on so many meds it was a wonder he could communicate.
Karin had been working at a gym that had special services and equipment for the disabled. She hated her job, but there were perks. She could work out whenever she wanted for free. So she maintained her body to perfection, stronger than she’d ever been in the FBI. The pay was decent, and she took private jobs when she could.
But she missed the badge, the power, the authority that went with being a cop. All because of Megan Elliott.
Twice after Megan’s shooting incident, Karin had prepared to finish the job and kill her traitorous partner. The first time had been a week after the Office of Professional Responsibility forced her to resign. Karin had sat outside Megan’s D.C. apartment, gun in hand, waiting.
Reason prevailed. If Karin shot the bitch in the back of the head, they’d look to her. Prison was not an option—Karin would rather be dead.
So she took a page from her mother’s handbook.
“Be patient and plan ahead,” Crystal Standler had sagely advised. “The cliché ‘Revenge is a dish best served cold’ means if you wait long enough, you can kill your enemies and no one will look at you.”
Crystal Standler had known exactly what she was doing. She’d killed four men that Karin knew about, including two husbands, and no one had ever suspected the dainty Southern lady of anything illegal.
So Karin kept tabs on Megan. Nothing overt. After her termination, she still had friends in the Bureau, guys she could have drinks and sex with and they’d talk about the job. She tried to pick men who were disgruntled because they were most likely
not
friendly with Megan, the FBI’s very own Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm.
Five years ago, Karin learned from her on-again, off-again boyfriend that Megan was being promoted to supervisory special agent and relocating to Sacramento. It was the sign she’d been waiting for. Time to act. Megan would be three thousand miles away, and Karin could kill her while plausibly being on the East Coast. All it took was planning.
Karin took her vacation in Los Angeles that year. From L.A., she rented a car and drove to Sacramento. She had an unregistered gun, an alibi just in case, and the cold rage necessary to put a bullet or six in Megan’s body.
She followed Megan home from FBI headquarters that day, planning on walking straight up to her, making sure Megan knew exactly why she had to die, and then Karin would put a bullet in Agent Megan Elliot’s head. In her mind, Karin watched Megan’s blood and brains hit the wall. The shock on her face, the panic, the fear. The end.
Karin had been so close to pulling the trigger.
But she wanted Megan to suffer. To pay for her treachery and deceit. At one point, they were supposed to have been practically sisters! Karin had shared everything—nearly everything—with Megan. Karin liked having a trainee who listened to her with rapt attention. Karin had wanted to train Megan the right way, and after, Megan would be to Karin what Karin was to her mother—her protégée, her pawn. Karin would train Megan to kill.
But because of Megan, Karin had been forced to kill her own mother. Because of Megan, Karin had been forced to resign from the FBI. Because of that fucking
bitch,
Karin was now a nobody.
Killing Megan wouldn’t be entirely satisfying. Making her suffer, on the other hand, would nearly make up for everything Karin had lost.
So in the end, Karin left Sacramento without pulling the trigger. She drove back to Los Angeles, then flew back to Washington, D.C., quit her job, and found a similar position in New York City. She learned everything she could about Megan Elliott—all about her brother, Matt, and her half-sister, Margo. About her ex-husband, Mitch, and her friends and neighbors. She had a whole scrapbook on Megan, and she made plans. Karin considered killing everyone Megan cared about, one by one. Her ex-husband—word was that they were still friends. Then Dr. Hans Vigo, who had been their boss in the D.C. office. He had moved over to Quantico, but Karin could get to him. She could get to anyone.
After Hans, she’d move to her neighbor. Then a colleague. Her best friend from college, who Karin had met years ago. Then her half-sister. And then her brother.
Karin loved the research and the planning and she had been about to put her revenge plot in motion when fate intervened, introducing her to Barry Ethan Rosemont.
When she learned that he’d been tortured by acupuncture, Karin knew right then that she had to learn everything about torture. Because while killing Megan’s friends and family would be satisfying, that would only hurt Megan temporarily. Maybe ruin her life. But physical pain and suffering? Where Karin could watch Megan’s body fight uselessly? Where Karin could listen to her beg for mercy? Where Karin could hear Megan scream? Much more satisfying.
She would slowly, over days, maybe weeks, torture the life out of Megan. Her ex-partner would die slowly and in excruciating pain. Karin even considered kidnapping Megan’s brother, now a high-and-mighty D.A., who Megan had always worshipped. How would Megan react to watching her brother being tortured to death?
But Karin wasn’t a monster. She killed only those who deserved it. That was her pact with herself. It was the way she could justify that her actions were righteous.
She’d saved Ethan’s pathetic ass time and time again. All she wanted in return was knowledge. She wanted to learn how to use those needles as effectively as Ethan. Unfortunately, pulling the information from Ethan’s diseased brain had been harder than expected. Karin had to convince him that the only way he would ever be cured, the only way the nightmares would stop, would be to seek revenge on those who turned him over to the Taliban. It took time. Nearly two years.
But it was worth it.
The needles gave Karin power. She would keep Megan in a constant state of pain. Make her beg to die. Just like Ethan had when he was held captive.
Karin wanted to see that bitch on her knees begging for mercy, begging Karin to shoot her in the head and put an end to the pain. She wanted Megan to see that Karin’s way was the right way and that Megan had ruined everything.
I was given the knowledge of good and evil and I was punishing the wicked for the sake of the innocent. All those who got away. All those who would get away.
For the innocent. For the meek. For those who wouldn’t or couldn’t defend themselves, Karin was their savior, their avenger.
She’d fought and saved herself, hadn’t she?
Because she couldn’t save everyone. She hadn’t been able to save her father from himself. If he hadn’t made her mother angry, if he hadn’t seen things he shouldn’t have seen, Karin wouldn’t have been forced to act. She’d thought Daddy was strong and loved her, but he was weak and pathetic. So ultimately, Judge Standler’s death had been his own damn fault.
“Karin, you have to stop.”
She looked at her daddy and frowned. He was very white and his hands were shaking as he drove the car through heavy traffic in the rain.
“Stop what, Daddy?”
“I know you killed Grandma’s poodle.”
“Why would you say that to me, Daddy?” Tears poured out of her eyes. How had he found out? She’d been so careful. She was always careful.
“Grandma doesn’t know, but I found Daisy’s collar in your desk drawer. Along with your diary.”
“You read my diary?” The tears stopped flowing and anger took their place. So much anger she had no outlet, no way to stop it, molten lava coming up the center of a mountain. The top was going to blow . . .
“Not just Daisy, but those other pets. You can’t do that, Karin. I-I love you, but I’m scared for you. I want you to see someone.”
He’d read her diary. She’d written everything in her life in that book. About how Margaret Fletcher flirted with Tommy Dressler when Margaret
knew
that Karin liked Tommy. Margaret kissed Tommy after the softball game when Karin had pitched a no-hitter.
Karin had gone to school with Margaret since kindergarten. So she knew that Margaret had allergies. Lots of them. Like peanuts. She’d seen Margaret go into anaphylactic shock in the second grade when she accidentally took a bite of Dina Huntsberger’s chunky peanut butter and banana sandwich. She didn’t even swallow, but her face turned red and her neck swelled up and Mrs. Burgess had to stick her with a needle to get her to start breathing right.
Tommy wouldn’t like Margaret if he saw her swell up like a balloon and pee on herself.
Karin ground a handful of peanuts into a powder so fine it looked like beige baby powder. The next day at school she walked by Margaret and sneezed in her face, blowing the fine dust of peanuts into the air. Margaret yelled at her, called her a bitch.
You didn’t use those words in Catholic school. Especially not when Sister Pauline was walking by.
But before Sister Pauline could take her to the office, Margaret started choking. Her face turned red and her eyes rolled to the back of her head. Sister Pauline acted fast, pulled an epinephrine kit from Margaret’s backpack, and stuck her with a needle.
Karin watched in amazement as Margaret thrashed on the floor of the hall, wheezing. Sister Pauline told her to get the nurse and another epinephrine kit. Karin did, running as fast as she could. She didn’t want anyone to blame
her.
And it gave her time to wash her hands, after getting the nurse.
Karin didn’t know then that sometimes people went into comas because of peanut allergies. But that’s what happened to Margaret. She was in a coma for three days and when she woke up she couldn’t talk right. Sister Pauline explained that her brain had been without oxygen for too long and got damaged.
No, Daddy couldn’t have read about Margaret and the peanuts, that was last year, in fifth grade. Karin had already hidden that diary.
“Are you listening to me, Karin?”
“I can’t believe you read my diary.”
“Karin, this is important! I love you, but I can’t let you hurt animals. You have a lot of rage inside. You need to talk to someone who can help you find a healthy outlet for your anger.”
But she hadn’t been angry when she’d drowned Daisy in the pool. She’d just wanted to see what would happen. And the damn dog always barked at her. Her mother hated the noise. Her mother told her to take care of Daisy. “You know what to do, Karin,” Crystal had said. And she had even watched when Karin did it. “What did you feel when you drowned that poor helpless animal?” Mom asked, as if mocking all those shrinks and busybodies out there.
Karin shrugged. “Not much.”
The lava of anger inside her continued to rise as she realized that her father could get her into big trouble. Her mother had told her someday he would have to die. Karin didn’t want to do it. She had loved her father. He bought her beautiful clothes and presents and took her to museums and wonderful places all over the world. Her mother didn’t like to do anything fun.
“You hurt people!” Karin told her father.
“I’ve never hurt anyone.”
“Yes you do. You judge them and send them to the electric chair.
Zap!”
Her father shook his head, hands tight on the steering wheel. “They were very bad people. They killed innocent people, Karin. They were guilty of awful crimes.”
“So it’s okay to kill someone if they’re really, really bad?”
“That’s why we have a criminal justice system.”
“Daisy was really, really bad. She bit me.” It was a lie, but it made Karin feel better to say it.
“I’m so sorry, honey, but dropping Daisy in the pool was wrong. She’s just a dog. She didn’t know any better.”
“I thought she could swim back. I didn’t know she would die. I made up that stuff I wrote in my diary.” She burst into tears. She did know Daisy Dog would die. She had made sure of it. She had held Daisy under water when the dog paddled close to the edge. When she had looked at her mother, her mother had smiled.
But Karin hadn’t written that part down in her diary. She’d been learning, taking lessons from the master herself.
“It’s okay, Karin. It’s going to be okay. I’ll make sure you’re okay.”
Daddy was acting strange. “I don’t have to talk to any stupid doctor, do I?”
“It’s for the best. I love you, I know what’s best.”
“Mommy knew.”
“What did your mother know?”
“That I killed Daisy.”
Her father jerked his head toward her, shock on his face. “Why would you say such a thing, Karin? Your mother would be heartbroken—”
She took that moment to scream at the top of her lungs. “DADDY! LOOK OUT!”
He startled, jerked the wheel, even though there was no obstacle in front of their car. She pretended his swerve shoved her across the seat, and she banged against the steering wheel. She didn’t know if he saw her grab the wheel or not, she liked to think he did, and then, when it was too late, she realized that maybe turning the car into oncoming traffic wasn’t the smartest idea she’d ever had . . .
She woke up the next day and her mother was at her bedside. Karin had a broken arm and a bandage around her head. She hurt all over and felt small bandages on her face and legs.
“Daddy!”
There was a policeman in the room as well.
Karin wondered if she was going to jail.
She began to cry. “Mommy? Mommy? What happened?”
“There was an accident, sweetheart.” Her mother took her unbroken hand and said, “You’re going to be okay. Thank God, you’re going to be okay.”
“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—”