Authors: Allison Brennan
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #General, #Suspense, #Thrillers
Megan’s entire body was violently shaking and he immediately thought she was going into shock. She was practically naked, her skin ice cold to the touch and soaking wet. The floor was slick with water as well. Several thin needles protruded from her bruised and bloody body. Jack had to force overwhelming emotions of rage and fear down deep; reacting would put Megan’s life at greater risk. He silently motioned to J.T., who nodded his acknowledgment. While Jack cut off the wrist and ankle restraints, J.T. carefully removed the needles. They couldn’t extract her until he was done, but they didn’t want to risk permanent damage, or death.
Jack whispered in Megan’s ear, “It’s okay. It’s Jack.” He didn’t think she heard him; she didn’t seem to be aware of anything happening around her.
Matt Elliott was moving around the interior perimeter to get into position to take Karin down.
Ten seconds had passed since the lights went out.
Movement from Karin’s side of the room accompanied the loud
slam
of the front door shutting. Jack stepped in front of Megan and pulled his weapon while J.T. finished removing the needles.
Karin stepped into the main room. She looked stunned, blinded by the dark. A .357 revolver was in her hand, the muzzle still facing out. Jack had a clear shot.
Megan cried out, then bit it back on a sob.
Jack saw the moment when Karin’s night vision cleared. She saw their silhouettes and movement.
“She’s mine!” Karin said and pressed the trigger.
Jack fired simultaneously, and heard the report of a rifle from his left—Elliott—and from above—the sniper—competing with his own rounds. His breath was knocked out of him as Karin’s bullet hit him dead center in the middle of his chest, stopped by the Kevlar vest he wore. He stumbled back, shook it off, watched Karin’s body jerk as each bullet fired hit her. The sniper’s round took off half her head, her brains hitting the wall behind her. She crumbled to the floor.
J.T. shouted at Jack, “Are you hit?”
“I’m okay.”
Jack turned back to Megan while Matt inspected Karin’s body and kicked her gun away, then reported through the radio.
“Target dead. All clear.”
A shout from the back of “Lights!” had the three soldiers removing their night vision eyes.
Megan’s injuries looked far worse in normal light. She was dangerously cold, her lips blue, and her skin so pale she looked translucent. Smears of blood covered her body. Jack and J.T. inspected her for any serious external wounds. None of the cuts were still bleeding and they all appeared superficial. But there was nothing superficial about the pain Megan had suffered.
Jack pulled a thermal blanket from his pack and wrapped her in it, then picked her up and held her. “It’s me, Megan. I’m right here. You’re safe.”
Matt approached, his face tight and grim. “How is she?”
“Alive.”
That was all that mattered. They would overcome what happened tonight because Megan was alive, and they were together. He wasn’t letting her go.
“The medics will be here in two minutes,” Matt said. They’d been waiting a half-mile down the road.
Matt touched Megan’s wet hair and cold skin. “What did Standler do to her?” he asked, his voice hard.
J.T. said, “Ice water. Needles. We need more blankets.”
Both J.T. and Matt removed their thermal blankets and Jack wrapped those around Megan as well. “Come on, Blondie, talk to me.”
She didn’t open her eyes. Her body was still shaking uncontrollably.
“She doesn’t know we’re here,” J.T. said, his tone clipped with restrained worry. He glanced at Matt with concern.
“Jack.” Megan’s voice came out a faint, hoarse rasp.
“I got you.” He held her tight against his chest.
She didn’t say anything else, and Jack felt her entire body relax against him and grow heavy. She’d passed out again. He had to get her to a hospital. He didn’t know what else Standler had done to her . . .
Padre.
Jack carried Megan out of the cabin, side-stepping Karin Standler’s bloody body without a glance. The ambulance approached, the red twirling beams casting odd swaths of light against the breaking dawn. A generator roared to life and lights came on around the periphery.
Padre lay in the dirt fifteen yards from the front door. Dillon was there working on him. Jack ran over and squatted, still holding Megan tight against his chest.
“Dammit, Frank! You promised you wouldn’t get shot.”
“I’m okay.”
“She missed the damn vest,” Jack said.
Dillon was holding a field dressing hard against Padre’s left upper arm, where the shoulder met the bicep. The dressing was already soaked red. Blood had spread under him, soaking into the earth. “He’s lost a lot of blood,” Dillon said.
“We have the same blood type. I’ll give in the ambulance.”
“He’ll need it.”
“I’m okay,” Padre said again. “Megan?”
“Alive.”
“Is she okay?” His voice was weak, his breathing labored. J.T. strode over to the medics to push them to move faster than they already were.
“She will be.” Jack had to believe it, even as she lay unconscious in his arms.
“And Karin Standler?”
“Dead.”
“The plan worked,” Padre said, closing his eyes.
“Not well enough. Don’t you dare die on me, Frank.”
A half-smile crossed Padre’s lips, but he didn’t say anything. When the medics rushed up to them, he was unconscious, too.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-FIVE
Megan sat in the hospital room feeling like an old woman. Sore and so bruised she could hardly move, she was finally being released. Six days was five days too long to stay in a hospital.
The door opened and she thought it was Jack; instead, it was Hans.
She hadn’t seen him since her first night in the hospital. Jack told her he’d flown back to Quantico the next morning. She’d been pretty much out of it.
“Megan.”
“Hi.”
“I heard you’re being released.”
“Finally.” She tried smiling, but faltered. Hans wasn’t the same man she’d begun this investigation with.
“You’re looking better.”
“Better is kind of relative.” She’d lost too much weight, had had borderline hypothermia, and then a severe fever from infection. She didn’t feel like her old self, but she had turned the corner. She was going home. Jack was flying her back to Sacramento today. He hadn’t left her room except to check on Padre.
Hans sat next to her on the bed.
Several minutes passed before Hans said, “I owe you an apology.”
“You don’t. Hans, whatever it is . . . we’re friends, right?”
He took her hand. “Always.” He paused. “I used to be married.”
Megan was surprised. She certainly hadn’t known that, or even suspected it. “Why did you keep it a secret?”
Hans stared ahead at the white wall of her room. He didn’t answer her question directly, but said, “Her name was Miriam. She was eight months pregnant with our daughter when she was killed in a robbery.” His words were choked. On a sob he said, “Because I didn’t . . . I didn’t get her ice cream.”
Everything came clear. Hans’s reaction and preoccupation after learning about the pregnant Loretta Hoffman being gunned down. Seeing her body, remembering his wife.
Megan wrapped her arms around Hans. She murmured sounds, not words, in his ear, to soothe him, and her. She’d never known he’d suffered such a violent tragedy. But he still should have trusted her with the truth.
“You could have told me.”
“I should have told you. I was having a hard time and I didn’t realize it. I didn’t see it right away.”
“Why did you go to the morgue to see Loretta Hoffman? You didn’t need to do that.”
He took a deep breath and pulled away. His voice caught. “I had to. Miriam . . . she was alive for a few hours after the shooting. I told her the baby was okay. I named her Jennifer, just like Mimi wanted to. But the baby didn’t live, never even took a breath, and neither did Mimi. She died there, after telling me to take care of our baby girl. I couldn’t stay—I didn’t want to see her dead. I didn’t want her to be dead! We were only twenty-one. We had our whole lives ahead of us. After she died, I couldn’t look at her, I couldn’t say good-bye. Now . . . I wish I had. I wish I had seen her one last time.”
Megan took his hand. “Maybe she wouldn’t have wanted you to see her like that. Isn’t it better to remember her as she was when she was alive?”
“Maybe you’re right. But . . .” He kissed her hand, tears in his eyes. “I’m here for two days to work with Detective Holden to finish the reports.”
“You can call me. I want to help.”
“I probably will.”
Jack stood in the doorway. “You’re not supposed to go back to work for another week.”
“I won’t. Just a phone call or two.”
“I’ll be watching you, you know that.”
She smiled. “I know that.”
Hans shook Jack’s hand. “Jack, take care.”
“You too.”
Hans left and Jack sat down. He gently pulled Megan into his lap and kissed her. “How are you?”
“Ready to get out of here.”
He held her close to him. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry I couldn’t stop her from hurting you.”
The pain in his voice made Megan’s heart twist. “It’s over. It’s been over.”
“Are you okay? Really?”
“I’m sore. I’m tired. I’m not going to forget, but I’m going to be okay. I have you.”
He rubbed her back and whispered in her ear, “I love you, Megan.”
She drew in her next breath sharply. She hadn’t expected that sort of confession from Jack. She knew he loved her through his actions, but hearing it meant the world to her.
His hands held her face. “I know what I want. I don’t play games. When you walked into my life nine days ago, I never wanted you to walk out. Now I’m not going to let you.”
“I—”
“You love me, too, Megan. Say it.”
She couldn’t help but smile and shake her head. “You’re sure of yourself, aren’t you?”
He kissed her lightly, then harder, then his hands were in her hair and her body was flat against his.
She broke the kiss only to say, “Yeah, I love you, Jack. I don’t know how it happened, but I love you.”
“Good. Then we’re getting married.”
“I—Jack. We don’t, I don’t, we should—”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you speechless.”
“Maybe we should get to know each other better.”
“Life’s too short. And I know what’s important.” He stared at her, held her chin in his palm. “Life is important. Family is important.
You
are important to me.
You
are my family. I know what’s in your heart, Megan. I know what’s in your soul. All the other stuff—whether you leave the cap off the toothpaste or gargle in the middle of the night or sing opera on the weekends—it doesn’t matter. What matters is who you are, and that I know. You’re mine, I’m yours, and nothing is going to change that.”
“I have a cat.”
“You think a furry feline is going to scare me off?” He kissed her.
“Okay.”
“Okay what?”
“I’ll marry you.”
He smiled, and her heart melted. “I didn’t ask.”
Three Weeks Later
Jack walked up the pathway that led to his parents’ house. For twenty years, he’d been estranged from his father because they would never agree on what happened in Panama. But after losing Scout and nearly losing Megan and Padre, he couldn’t leave his relationship with his father unresolved like this.
Megan took his hand and squeezed it. “This is the right thing. You won’t regret it.”
Jack wasn’t so sure. He didn’t know if his father would talk to him. Listen to him.
But he wanted Megan to be part of his family, and that meant his entire family. Somehow, with her by his side, in his life, he gained the courage to stand in front of his father and ask for forgiveness.
Not for his decisions, because Jack knew he’d done the right thing in Panama, even if his actions could have gotten him court-martialed.
But for not understanding his father’s role, his need to enforce the rules, and his fear for Jack’s life and career. Maybe if he hadn’t been a rash nineteen-year-old, they could have resolved this earlier. Or maybe if Pat Kincaid hadn’t been an overbearing colonel who couldn’t see that not all orders had merit, and some were flat-out immoral.
Rosa, his mother, opened the door. “Jack!” She hugged him tightly. She smelled of spice and tortillas and cookies.
She turned to his fiancée. “Megan, Megan! Welcome to our family. This is a beautiful weekend to get married.” She hugged her. Megan was a bit overwhelmed by the enthusiastic welcome, but she was smiling.
“Thank you for letting us use your home, Mrs. Kincaid.”
“Rosa! Or Mama. Or Mom. You can start with Rosa, I don’t mind.”
“Thank you, Rosa.”
“Come in, come in!”
“Is Dad here?” Jack asked.
Rosa said, “In his office. He’s waiting for you.”
Jack hesitated a fraction of a moment.
Megan kissed him. “And so am I. Go. Do it now, Jack. Tomorrow we start the rest of our life together.”
Maybe it was loving Megan, or simply understanding forgiveness and letting go of past regrets, or seeing his brother Dillon and Megan’s brother, Matt, put family first, even when they weren’t asked. But for the first time Jack thought he could have his whole family back. Including his father.
He caressed her face with the back of his hand, ran his thumb over her lips, then walked down the hall to make peace with his dad and to reclaim his family.
Read on for an excerpt from
FATAL SECRETS
the second book of the FBI Trilogy
by
ALLISON BRENNAN . . .
Published by Ballantine Books
“They’ll fire you.”
ICE Agent Sonia Knight gave her partner a sideways glance and rolled her eyes. “Not if we succeed.”
Trace shook his head. “I want this bastard as much as you, but we’re walking a real fine line here.”
“We’re close.”
“We could both end up dead.”
“Our witness has risked everything to give us this information. If Jones even gets a whiff that Vega is turning state’s evidence, he—and his pregnant wife—are dead.”
“Don’t think it.”
“You know it. He hasn’t checked in for three days, which isn’t like him.”
“But Kendra Vega is fine. We’ve been checking on her constantly.”
“For now. But Vega could be getting spooked. It’s one thing to talk about getting out of the business, but doing it is another story. These people are ruthless and Vega knows it.”
“And you pulled every string and called in every favor to get them into Witness Protection
when
he delivers the goods. You can’t do squat for him unless he comes back with the intel.”
True, but Sonia worried that Xavier Jones was untouchable. He’d been getting away with trafficking humans for years because his instincts were sharp and he trusted no one. That one of his top security men came to her three weeks ago to make a deal was a miracle. She wasn’t going to blow it—she wanted Jones in prison and the Vegas safe. That’s why not hearing from Greg Vega for the last three days disturbed her. Where was he? Why hadn’t he checked in?
“I wish we had better information,” Trace said, not for the first time.
They were hiding among the pine trees near Devils Lake, appropriately named considering the son of the devil, Xavier Jones, owned hundreds of acres in the area. She could see his house with field binoculars, and tonight, like the last two nights, it was dark.
“It will happen this week.”
“This is our third night watching Jones’s place. He’s out of the state, like Vega reported last time he checked in. The kid could be wrong.”
“He’s not.” They’d contacted the Transportation Security Administration but Xavier Jones hadn’t used his passport. He usually traveled by private plane, both retaining a pilot and being a pilot himself. Tracking small crafts was much more difficult, making the last few days even more frustrating. He could be back in Northern California now for all they knew.
Sonia had spent her days talking with Andres Zamora just to get him to trust her. He told her everything he remembered about his family’s abduction and his mother’s murder. It all held together, and he had the scars to prove it.
“I should never have run.”
“You did the right thing. Your brother told you to go.”
“I should have stayed with them. Emilio is all I have.”
“Don’t give up on Maya.”
“How could she survive what they do to her?”
Sonia didn’t have an answer, because she didn’t know if she could find his sister. Eight days was a long time in the vile underworld, and thirteen-year-old Maya had most likely been sold before she ever set foot in America. If she ended up in America. They’d been separated during the journey, and Andres had no idea where they’d been when she’d been taken away. He and Emilio ended up here, being smuggled in first by truck, then by boat.
“If you’re worried about a reprimand, I’ll tell them I lied to you like I lied to the rest of the team.” She hadn’t wanted to lie, but she felt like she had no choice. Her boss wouldn’t have authorized this stakeout on the word of a ten-year-old illegal immigrant.
Trace slammed his fist on the ground. “I can’t believe you said that.”
“I’m sorry.” She stared through the binoculars at the dark house. She didn’t want to hurt Trace, but he hadn’t been in the trenches long enough to know how brutal this business was. That the buying and selling of humans was even thought of as a
business
angered Sonia and kept her focused on the prize: slapping cuffs on Jones and getting him into an interrogation room.
“No you’re not. You think you’re protecting the team, but you’re only hurting yourself. Don’t be the martyr, Sonia. You’re too damn good. I’m a big boy, and I could have told you to fuck off, or told Warner that Vega didn’t give you this intel. I backed you up because I trust your instincts. I just don’t want you to be blinded because—”
Their earpieces came to life.
“Beta Two reporting three vehicles approaching from the west at approximately forty miles per hour, headed toward the residence.”
Beta Two was stationed at the fork, and there were only two private homes off this road, one being a vacation home belonging to a Silicon Valley executive who came up here quarterly.
Adrenaline flushed her system and she was ready to rock and roll.
This
was what she lived for. It was 0100 with a near-full moon.
“ETA?”
“Ninety seconds to our post.”
“Stand down. Do not engage—Beta Four, circle—”
She was cut off midsentence. “They’re fibbies,” Beta Two said.
“What?”
“Grill lights just went on. Red, white, and blue.”
Sonia slammed her fist on the dashboard. She watched the road and seconds later red and blue lights flashed intermittently through the trees lining the private road off Lake Amador Drive. She heard someone—sounded like veteran Joe Nicholson—say, “She’s gonna fuckin’ blow like Mount Vesuvius.”
“Wish I could see it,” his partner replied.
“Wish I were on vacation.”
They were talking about her, and they were right. She had had more problems with the fucking FBI than any other law enforcement agency. They’d blown her operation. How did they get wind of the stakeout? Why didn’t they call and find out if anyone was investigating Jones? They acted like they were the only federal law enforcement in the country. Jones was ICE territory, and Sonia was going to make damn sure the FBI knew it. Innocent children were going to die if they screwed this up.
She watched as three black Suburbans drove onto the wide, circular drive in front of Jones’s towering home, lights flashing, screeching to a halt as if they were in some B-movie.
Federal heads were going to roll. Sonia would see to it. Personally.
She issued orders to her team, then turned to Trace. She was about to tell him to stay put, but shut her mouth. He was no longer a rookie, having been with her team for two years. “Ready?”
He nodded. “Don’t be rash.”
“This isn’t the first time the fibbies have screwed up one of our ops.”
“You don’t have to tell me that, but still—more flies with honey, right?”
“I don’t want to capture them, I want to swat them.”
She and Trace ran low to the ground toward the residence. They were a good hundred yards or more off, but made to the rock-strewn edge of the drive through sparse foliage without being seen by the Feds. They halted behind a boulder where they could watch the SUVs stage their raid. Doors opened and at least eight fibbies oozed from the interior, black bulletproof vests with bold white letters proclaiming their authority: FBI.
Homeland security trumped the FBI every time, and she’d make sure the idiots who drove into her stakeout damn well knew it.
They were dressed in black tactical gear, and she pulled her hat from her pocket that identified her as ICE and clipped her badge to her belt. Trace did the same. She motioned to her partner and mouthed “On three,” and then they emerged from the trees only feet from the nearest agent. If she had been one of the bad guys, she’d have an ideal head shot. Hell, with her weak hand she could have taken out three of them without breaking a sweat. Incompetent jerks. Did they know who they were up against in Xavier Jones?
She strode toward three agents surveying the layout. One black-vested agent tried to stop her, flashing his badge and saying, “Ma’am, we’ll have to ask you to speak with—”
She pointed to her badge and glanced at his name sewn onto his vest. “Who’s in charge, Ivers? Elliott? Richardson?”
“I—”
A black-haired agent approached. Sonia recognized Sam Callahan, the Sac FBI’s SSA for white-collar crimes. Political bribery and money laundering. What was he doing here when Jones’s crime was far more international—and deadly—in scope? “Callahan. Surprised to see you here.”
“Right back at you, Sonia.” He nodded at Trace. “Anderson.”
She couldn’t hold back her frustration. “You just destroyed nearly two years of work! Is covert not in your vocabulary? We’re in the middle of a major investigation. Did you just not feel like contacting us?”
Callahan straightened and reddened. “We have a subpoena.”
Subpoena?
“For what? No one cleared it with me. This is my operation, we’re dealing with immigration and human trafficking here, a bit out of your jurisdiction.” She was just getting started. “Dammit, Jones probably has people watching this place. And I know he has security—” She gestured toward the security cameras her team had identified three days before. “You blew it, Callahan.”
She started to kick the door of one of the SUVs, then pivoted before her boot made contact. She was pissed off, but she’d take out her frustration on the racquetball court later tonight.
What was she going to tell Andres? She pictured his troubled face and his warm brown eyes begging her to find his brother. Andres had been here, at the Jones house. He’d seen the gate, had known about the mermaid fountain—completely out of place in the Sierra Nevada foothills. This was where Andres had last seen his brother; this was where Sonia had to start looking.
She needed to talk to Vega, but she couldn’t jeopardize him, not when they were this close. He’d missed two scheduled contacts, and she desperately wanted to pull him now, but her boss made it clear: no hard evidence, no witness protection. Toni Warner was playing hardball with Jones’s key man because Vega was certainly no saint. Complete immunity and witness protection would only be worth it for ICE if they got something, or someone, big in return.
The passenger door that Sonia had nearly taken her anger out on opened. A man stepped out, clearly in command as evidenced from the quiet that descended among the FBI agents. Unlike the rest of the agents in black SWAT-gear with FBI-logo jackets, this man was dressed like a wealthy corporate attorney in a sharp charcoal-gray suit, crisp white shirt, and dark blue tie. He filled the suit beautifully, but looked like he’d be more at home wearing a black flak jacket and carrying an M16.
The suit shut the door and stared down at her with eyes so dark brown she couldn’t see the pupils. Sonia unconsciously straightened. She realized he wasn’t as tall or big as she thought—just over six feet and 180 pounds was her guess—but his commanding presence made him appear much larger. She noted that he wore a double shoulder holster; on one side, the standard-issue Glock, on the other a definite non-issue HK Mark 23, a .45 caliber pistol that was used in U.S. Special Operations Forces.
Who
was
this guy?
Also by Allison Brennan
THE PREY
THE HUNT
THE KILL
SPEAK NO EVIL
SEE NO EVIL
FEAR NO EVIL
KILLING FEAR
TEMPTING EVIL
PLAYING DEAD
Sudden Death
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
A Ballantine Books Mass Market Original
Copyright © 2009 by Allison Brennan
Excerpt from
Fatal Secrets
copyright © 2009 by Allison Brennan
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
Ballantine and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming book
Fatal Secrets
by Allison Brennan. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.
eISBN: 978-0-345-51284-0
v1.0