Sudden Death

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Megan called J. T. Caruso at seven Thursday morning while Hans was on the phone with Quantico and Father Francis was celebrating Mass in the church. At that moment, she didn’t know where Jack Kincaid was, and that was probably a good thing. She was too aware of his presence, of the way he looked at her, of his quiet arrogance and intense loyalty. The latter two reminded her too much of the men she respected more than anyone, her father and her brother. She’d instantly felt an odd kinship with the mercenary; yet at the same time was acutely aware that he was not related to her.

“It’s five o’clock in the morning,” J.T. answered unceremoniously.

“I know.” She’d forgotten about the time difference. “It’s important, and I don’t have a lot of time.”

“Now you really owe me one. I’m going to be off-stride for the rest of the day.”

She doubted that. “I’m sorry.”

“Tell me.”

She filled him in on what she knew-and what she didn’t know. “I need information on Jack Kincaid, Francis Cardenas, and Jerry Jefferson,” she concluded. “I need to make sure that what I know is accurate.”

“Don’t you have paid staff to run background checks? I know budget cuts are hard, but I didn’t realize how bad.”

“Please, J.T. The wheels of the bureaucracy grind slowly. I need this information before I retire.”

He let out a brief laugh. “Kincaid. Common name. Jack. Even more common. Jerry Jefferson? Really, Meg. I’m good, but I need a little more.”

She looked at the notes she’d written when Hans had filled her in on the plane trip down the night before. “Jack Kincaid, thirty-nine, father is Patrick Kincaid, Senior, retired colonel, U.S. Army. His brother Dr. Dillon Kincaid is a civilian consultant for the FBI at Quantico. Jack enlisted when he was eighteen, based in Texas- Army Rangers. I don’t have anything about his service, except that he went to Fort Bragg at some point and trained for Delta Force. He left ten or so years ago and is now a soldier for hire based in Hidalgo, Texas.”

“What type of mercenary work?”

“Primarily hostage rescues in Central America, according to what I’ve learned, but I don’t have independent confirmation. He’s at least bilingual-Spanish and English-and I suspect he might know other languages.”

“Suspect?”

“He has a lot of books, not all in English and Spanish, and I don’t think they’re for show.”

“One of the Rogans should know of him. Why?”

“He’s a potential victim of our killer. And he has weaseled himself into my investigation.” She didn’t honestly believe Jack was a possible victim, though she suspected Francis Cardenas was in danger. But it sounded better than her simply wanting to know everything about Jack Kincaid because he’d gotten under her skin. Besides, she was running a murder investigation. She had every right to know about Kincaid.

“Anything else?”

She gave him what little she knew about Father Cardenas and his friend Jerry Jefferson. “Jefferson is supposedly still enlisted and stationed in Afghanistan. I need to make sure. If not-”

“He’s in danger.”

“Or a killer.”

“Is it always black or white with you?”

“Are there other colors?”

“You think a priest is involved?”

“I think he’s a target. I want to get him into a safe house, but he refuses to leave his church. Somehow thinks that because he’s a big bad former Delta warrior he’s invulnerable.”

“All of us special forces ‘warriors’ are invincible,” J.T. said. “I thought you knew that.”

She sighed. “Right. You bleed just as red as the rest of us, J.T. The four known victims were all Delta trained, I remind you. I don’t suppose you’ve heard from Kane yet.”

“Not yet. I’m on it, Meg. Be careful. Matt is ticked that you’ve been calling me and not him.”

“I’m thirty-eight years old, I don’t need to call my big brother every day.”

“But you’ll do it because he’ll worry.”

“Right, as soon as I can. Thanks, J.T.”

She hung up.

“So who has the privilege of giving my life a rectal exam?”

She jumped and whirled around. Jack Kincaid stood against the wall, trying to look casual yet was anything but. He was angry. She was embarrassed that she hadn’t noticed he was standing there. Talk about stealth …

“You’re a potential target, and-”

“Bullshit. All you had to do was ask me.”

“I don’t know what to ask.”

“You sure knew what to ask J.T. J.T. who? Some snot-nosed desk nerd at Quantico running me through his fancy computer database?”

“That would be Harrison Ng,” she retorted. “I decided to keep this off the books.”

“Off the books?” He took a step toward her. “Dragging my name, and my life, through some slimy private investigator? A former cop maybe? Your lover?”

“What’s with the attitude, Jack? You’d do the same thing in my shoes. And I’m not going to apologize for doing my job. I’m not going to violate your privacy.”

“You already have.”

This was important to him, Megan realized. His privacy, his anonymity. He lived in the far reaches of a distant county next to a depressed border town where he was smarter and sharper than the entire police force put together. She couldn’t help but wonder why he chose to live here, why he had become a soldier for hire, why he’d distanced himself from mainstream society.

“J. T Caruso. He’s a principal with Rogan-Caruso Protective Services, and a good friend of the family. He and my brother were Navy SEALs together. When I say this is off the books, it’s way off the books.”

Jack’s anger faded away. Not just because he had heard of Rogan-Caruso-and had taken a few assignments from Kane Rogan-but because Megan was sincerely contrite, flatly honest, and she didn’t back down. This was her job. He had to remember that. Her job was going to come first. It was helpful now, but later … later he would have to re-evaluate.

“I called in Lucky, one of my team members. He’s going to sit on Padre twenty-four/seven. Tim is coming down from San Antonio as well, and I even got Mike coming in. They’ll be here tonight. It’s probably a good thing, with Perez showing his true colors yesterday, and Hernandez sending his goons after me.”

He stepped closer to Megan. She had changed clothing, but he couldn’t tell much difference. Another blouse, another cami peaking out, tailored slacks. Low-heeled boots. He liked the shoulder holster she wore. Most female cops he knew wore their guns on their belt. Her hair was tied up in the back, like she’d had it yesterday when she burst into the jail cell to save him. He had no idea how she got that much hair to stay in place. He’d like to watch her put it up sometime. And take it down.

His eyes betrayed his thoughts. Megan flushed slightly, her red lips parted to reveal straight white teeth. Her green eyes darkened, then glanced almost demurely downward. She blinked, then looked at him, expertly hiding her reaction to his close proximity.

Before she could say anything snappy or formal, Jack touched her on the shoulder where the Taser darts had penetrated. “I noticed you were bruised last night. Does it still hurt?” Jack wanted to deck Perez for firing the damn Taser at Megan. Not just because she was a fed. Not just because she was a woman. But because she was …

What? What exactly is Megan Elliott to you, Jack?

No one. Blondie was no one to him, and he needed to remember that.

“Not much. Funny thing was, I’ve never been hit with a Taser before, and I swear, it hurt more than the time I was shot.”

“Shot? Where?” He’d seen a lot of her skin the night before. White, creamy, perfect. He hadn’t seen a bullet scar.

Her face changed, dramatically, from light to very, very dark. Bad memories. He recognized the transformation and wanted to know the circumstances of the shooting.

“Kidney,” she said quickly, her hand unconsciously moving to her lower right side. “But God gave us two just in case someone shoots you in the back, right?”

She was trying to lighten it up, but Jack saw that her mind was years in the past. He wanted to know who shot her and why. Was she on the job or not?

Padre came into the kitchen. “I saw a Ranger’s truck drive past as I was leaving the church. They were headed toward the police station.”

“That’s my cue,” Megan said. “I’ll find Hans and gather as much information as we can about Scout’s murder, and then come back here and talk about what you remember, Padre.”

Jack stole a glance at her. Did she even notice she’d adopted the nicknames of his friends? He didn’t think she did. She spoke smoothly. He actually liked it, she’d personalized the case, which meant, at least to Jack, that she cared about the people involved. Even Scout. A drunk, but a loyal soldier. A friend. Damn. Jack didn’t want to think about him being dead.

“Agent Elliott-” Padre began.

“Call me Megan, okay?”

“Can you find out about Scout’s body? I want to have a funeral and arrange for his body to be transported to Arlington.”

“Of course.”

Jack said in a rough voice, “He wanted to be cremated.”

“I remember,” Padre said.

“I’ll let them know,” Megan said. “There should be no reason you can’t have the body by the weekend.”

Hans drove Father Francis’s Jeep to the police station and parked next to the Ranger truck. He hadn’t said anything to her the entire ride, and Megan couldn’t help but worry that she’d overstepped her bounds last night or this morning or … when?

“Are we okay?” she asked when they stopped. She looked up at the sky. A dark blanket of clouds blocked out the sun, but still no rain since the brief downpour last night. A flash of lightning made Megan jump, and the responding thunder had her grabbing the dashboard.

“I should be asking that.”

“I’m fine.” She hated storms. She’d spent two months in New Orleans after Katrina. Her experience in Kosovo identifying the remains of the dead had been invaluable in Louisiana, and while she’d been good and much in demand at that distasteful job, it had been emotionally and physically devastating. Ever since, she dreaded storms, knowing that floods and levees breaking and high winds created not only property damage, but extensive human casualties.

“Meg?”

“I just need to know that we’re okay.”

“Of course we are.”

“You acted like I was a dumb rookie last night. What did I do wrong?”

“I don’t know, I wasn’t there-”

“But you assumed I did something wrong.” It hit her hard.

“No. That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what?”

Hans ran his hand through his thick head of salt-and-pepper hair. “I was scared to death. I care about you, Meg. Too much, I know. It’s more than a partnership.”

Meg’s stomach churned and her face burned. “Hans … I …”

He laughed, took her hands. “Oh, God, Meg, you should see your face.” He squeezed her hands and said, “I love you like a little sister. Hell, I’m almost old enough to be your father.”

“Hardly. You’d have been a very young dad.” But she smiled. “Okay. As long as we’re good.”

“I overstepped last night, and I’m sorry.”

“No apologies. I understand. I would have done the same if the situation was reversed.”

“I don’t know if I would have had the courage you showed last night.”

“Courage? I don’t know about that.” She’d been as scared for herself as she was angry at the sheriff as she was fearful that she’d have to use lethal force.

“Courage doesn’t mean you’re not scared.”

“I know,” she said firmly, though she wasn’t quite sure about that. “I’ve run the scene through my head a dozen times and I can’t see any other way to have done it.”

“Then you did it right. Besides, even if you did think of a better way, you can’t go Monday-morning quarter-backing your split-second decisions. You’re one of the best on your feet, Meg.”

She jumped when the thunder rolled again. “Let’s go in and talk to the Rangers.”

They got out of the Jeep and she added, “I called J. T. Caruso and asked him to quietly look into Jack and Father Francis. I don’t think there’s anything suspicious about them, but I need to cover all the bases.”

“I’ve already talked to Quantico about them.” Hans sounded contrite.

“You had to.”

“Jack’s brother Dillon is a good friend. I don’t like going behind anyone’s back.”

“Well, I didn’t. Jack overheard part of my conversation, so I told him exactly what I was doing.” She paused. “What do you think of Jerry Jefferson? Did you find him?”

“Working on it. I’m going off Father Francis’s knowledge that he’s in Afghanistan. I should know exactly where within the next couple hours.”

“If he’s not there?”

“Then we’ll find him.”

The two Rangers were standing outside the main entrance, one smoking a cigarette. Hans extended his hand and flashed his badge. “Assistant Special Agent in Charge Hans Vigo, FBI. My partner SSA Megan Elliott.”

The Rangers tipped their hats. “Pleasure.” The smoker was Rich Barker; the quiet Ranger was Ted Hern.

Hans glanced at the station, then pointed to the threatening sky. “Is there a problem here? Where’s Perez?”

“Hasn’t come in yet,” Barker said, taking a drag on his cigarette. “So the Hamstring Killer hit Hidalgo. You sure?”

“As sure as we can be without seeing the evidence or the body,” Megan said. “We’re going off a witness who saw the body and recognized the M.O. from a news report.”

“Ain’t surprised Perez didn’t call us.”

“Problems?”

“Territorial.”

“Have you had problems with him in the past?” Megan asked.

“Here and there. We keep a close eye on the town. It’s a border town. There’s a strong drug trade, other issues. Perez isn’t part of the real problem, but he sure ain’t part of the solution.

“So we just wait?” Hans was getting antsy; normally he was the patient one.

“We had the desk sergeant call Perez. He should be here any minute.”

Megan said, “Unless he wants to make you wait, just to flex his muscles.”

“He’ll be here. We have jurisdiction; we can walk in when we want. We’re just playing nice.”

Hern said, “You came all the way from D.C.?”

“Quantico,” Hans corrected. “Megan’s from Sacramento. She pulled the third victim. The killers are escalating.”

“We read the hot sheet y’all sent over,” Barker said. “Ted, you were Delta, right?”

Ted Hern nodded.

“Did you know any of the victims?”

“Only Scout. Bartleton,” Hern said. “But not until he moved here to join Kincaid’s men a few years back.”

A truck turned onto the street and sped into the lot. Art Perez, in uniform, jumped out and put on his hat. “Rangers, this wasn’t necessary.”

“Art,” Ted tipped his hat. “Let’s go look at what you’ve got on the Lawrence Bartleton homicide.”

Perez looked from Hans to Megan and back to the Rangers. “As I told Lieutenant Gray last night, I’m certain that Bartleton was taken down by one of the Guatemalan rebels Kincaid’s group has been battling. They just returned from an unofficial operation not three days before the murder. And-”

“Gray? You mean Scott Gray?” Barker nodded to Hern. “Were Kincaid and the lieutenant at boot camp together, or was it Desert Storm where they hooked up? No matter, Scott tells the story to anyone who’ll listen, how Kincaid, then just an Army Ranger, saved his ass when he walked into the middle of a minefield without detonating a single one, but got trapped. Damnedest thing, really, but Kincaid hotwires a Chinese chopper, never even flew one before, and lowered a rope for Scott to grab on to. The bastard almost got himself killed in the process, but hell, they all came away without a scratch.”

Hern nodded. “I don’t see Kincaid leaving loose ends in Guatemala.”

Perez reddened. “Kincaid isn’t a saint. He was arrested for obstructing justice.”

“How so?” Hans asked.

At the invitation to expand, Perez went off. “He’s been all over town asking questions as if he were a cop. Talking to everyone who was at El Gato, where Scout was drinking the night he was killed. He even had one of his mercenaries track down three college kids from UTSA and interrogate them! He’s been asking everyone about this woman who was in the bar, he attacked one of the bar owners, and he threatened one of my deputies. I’ve been saying since he came to town that Jack Kincaid is dangerous, but just because he’s friends with the priest, no one listens. I caught him red-handed at the crime scene after the fact. He wouldn’t tell me why, and it supports my argument that he brought back trouble to Hidalgo from Central America, and he’s trying to cover it up.” Perez was red in the face when he was done, but satisfied that he’d finally gotten his thoughts off his chest.

Barker said, “Hidalgo has plenty of trouble all on its own.”

“What woman?” Megan asked. “Have you followed up with the bar owners? What did they say-”

“Go ahead and talk to them yourself. My reports are all filed.” Perez opened the door and said to the desk sergeant, “Jorge, let them have the Bartleton files and anything else they want to see.” He glanced at Megan, then turned to the Rangers and said, “You think Kincaid is a saint? Go pull my file on him.”

“If you had anything on Kincaid, he’d be in jail,” Barker said.

Perez stared at Megan. “He was.” Then he left.

“He certainly doesn’t like Jack,” Hans said thoughtfully.

“Was anything he said true?” If Jack knew something that would help in this investigation, why didn’t he say something? Megan didn’t like being deceived or manipulated.

The desk sergeant led them to the evidence room and put the files in front of them.

An hour later, Megan stood up and stretched. Perez had spent more time tracing Jack’s steps than following his own investigation. And Jack had done what she’d have done were she investigating the murder. But he wasn’t a cop, and he had overstepped his bounds. Perez had some justifiable reasons to arrest him, though certainly not to allow three armed men in to attack him. Meg wasn’t sure the chief of police hadn’t known about that.

“There’s not much here,” Barker said. “Perez was more interested in following Kincaid; that’s where all the info came from. We should talk to him.”

“He’s at the rectory,” Hans said. “We’ve been working with him.”

But he didn’t share this information with us. She didn’t know what, if anything, Jack had learned about Scout’s murder, but she had a few choice words for him. If he didn’t answer her questions right she’d put him in jail herself.

Barker stuffed a piece of gum in his mouth and said, “Perez fucked up the collection of evidence. How could he let so many people contaminate the crime scene? The kid, the kid’s mother-”

Hern said, “She was Scout’s girlfriend.”

“-the priest, Kincaid, a half dozen cops. I swear, half of Hidalgo walked through that house before Perez sealed off the place.”

Hans said, “My boss has given us priority use of the trace evidence lab, just let me know what you need. They’re already working on two of the other murders and maybe something will come from this one that will help.

Hern said, “We appreciate the help.”

“There’s no autopsy report,” Megan said. “Wouldn’t the autopsy have been done by now?”

“I’ll ask the sergeant,” Barker said and left the evidence room.

“Is the body here?” Megan asked.

“Probably up in Edinburg, at the morgue. Twenty minutes or so north.”

Megan glanced at Hans. “We need that report. I’d like to talk to the supervising pathologist as well. Compare the marks on Johnson and Perry with Scout.”

“Agreed,” Hans said. “Would you like to join us?” he asked the Ranger.

“One of us will,” Ted said. “We’ll also want to follow up on the witness statements from El Gato. And no one talked to the girlfriend or her kids.”

“Do you want to follow us back to the rectory, then we can split the interviews?” Hans asked. “Meg and I are headed to Las Vegas tomorrow morning if nothing breaks here. We have a meeting with the coroner and investigating officer.”

“I didn’t know the FBI sent teams around the country. I thought you folks were regional.”

“Special circumstances,” Hans said.

Barker returned. “No report. I called the morgue and they haven’t done the autopsy yet. I told them to hold until we got there, unless you don’t need to see it. For us, we can take the report.”

“Same here,” Megan said, “but I’d like to observe.”

Hern said, “We’ll meet you at the rectory in thirty minutes.”

They shook hands, and Hans and Megan left. When they drove up to the rectory, Jack stood on the front porch looking at the sky. “The rain finally came,” he said.

The first fat drop fell from the sky as Megan got out of the Jeep.

“Did you learn anything?” he asked.

“Plenty,” Megan said. “Were you going to tell me about the interviews you conducted, or was I supposed to learn about your private investigation from the police chief’s reports?”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t learn anything that you can use.”

“What were you expecting to find? Fingerprints? A receipt from the local motel? And how do you know what I can use? How many murders have you investigated? How many have you solved? This is my responsibility, not yours, and I will not allow anyone to withhold information without serious consequences.”

Jack stepped forward. Within seconds the rain turned from fat droplets to a downpour. “Scout is my responsibility. Don’t think for a minute that I’m going to back down. If I thought anything I learned was important, I’d have-” He stopped.

“What?” Megan demanded.

“Scout’s tags.”

She blanched. “How do you know about the dog tags?”

“What do you know?”

She raised an eyebrow and didn’t say anything. If this arrogant soldier thought she owed him any explanation or information …

Jack said, “For what it’s worth, I planned on telling you about the missing tag, but with the events last night, it slipped my mind.”

“Tag? One tag was missing?” Just like Price.

“Scout had only one tag-the other was pulled when he went down four years ago on his last mission. Fell off a cliff, broke his back. They couldn’t move him without a chopper, so pulled a tag just in case. So he wore only the one, and it wasn’t on his body. No chain, no tag. Is that the same as the others?”

“Not exactly. Price was missing one of the two tags, and the killers sent it to me. But Johnson and Perry- Johnson’s sons have his tags, and I’m still trying to get word from Vegas about Perry.”

“Why would the killers take Scout’s identification? To dehumanize him?” Jack tensed.

“Maybe they’re planning on sending it to someone else. Or to me.” She frowned. “Hans, what’s going on here? I’d think they were keeping souvenirs, but they’re not. They’re using them for something.”

Hans said, “We’re getting drenched. Let’s talk about this inside.” He walked into the rectory, expecting them to follow.

Jack and Megan stared at each other in the rain.

Her anger had dissipated, surprising her. Jack was used to being in charge, but it didn’t bother her because even when he was pushy, he wasn’t manipulative. So much like her father, her brother-she felt as if she already knew Jack Kincaid and how his sharp mind worked. It was comfortable, like meeting up with an old friend after years apart.

“I’m sorry,” Jack said. “I should have told you last night. I meant to.”

“I’m sorry I snapped. I know you feel responsible for Scout, but we’re on the same team.”

“Truce?”

“Truce.”

Her smile faltered when Jack reached out and brushed back strands of her hair that had fallen out of her knot. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked in his eyes. His dark stare was so intense, so powerful, that for a moment she was mesmerized, caught in a trap she didn’t want to escape. His rough fingers skimmed her face, down her neck, a light touch that made her shiver in anticipation of more.

When his hand dropped to his side, Megan could finally let out her breath.

Jack said, “I’ll fill you in on everything I did yesterday. I don’t know if it’s going to help, but it’s worth a shot.”