“I can’t kill a priest.”
“What if he’s sticking it into little boys? Could you kill him then?”
“That’s different.”
“How do you know he’s not?”
“If you take him out, I’m done.”
“You can’t be done. That’s not how it works.” Don’t leave me. Don’t desert me. They’ll hurt me again.
He was shaking uncontrollably. “We agreed,” he whined.
“This was my plan in the first place!” she shouted. “The whole thing! I gave it to you, you’d never have done anything but complain and try to kill yourself!”
He didn’t need the reminder. She always told him the same thing. I saved you. You’re mine. You’re mine and we’ll find vengeance. You deserve it. Everything will be fine when they’re dead. Everything will be perfect.
“I know.” His voice was a squeak.
“I always have a backup plan. We’ll do Bartleton now.”
“We have to do both.”
“No.”
“You’re the one who hates changing plans midstream.”
“I learned something while staking out the bar earlier,” she said.
“What?”
“Bartleton is a drinker. He’ll be out of it, at least enough to slow his reaction time.” She glanced at her watch. “We don’t have much time. He’ll be walking home from the bar any minute, and we need to get into place.”
It felt to Ethan like she was manipulating him. He was confused and panicking. He needed to kill the priest. If they changed the plan, nothing would be right again. It felt out of order. Something was missing. An itch he couldn’t scratch.
Karin watched the psycho closely as he dug his fingernails deep into his palms. He was so close to the edge, but she couldn’t lose him now. He had to finish teaching her. When she’d used Ethan’s techniques on Perry, she’d failed. She couldn’t afford to fail when it mattered. She wouldn’t. She needed more practice. She’d use Bartleton. They didn’t have many more on the list.
While Ethan was thinking, she remained silent. She would not kill Frank Cardenas. When she looked in his eyes, she didn’t see a predator. She didn’t see a killer. She saw redemption.
Fool. He’s a good liar. They’re all liars.
Not him, not the priest.
“There’s always hope, child.”
She bit back a cry. It was as if Father Michael had whispered in her ear.
“I want to die,” Ethan whimpered.
“I know.”
“Why don’t you kill me?”
Because you’re a lousy teacher! “I love you, Ethan.”
His face softened. “What do we do now?”
“Bartleton.”
“I can hurt him.”
“Yes. But you need to let me do it this time. Show me, Ethan. Teach me right this time.”
“I promise.”
She didn’t know if he would or wouldn’t. His psychosis was a minefield. She had to tiptoe carefully.
But she’d saved the priest. Maybe it would buy her time.
Ethan smiled unpleasantly.
“This will be fun, right?”
“Right.”
Fun. This wasn’t fun anymore, it was work. She shivered as they walked in the shadows away from the church, toward Lawrence Bartleton’s house.
Karin did not look back.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Loud knocking startled Megan from a deep sleep. For a split second, she opened her eyes and forgot she was at her loft. Mouse jumped from her lap with an irritated meow and papers and photographs slid to the floor. The privacy blinds in her fourth-floor loft apartment were only half drawn; dawn crept through Sacramento to the east. She’d fallen asleep in her living room for the second night in a row.
The pounding resumed and she walked to her door, looking through the peephole and seeing the young attorney who lived across the hall. He worked in Matt’s office and had been the one who told Matt about the new lofts when Megan moved to the city four years ago.
She opened the door. “Jesse.”
He was dressed for work. “Sorry to wake you up, Agent Elliott, but I have an early court hearing and this came for you yesterday. I signed for it.”
He handed her an overnight envelope. It was so light Megan wondered if anything was inside. She moved it right to left. Something small and thin shifted to the side. The label came from a shipping company out of Reno, Nevada. She didn’t think she knew anyone in Reno, at least no one well enough that they would have her home address.
“Thanks, Jesse. I needed to get up anyway.”
“I didn’t want to leave it on the doorstep in case it was valuable. They claim this is a secure building.” He shook his head. There had been two robberies in the past year.
“I appreciate it, Jesse. And don’t call me Agent Elliott. I told you that.”
“Can’t help it,” he answered, sheepishly. “Gotta go. Bye.”
She closed the door and yawned widely. She started coffee, fed Mouse, who made his hunger loudly known, then picked up the envelope again. Reno … She glanced at the return address, squinted to read the small handwritten letters. Sacramento. 4800 Broadway.
Her heart raced and she dropped the envelope on the counter.
Broadway … the morgue.
There was no reason the morgue would send her a package at her residence. None. She hardly knew anyone at the morgue. Phineas Ward, the supervisor, was a mere acquaintance. He obviously knew Matt, though … would Matt have given him her home address? Never. He was as security conscious as she was. And why would it have been shipped from Nevada? It made no sense.
She ran to her bedroom and opened her emergency Evidence Response Team kit. She extracted two plastic gloves from a box and slid them on, and put a simple cloth and elastic mask over her nose and mouth- worthless in a gas attack, but she could avoid breathing in any fine particles, like anthrax. She closed her door, locking Mouse inside so he didn’t inadvertently contaminate potential evidence or get hurt.
At her small kitchen table, she picked up the envelope and examined it more carefully. It didn’t appear that there was anything bigger than a business card inside, but she wasn’t taking chances. The anthrax scares after 9/11-while she’d still been an agent out of D.C.-had her expecting the worst. She felt like a fool. But better a fool than dead.
Holding her breath, she carefully opened the cardboard envelope with her Swiss Army knife.
Almost immediately she ascertained that there was no biological contaminant. In fact, the envelope was empty.
No … there was a small weight at the bottom.
She took a sheet of paper from her notepad and carefully tapped the contents of the envelope onto the paper.
A small metal plate fell out.
An identification tag. The stamped metal landed upside down and backward, but she could read the name nonetheless.
PRICE, GEORGE L.
Less than thirty hours after Jack Kincaid left Hidalgo he returned to the small private airfield outside the city limits. He regularly used the unmanned strip for his operations. He didn’t have his own plane, but Scout had been the pilot for so long that Jack didn’t think he’d ever need one. He had a nest egg stashed away for his retirement- and in this line of work, he had only a few good years left before age defeated him. When he was ready, he had a friend who’d sell him a nice little Skyhawk at a good price.
The idea of retiring came more often now-ever since Lucy’s kidnapping and rescue and Patrick’s near death. He had a plan to set up a private soldier training facility. He didn’t know much else except for being a soldier, but he saw a need, especially to protect missionaries and other do-gooders who thought they could change the world. Too many were dying. Jack couldn’t protect them all, but he could train up a force to do it.
He landed and decided to poke fun at Scout. He called his cell phone, half expecting Scout to pick up, though he’d probably have a hangover. He tended to drink heavily after a mission because Jack forbade drinking on assignment.