Megan lied about the article, but she was a pitiful liar and Karin didn’t say much the rest of the day. Megan was about to leave when Karin ran up to her, excited. “I have a location for Rentz! Let’s get him!”
Stanley Rentz, twenty-five, was a college dropout wanted for molesting prepubescent girls while traveling the country as part of the stage crew for an alternative rock band. When local and federal agencies figured out who the rapist was, they put together a sting, but Rentz had slipped out before it went down. He’d been hiding out for weeks, and his mother worked as a consultant in Congress. The FBI had received information that Rentz’s mother was helping him financially, so they had kept a close eye on her, her office, home, and commute route.
Megan followed Karin out. “Who’s our backup?”
“Marty and Ted. They’re meeting us at the station. My contact in the building said Rentz’s mother was acting nervous all day. I put a tail on her, and she’s waiting at a different Metro Stop, taking the blue line north instead of the orange south.”
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 cliche ‘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.