“I don’t understand.” Megan tried to relax. She was so cold she couldn’t feel her fingers or toes. “Why did you have to kill your mother because of me?”
“It’s called planning. First, I wanted her dead. I had been trying to figure out a way to do it for years, but I didn’t want to be caught. Nothing worked, or there was too great a risk to me. Then you started investigating me, and all of a sudden, the plan unfolded.
“See, you always need an out, a Plan B. A Plan C doesn’t hurt, either. My Plan A was to put you in the line of fire and have a bad guy take you down. With my help but his gun. But if that didn’t work I might go to prison. Sure, I thought you’d be dead, and prison is not ideal, but I was willing to risk it. Then I thought-wait, Plan B. If my mom commits suicide and I don’t talk about it, start acting a bit different, but not strange enough to get myself committed, then if something went wrong and it was my gun that killed you, I could claim emotional distress. I might lose my job, but most likely I wouldn’t. Maybe administrative leave and counseling, then I’d be back. But you testified against me. You had me fired.”
There was a sick and twisted logic in her reasoning. Megan felt ill from more than the pain and cold.
Karin picked up another needle and held it in front of Megan’s face. She tried not to show fear, but it was impossible. She’d never been this scared in her life.
The needle twirled in Karin’s fingers. Megan couldn’t stop staring at it, shaking, half-frozen, pained and panicked. The anticipation of pain was almost as emotionally devastating as the pain itself.
Karin pressed the needle gently against Megan’s chest without puncturing the skin. Using it like a pen, she moved it down Megan’s body.
Megan had thought Karin hadn’t cut into her, but a long, thin red line oozed out of a hairline incision.
Down her stomach, her right calf. Megan shook uncontrollably. Karin brought the needle slowly down to the backside of her knee and then poked.
Megan screamed in a voice so hoarse she thought she might lose it forever.
But she wouldn’t need her voice if she was dead.
Karin inserted a needle behind her other knee. Megan saw bright stars, then nothing at all.
J.T. and Jack met with the local SWAT commander, Lee Beck, around the bend from the cabin where Beck’s team had confirmed that Megan Elliott was alive, but restrained.
“What condition is the hostage in?” Jack asked, his stomach twisted in knots.
“Alive, but not in good shape. We have a sniper in position, but there haven’t been any clear shots. The target has at least one gun on a table about ten feet from where the hostage is restrained. She may have more, we don’t have confirmation.”
“We’ll integrate into your team,” Jack said, “but we have a plan. We can’t leave Agent Elliott in there much longer.”
“Agreed,” Beck said. “She is unconscious right now.”
Jack’s head jerked up. “Why didn’t you say so?”
“Because she’s alive. And when she passes out, the suspect leaves her alone.”
“Where’s the suspect now?” J.T. asked.
It was all Jack could do not to make a fool move on the cabin right then and there. He itched to see for himself that Megan was alive and breathing. But rash action would get her killed.
Beck asked for a status report, listened to his earpiece, and told them, “The target is standing two feet to the right of the hostage, back to my man, bent over a table. He can’t see what she is doing.”
“Does he have a clear shot?” Jack asked.
“Negative,” Beck responded. “The angle is bad. She needs to be directly at the window or at the front door to take the shot.”
Jack didn’t like the plan. They needed more time to infiltrate the cabin. Jack did not want to risk Padre’s life, but he couldn’t see another alternative. They needed to buy time to extract Megan, and because Megan was in no condition to assist, it would take more time to bring her to safety.
Dillon and Hans approached them. Hans said, “Two entrances, front and back. Beck’s men have the cabin completely surrounded. But I think your plan will work.”
“Did you see Megan?” Jack asked.
“No,” Hans said. “We didn’t want to get too close and tip our hand.”
J.T said, “Daybreak is in thirty minutes. We’ll lose the cover of darkness. Ready, Kincaid?”
“Hell, yes. Let’s get Megan out now.”
Torturing Megan was less fun than Karin had thought it would be.
Three hours and the wimp had fallen unconscious three times. When Ethan did it, the other victims didn’t lose consciousness more than once. Was she being too rough? Or was Megan just too weak and pathetic?
It also disturbed Karin that Megan knew about the Rubins. If she knew the truth, others could learn it. And Karin would become a fugitive. She didn’t want to live in hiding with a fake identity and no future. She wanted to continue doing what she’d been doing for as long as she could remember. Serving justice.
Megan had said Karin just liked to kill. Had a taste for it, so to speak. Maybe that was true. What was wrong with liking your job?
But all these months-years, really-had culminated in tonight, and Karin now felt let down. Slowing killing Megan was supposed to be the highlight, yet when Karin thought about it, last night, when she shot Hackett and Ethan, that had provided a headier rush of power.
She was going to have to move on. Disappear for a while until she could confirm whether Megan told the truth.
It was Megan’s fault, the bitch.
“Wake up, sugar,” she said. She took a needle and pressed it into her skin. Nothing. She took another. Another. Another. Soon Megan had dozens of needles hitting all major nerve points, and nothing. Was she dead? No! That wasn’t fair! How dare she die like this.
She took a needle and slid it behind her ear.
Megan woke with a scream.
“Good, you’re not dead.” Yet.
The bitch was dumping tears out of her eyes. Rolling them across her face. Her lips were blue. Maybe the ice water hadn’t been such a good idea.
But that part had been fun.
The sound of an approaching vehicle raised Karin’s hackles. She picked up the gun and walked to the front door.
It was a pickup truck. A lone driver. Lost? No. She was too far off the beaten path.
The man got out. Tall, Hispanic, serious. He wore a white collar under a black shirt.
Father Frank Cardenas.
The SWAT sniper was told to take the first clear shot, provided that the hostage was not in the target’s line of fire.
Jack, J.T., and Matt went around the back of the cabin, low and to the ground. SWAT had provided outstanding intelligence, and the back door was exactly where it was supposed to be. J.T silently picked the lock.
Matt slid into the cabin first, toward the kitchen where the circuit breaker was. J.T. and Jack waited for the count of thirty. It was evident that the two former Navy SEALs had worked together in the past; they shared the same silent understanding that Jack had with his soldiers. The familiarity and ease working with them gave Jack greater confidence. But Padre was at the greatest risk right now. He had these thirty seconds to stay alive.
“Father,” Karin said. “How did you know where to find me? Why are you here?”
“You didn’t come to confession, I was worried about you.”
Something was wrong. She glanced behind her; Megan was exactly where Karin left her, frozen in pain.
She looked back to Father Francis.
“You’re not alone.” This wasn’t supposed to happen. She’d been so damn careful!
“Neither are you. I know about Father Michael.”
Karin’s heart rose to her throat. No one knew about Father Michael. No one. How could he know?
He’s a priest.