Allison Brennan - Sudden Death

Contents

For advice, guidance, and faith:
This book is for Kim Whalen.

I n Duane Johnsons garage, the smell of gasoline in her nostrils, her partner put his gloved hand on her shoulder. He breathed into her ear. Youre excited.

He bit her lobe, a hot thrill shivered through her nerves. He grinned against her neck, probably thinking the kill made her horny. He had no idea. Its almost time, she whispered. Get in place.

He crossed the concrete like a cat, tall and too skinny, blending into the blackness, an enigma. She knew him... but didnt really know him. Tonight he was fully engaged, but how long would it last? She couldnt hear him move or breathe over her own pounding heart. 11:10. Almost time for Duane Johnson to come home. Almost time for Duane Johnson to die.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

When I started researching this book, I knew only the basics about our armed forces. I read several books to put myself in the mind-set of the men and women who serve and defend America and our freedom. One book in particular helped me better understand the history and challenges facing U.S. special operations forces: Leave No Man Behind by David C. Isby. His dedication included the following quote:

Let me not mourn for the men who have died fighting, but rather let me be glad that such heroes have lived.

GEN GEORGE S. PATTON, June 7, 1945

A special thanks to several authors who were willing to share their knowledge, even when facing their own deadlines: Cindy Gerard, C. J. Lyons, and Karin Tabke. As always, the experts at Crime Scene Writers shared their time and extensive experience in all matters related to forensics. My friends and former colleagues, Trisha Richins and Ken Blodgett (who also designed my website), went out of their way to help with on-site research. And finally, Special Agent Steven Dupre, SSA Mike Rayfield (the real-life leader of Squad 8), SA Brian Jones (who let me set off an explosion even though my characters shoot better than I do), and all the Sacramento FBI Agents who have all been so generous with their limited free time to help me get it right. I may have taken a few liberties with rules and regulations, forgive me. And if I got anything wrong... Im pleading no contest.

Behind the scenes, thanks to special agent Kim Whalen, my sounding board; my editor Charlotte Herscher who keeps my muse in line; senior editor Dana Isaacson who wields his pencil like a scalpel; Scott Shannon, the keeper of information and good will; and the rest of the incredible Ballantine team. Id also like to thank the publishing team at Piatkus, who publish my books in the United Kingdom, for their enthusiasm and support.

Finally, my family deserves extra special thanks for not having me committed when I talk about my characters as if theyre real people.

Revenge is an act of passion; vengeance of justice.
Injuries are revenged; crimes are avenged.
SAMUEL JOHNSON (17091784)

If an injury has to be done to a man
it should be so severe
that his vengeance need not be feared.
NICCOL MACHIAVELLI (14691527)

PROLOGUE

They had debated killing Duane Johnson when he closed his restaurant, or outside the VFW Hall where he drank and played cards every week, but ultimately they decided that his house was the ideal place.

This late at night they would be guaranteed privacy. Neighbors were too far to hear Johnsons screams. Shed planned it down to the last detail. That was her strength. Planning the kill, executing the betrayer.

Karins ultimate plan was brilliant. Not that she had shared the end game with her partner. Ethan was a linear thinker, focused only on revenge. He wouldnt understand that his pathetic vendetta was simply a means to end the life of her nemesis.

Her blood surged, the excitement rose, as she thought about destroying the one person whod stolen everything from her. Giddy with anticipation, her face flushed. Murder was easy; vengeance was far more complicated and certainly more satisfying.

In Duane Johnsons garage, the smell of gasoline in her nostrils, her partner put his gloved hand on her shoulder. He breathed into her ear. Youre excited.

He bit her lobe, a hot thrill shivered through her nerves. He grinned against her neck, probably thinking the kill made her horny. He had no idea.

Its almost time, she whispered. Get in place.

He crossed the concrete like a cat, tall and too skinny, blending into the blackness, an enigma. She knew him... but didnt really know him. Tonight he was fully engaged, but how long would it last? She couldnt hear him move or breathe over her own pounding heart. 11:10. Almost time for Duane Johnson to come home. Almost time for Duane Johnson to die.

Almost time to start the ball rolling after thousands of days of planning and waiting and reflecting on the rightness of her kills...

If someone had told Karin that she was a serial killer, she would have laughed until tears ran down her face. She didnt even think of herself as a killer, though she would acknowledge that shed ended the life of those who deserved it. Those who had slipped through wide crevices of a pathetic, hypocritical justice system that cared more for the criminals than the victims. In fact, shed often wondered if she was the reincarnation of the San Francisco vigilantesthe city would never have survived without that group of men dispensing law and order in their own way. Or betterJudge Roy Bean. Bean did it right, and when the law didnt fit, he forced it.

Justice in the purest sense of the word.

She was a woman out of her time. The Wild West was much more her element than twenty-first-century America, the land of the weak and pathetic.

Frontier justice pumped her heart. Vigilante. Had she not made one stupid mistake, she would have been praised from the top of the Sears Tower, proclaimed a goddess from the Golden Gate Bridge to the Brooklyn Bridge. A national holiday would have been named in her honor, and students of American history would study her life and philosophies and how she changed the system single-handedly for generations to come. Their teachers could only wish they had the guts to stand up against the failed system, to fight the predators.

They wanted to be her. Everyone wanted to be her, they just didnt have the stomach for it. She did. Shed always been able to punish the wicked. Especially those who wanted to hurt her.

When Ethan practically landed on her doorstep two years ago, Karin recognized shed been handed the tools to finally destroy those who had deemed her a nonentity. A nothing. A mental case. In her forty-four years, shed avenged every wrong committed against her... except one.

Her hands and jaw were clenched so tight that she almost didnt hear the truck. She froze. Johnson had arrived.

Heart racing, she willed herself to control her excitement. She wasnt supposed to have fun, this was business. An eye for an eye. But her mouth went dry and her vision sharpened. The trap had been laid, the hunt was nearly over.

You love to kill. Watching their eyes as they die.

The power, her power, flowed as the garage door noisily lumbered up on its tracks. She was in charge. She was in control. Duane Johnson had been sentenced to death and she was his executioner.

Earlier, theyd disabled the lights in the garage, but the streetlamps still faintly illuminated its depths, casting dark shadows and narrow beams of gray light.

Karin didnt personally know their victim. She knew his name, she knew why he deserved to die, shed planned his death, but she didnt know him.

Somehow that made the entire affair all the more exciting.

The truck turned into the driveway, the headlights turning everything an odd, sterile white. Country music twanged from the radio. She stood flat against the wall, in a blind spot theyd scouted earlier. Ethan was on the opposite side of the garage, waiting.