Sudden Death

The slam of a door had Megan glance toward the entrance. A tall, bulky man in a Stetson entered with the desk sergeant who’d ogled her breasts.

Everything else happened fast.

“Down, Kincaid!” Stetson shouted, a Taser in hand.

Megan’s badge was on the front of her belt, clearly visible, and she again identified herself.

“Megan Elliott, FBI. Blue shirt has a knife.” She didn’t want to shoot another man, but a knife thrown this close could kill. She inched in front of Jack, who was unarmed and obviously the target. Why these thugs wanted him dead Megan had no idea, but it was clear neither her gun nor her badge panicked them even with their friend down.

“All fours, Kincaid,” Stetson said again.

The priest said, “Art, don’t.” Megan was perplexed but didn’t have time to reflect on it.

Jack stepped in front of her. Did he have a death wish? She turned her body to be a bigger shield, but Kincaid wasn’t making it easy. He was injured and bleeding and she was the one with the gun and the badge; why didn’t he stand back and let her do her job?

At the same time Jack moved, Stetson aimed the Taser not at the man with the knife, but at Jack.

The zip of the Taser C2 cartridge being depressed registered at the same time as two lightning bolts of pain hit Megan in her right shoulder, radiating instant fire through her entire body, blinding her. Her gun fell from her grasp and she hit the ground at the same time.

She’d been told what to expect if she was hit with a Taser and what options she had, but for a full minute- or longer, she didn’t know-she couldn’t think, couldn’t focus, couldn’t stop her body from convulsing. Breathe deep. Control her gun. Focus, dammit!

She heard voices, shouts, a lot of swearing. She pulled herself up on all fours, her vision returning, but she couldn’t see her gun. She felt around for it.

A low, deep voice so close to her ear that she could feel the brush of his lips on her earlobe said, “Relax, Blondie. It’ll pass faster if you relax your muscles.”

“Kincaid has the gun!” a voice shouted. She felt a hand on her back, and the weight of her gun in her holster. She relaxed as best she could and felt her body rising from the floor. Her vision cleared and she was staring into black eyes only inches from her face.

“Put. Me. Down.” Her words were faint and her throat raw.

Jack Kincaid smiled with half his mouth. “I don’t think you have your sea legs yet.”

Hans Vigo, a man who never raised his voice or swore, thundered, “Chief Perez, you’d better explain what just happened or I’ll have the DOJ on your ass so fast you won’t be able to shit.”

Jack carried her out of the cell and Hans rushed over. “You okay, Meg?”

She nodded. “Put me down,” she said quietly.

Jack set her on her feet and she swayed, legs shaking. He stuck his arm behind her, holding her up.

“You have no jurisdiction here,” Perez said. “Kincaid disarmed the woman, took her gun. She had no business being in here. It was a prison riot. We should have been in lockdown.” He glared at the desk sergeant, who was looking at the floor.

“That’s bullshit,” Jack said.

“You shot a federal agent,” Hans said, his voice still vibrating with emotion.

“She intentionally stood in front of Kincaid. She should know better than to walk into a brawl and get herself disarmed. Maybe you’d be in your element, little lady, kicking off those shoes and staying in the kitchen.”

Megan’s generation was rarely confronted with out-and-out explicit male chauvinism and she didn’t know what to say, if she could say anything. Her legs steadied and she took a deep breath.

“I wasn’t disarmed. I didn’t drop my weapon until you Tasered me, you bastard.”

“That’s not how it looked to me,” Perez said.

Father Francis said, “You allowed three men with knives in a jail cell with an unarmed man.”

“I allowed nothing. I wasn’t even here. I’ll mount a full investigation. Back in the cell, Kincaid. You’re still under arrest for breaking and entering.”

Jack didn’t move.

“My hand! Dammit, Art, she shot me!” the first knifeman was sitting against the wall, his T-shirt, now bloody, wrapped around his wrist.

“You’re lucky you still have a hand,” Megan snapped.

Hans said, “I have a warrant to take Mr. Kincaid into protective custody as a material witness.” He handed it to the police chief. “I’ve also contacted the Rangers who said you hadn’t informed them about Lawrence Bartle- ton’s murder, which I believe is standard procedure. They’ll be here first thing in the morning to assist in the investigation.”

“Standard procedure my ass,” Perez said. “There’s no mandate to call in the Rangers or the sheriff.”

“But they should have been informed of the homicide,” Hans said, not backing down. “And because this is connected to an ongoing federal investigation, I’ll be talking to the U.S. attorney and the state D.A. about jurisdiction.”

Perez clearly wanted to argue. Megan watched the veins in his neck throb. Rubbing her head, she felt an intense headache coming on. She was still shaking, but she had her wits about her.

In the end, Perez didn’t say anything as the four of them walked out of the jail, through the lobby, and outside. The night breeze felt like heaven as Megan took off her blazer. Distant lightning lit the sky, followed by the roll of thunder.

“Sit,” Jack told her, pushing her into the back of the Jeep in which Father Francis had picked them up at the airstrip. He slid in next to her.

The priest turned the ignition as Hans got in the passenger seat.

“What the fuck happened, Meg?” Hans turned to her as the Jeep sped away. “What were you doing in the jail cell? I told you to wait until I got the warrant.”

“I heard a fight.” She took a deep breath. “Do you have water in here?”

Jack reached into the small back storage of the Jeep and retrieved a water bottle. “It’s warm.”

“I don’t care.” She tried to unscrew the cap. “Damn.”

“Your strength will come back.” He took the plastic bottle, opened the top, and handed it back to her. “Drink slow or you’ll throw up.”

She sipped. “You’ve been Tasered?”

“Once or twice.”

“Why were you arrested?” Megan asked. Focusing on questions and answers kept her mind off the pain that made every nerve in her body throb.

“Perez thought I was breaking into Scout’s house.”

“Were you?”

“He didn’t catch me.”

“You did.” Megan couldn’t believe it. She felt like some sort of rebel, breaking a criminal out of prison.

“Would you like me to lie to you?”

“Why were those men trying to kill you? Don’t they disarm prisoners before they put them in jail?”

“They weren’t prisoners. They were Carlos Hernandez’s goons.”

“Who?”

“Carlos is a midlevel drug runner I pissed off.”

“Where are we going?” Megan asked, looking at the scenery passing by. “Isn’t that the church?”

“I’m taking you out to Jack’s place. It’s in the county, more private.”

“I need to file a report,” Megan said. “I discharged my weapon, and then-”

Hans interrupted, “I’ll file the report. I’m the senior agent.”

She felt belittled somehow, and Hans wasn’t looking at her. What had she done wrong? She’d followed protocols-okay, she didn’t wait for him, but she had reason to believe the life of a civilian, a potential witness, was in danger, she had to act. Hans would have done the same thing. Hell, he had trained her at Quantico; he would have been the first through the door had he been in her position.

“Hans, I didn’t do anything wrong.”

He pivoted and stared at her. “You nearly got killed.”