Sudden Death by Allison Brennan Page B

Dennis Perry. One or both of them could have known where Price was.”
    “Agent Vigo,” Black interjected, “you said that the crimes were both methodical and reckless. Can you expand on that?”
    “Sorry, I got sidetracked. Methodical in that they were well planned. They waited for their victim, hamstrung him to prevent escape, restrained him, and tortured him with needles for an indeterminate length of time, but probably between one and five hours. Then they executed him.”
    “It sounds more like playtime,” Megan said. “Pulling wings off butterflies.”
    “Excuse me?” Richardson said.
    “You’re right on the money.” Hans was proud. “I hadn’t thought of it like that, but yeah, they were playing. Torturing the victim as much to make him suffer as to derive satisfaction and pleasure from being in control of another’s pain.”
    “And then they get tired and shoot him in the head. Quick and efficient, when there’s nothing quick or efficient about human torture.”
    Hans said, “I think the dynamic between these two killers is critical. Which is the dominant personality? Which one decided the targets and how to take them out? Who pulled the trigger?”
    “Metaphorically?” Black asked.
    “Literally. Whoever pulled the trigger is the dominant killer. He may be the person torturing the victims, or both could be involved, but whoever uses the gun is in charge.”
    “Essentially, playtime is over. Pick up their toys and go home.”
    “Right.”
    “Is there always a dominant killer in a partnership like this?” Black asked.
    “In my experience,” Hans said. “Two dominant personalities would not last long together. One would kill the other, or they would go their separate ways. Someone has to make the rules, someone has to follow orders. This is a partnership in that the submissive partner does what the dominant partner wants. If the weaker of the two acts out, the dominant will slap him down.”
    The intercom buzzed. “SAC Richardson, I have Agent Elliott on a ten-twenty flight to Texas.”
    Megan glanced at her watch. “That’s barely an hour.”
    “You’d better get going.”
    Hans said, “I’m taking a military transport, I’ll meet you there. Be careful, Megan. I really don’t like the idea that the killers have your home address.”
    “Neither do I.” Megan stood, then asked Hans before he disconnected, “What are the chances we can find them before another man dies?”
    “You don’t want to know.”

    Jack didn’t particularly want Padre tagging along, but it wasn’t like he’d tell the priest to back off. Scout had been his friend as well, and seeing him dead and naked would stay with Jack for the rest of his life. Scout had been family, closer than blood.
    He asked Padre, “You okay?”
    “Been better. Watch your back with Perez.”
    “Fuck Perez and the jackass he rode in on. Dammit, Padre, you know Perez can’t handle this.”
    Jack slowed his truck as he neared the rectory. “You want off here?”
    “No.”
    Jack hadn’t expected Padre to bail, and he pressed the accelerator. Driving too fast, he halted in front of El Gato, the bar on the city/county border where Scout had been last night.
    Jack jumped out of the truck and his friend followed. Padre wanted to talk, but he couldn’t talk now. Not about Perez, not about anything. He focused on finding out what happened the night before, when Scout left, who he left with, and who he may have had a confrontation with.
    The Hernandez family owned El Gato. Cece worked six days a week; her brothers Pablo and Carlos worked nights. They reluctantly shut down on Sunday as a nod to their devout mother, who had given her children the seed money to open the bar from the insurance settlement after her husband died on a construction job.
    Cece’s eyes were rimmed red as she poured a draft for two men at the bar. “Señor Jack, Father,” she said when they came in. “What happened?”
    “I need to talk to Pablo.” Jack