Page 109 of NYPD Red 7: The Murder Sorority

Kylie returned the gaze with a smile. “Hey, Megan,” she said. “Looks like you and I are going to be on the eleven o’clock news together.”

Megan turned around, and for the first time, she saw her partner in crime lying on the ground a few feet away, his body riddled with bullet holes.

Her shoulders hunched up. She dropped to her knees and let out a wail that filled the air with pain, agony, and inconsolable grief. A singleheart-wrenchingword that told us all we needed to know to solve the final piece of the puzzle.

“Daaaaaddyyyyy.”

CHAPTER 72

I called Cheryland told her that Theo was safe and sound and that despite his claim that as a material witness he was essential to the ongoing investigation, he was getting a police escort back to our apartment.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “If he tries to leave, I’ll cuff him to the armoire. Love you.”

“Love you more,” I said. Not a word about the DNA results. I wasn’t ready.

Kylie called Shane and then texted the good news to Travis Wilkins, who was somewhere between Sydney and New York.

An FBI paramedic checked Megan for signs of concussion and declared her good to go. Kylie and I had no jurisdiction in New Jersey, so a federal agent put her under arrest and drove the three of us back to the city. It took almost two hours, and none of us said a word.

Once we got inside the precinct, Kylie broke the silence by reading Megan her rights.

Megan declined an attorney. “I have a feeling my lawyer has her own legal problems to deal with. Sonia’s the only one who knew where we’d be. She was the only one who could have managed to get you on the plane. Nicely done, by the way. If I’d been on the air tonight, I’d have given you glowing reviews.”

“I’m sorry for the loss of your father,” I said.

“It’s okay. He’s not sorry,” she said. “I’m sure that as soon as he saw the two of you on that plane, he figured out there had to be a small army on the ground. But he was too old to be dragged off to prison. I guarantee you that when he pulled his gun, he’d already made the decision to go out the way he always wanted. Semper fi. Oorah! Blaze of glory, and all that shit.”

She took a deep breath and let it come out as a sigh. “I can accept his death. My only regret is that my father was an incredible photographer, but all he’ll be remembered for is this.”

“We didn’t know he was your father,” I said.

“Nobody did,” she said. “We kept it under the radar.”

“What was it like growing up being his secret daughter?”

“It could have been disastrous, but he made it thrilling. I felt like the most special kid in the world. I was only seven when he told me his job was to stop bad people from doing bad things. Sometimes, those people might get mad at him, so he had to keep me and my mom a secret, so that the bad guys didn’t get mad at us, too. By the time I was twelve, I started to figure out the real story, but even then I didn’t know he was a hit man. I thought he was with the CIA, and I was excited to be part of all thatcloak-and-daggerstuff.”

“When did you find out the truth?”

“I was on a break during my senior year in college. We flew off to Montana on a hunting trip. I didn’t know it at the time, but Sonia had sent him out there on a job, and I guess this was his version of Take Your Daughter to Work Day.”

She closed her eyes for a few seconds and traveled back in time. “Black bear, wolves, Big Sky Country—I can’t begin to tell you how excited I was. The first night we were there, the two of us were sitting around the campfire. It was a little chilly, so I got as close to the fire as I could handle and wrapped myself in a blanket.

“‘Meg, you’re too close,’ he said. ‘Move away. Now.’ I was about to tell him that I knew what I was doing, when a sudden gust of wind blew sparks and burning embers right at me. The blanket was acrylic and caught fire immediately. My father didn’t hesitate. He threw me to the ground, beating at the flames with his bare hands and ripping the blanket off me. By the time the fire was out, I had somefirst-degreeburns on my shoulders, but his hands were pretty bad.

“The next morning, he told me everything. His work for the government. The Sorority. The five men with female code names. Everything. He told me he came to Montana because he was hired to kill a man who had a history of abusing children. I said, ‘Dad, I’mtwenty-one. This man is a demon, a serial pedophile. I’m glad you’re going to kill him.’ He held up his hands, which were wrapped in bandages, and said, ‘Sweetheart, today I couldn’t kill a squirrel from ten feet away.’ He told me he was going to have to call Mother and have her send someone else to take over the assignment. I asked if that meant he wasn’t going to get paid for the job. He didn’t answer, but I knew that meant no. And I knew it was a lot of money. So I said, ‘Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll do it.’”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing. He just sat there mulling it over. He knew I had the chops. He gave me my first shooting lesson when I was five years old. After that, we’d go to the gun range all the time, like some kids go to miniature golf courses, and I looked forward to hunting season even more than I did to Christmas. I wasn’t as good as he was, but I was a damn close second.

“I told him I could use the money for grad school, and then I told him that his hands would heal in about a month, and if he let me finish the job, no one would ever know that he couldn’t. It would be another one of our little secrets. Finally, he said, ‘Okay. But just this once.’

“Two days later, I put a bullet through the perv’s neck from a hundred yards out. I felt fantastic. It was like sex. I was ready to do it again. But we had a deal. One and done. I retired. Until Sonia asked him to take out Warren Hellman.”

She shook her head as she transitioned from one of her happiest memories to the event that led up to her father lying in a pool of blood on the tarmac.

“Can you tell us what happened?” I said.

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