Exposed in Darkness

by Heather Sunseri

  As if feeling my gaze, Declan turned and saw that I was watching them. He placed a hand on Fritz’s shoulder, and said a few more words. Then Fritz turned and walked toward me, into the building.

  “Miss Fairfax,” he said as he entered. “It was so nice to meet you. I look forward to helping you with your chemical identifications.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Hahn. I or someone else with the FBI will be in touch very soon.”

  Fritz continued toward the elevator.

  When I looked outside again, Declan was leaning down and speaking to our driver, so I pushed through the doors and joined him.

  “Our plane can’t take off until two p.m.,” he said as I approached. “How about lunch? Then we’ll get back to Lexington.”

  I eyed him curiously. His voice was calm, and his body language appeared relaxed, but his jaw was set, and there was no hint of a smile as he spoke. “Okay,” I said.

  He placed a hand on my back and led me gently to the car. When we were both inside, he handed me three ibuprofen.

  I looked at the pills then up at him. I studied the worry in his eyes and the lines that formed between his brows. I threw all three pills into my mouth. He took a bottle of water from the center armrest and opened it for me. After I had swallowed the pills, I stared at him again. “Why are you putting so much effort into taking care of me?”

  Declan finally smiled, but he didn’t answer.

  The driver took us into the city and dropped us directly in front of a restaurant. We descended a few steps into a light-filled café. I had expected Declan to try to impress me with some stuffy, white-tablecloth, Italian place, but instead he took me to an unpretentious restaurant serving tapas and salads and smelling of fresh herbs, spices, and seafood.

  We took our seats, and a waitress brought us water and gave us menus.

  After I had scanned the menu, I looked up and found Declan smiling at me. His entire demeanor had softened on the drive into the city. “Is this okay?” he asked.

  “Of course. Have you been here?”

  “Yes. I love tapas. The miniature seafood dishes here remind me of what you would eat on the coast of Spain.”

  “You’ve pretty much been everywhere, haven’t you?”

  “I’ve never been to Alaska.”

  “Alaska,” I repeated. “Is Alaska a place you’d like to visit?”

  “Very much.”

  When I couldn’t stop the smile, I tilted my head back into the menu.

  “You find that funny, Miss Fairfax?”

  A waitress approached, cutting off my answer. “What can I get you today?” The young woman, probably in her late twenties, wore a short black skirt and a pale blue blouse. An apron hanging just longer than her skirt was tied around her waist.

  I nodded toward Declan. “The gentleman will be ordering for us both.”

  Declan ordered more food than we could possibly eat. He also ordered a bottle of wine that was guaranteed to put me to sleep on the plane.

  When the waitress was gone, Declan asked me again, “Why do you find Alaska funny?”

  “The state itself isn’t funny. I’m just trying to imagine you dressed in flannel, a wool fisherman sweater, thick snow boots, and one of those hats with the flaps that cover your ears.” I used my good hand, and tried to use my bandaged arm, to illustrate what I meant by flaps.

  Declan laughed. “Alaska has summer weather too. It’s not always floppy hats and snow boots.”

  I sucked in my lower lip, considering. “True.” I lay my bandaged arm gently on the table. It was nice to get it out of the shoulder harness.

  “What about you?” he asked. “Have you traveled a lot?”

  I shrugged. “Not a lot.” I couldn’t stop my lips from tugging downward. Teddy and I had stayed up countless nights brainstorming the many places we would travel as soon as we got time off. But he was killed before we’d had a chance.

  Declan leaned forward and touched the fingers that were sticking out from my bandage. As if reading my mind, he said, “I’m sorry. I understand that you lost someone you loved. You don’t have to hide that from me.”

  As I watched his fingers play with mine, my heartbeat picked up speed. I swallowed hard against the lump, then took a deep cleansing breath. Thankfully, the waitress saved me from having to speak by bringing the bottle of wine and two glasses. She poured a small amount in both glasses, allowing us each to approve the selection.

  After taking a sip of the dark red wine, I gestured a hand to Declan. He nodded approval to the waitress, and she poured more wine into our glasses. He had yet to remove his fingers from touching mine.

  When she was gone, he took another sip. “So, tell me one place in this great world where you—Brooke Fairfax—would like to go.”

  I pretended to think about it, but I didn’t have to. I looked up and watched an older couple entering the restaurant. A gray-haired man helped a woman, who moved unsteadily, toward a table.

  “Come on,” he urged. “Spit it out.”

  “No.” I laughed, waving a hand. My dream trip was so completely unrealistic.

  He continued to brush his fingers over mine. The pads of his fingers were rough to the touch, yet warm and gentle as they grazed my skin. “Brooke. Forget everything outside that door. Let’s pretend you’re not investigating a case. Let go, if only for an hour.”

  I took a breath and studied his eyes. They were warm and gentle, like his touch. “Fine. I would sail around the Pacific and Indian Oceans.”

  “You would like to sail? That’s interesting.”

  “I would visit all the islands from Hawaii to Bora Bora to Samoa. I would stop by New Zealand and Australia. Then on to the Maldives.”

  Declan remained quiet for a few beats.

  “You think it’s silly,” I said, looking away.

  “I think it sounds heavenly,” he corrected.

  Our food came, and we enjoyed our tapas. As I suspected, it was more food than we could eat. The lunch was a nice break from the world outside the café. Until my phone buzzed.

  “Ty. What’s up?”

  “You need to get home. Someone tried to finish off Marti.”

  Chapter 23

  I raced down the hospital corridor, Declan at my heels. A police officer stopped me when I reached the door to Marti’s room. After looking around to make sure no one was watching, I flashed him my FBI badge. He nodded, and I pushed into the room.

  Carrie Anne stood when I entered. Mike and Carlos were standing on the far side of the bed near the window. Carlos was making notes on his notepad.

  Marti looked up and reached out a hand to me. I took several quick steps and grabbed it with my left. The skin around her eyes was dark, and her eyes were bloodshot. “Are you okay? What happened?”

  A tear ran down her face. “I was sleeping, and someone put a pillow over my head. And, I don’t know, I passed out. I think whoever it was thought I was dead, but a nurse came in and revived me.”

  I looked up at Mike. “I thought you put an agent on her!”

  “He’s being dealt with.” He lifted his head to motion for me to follow him out.

  “I’ll be back, okay? I’ve got to talk to the nice FBI agents.” I tried not to let her hear my sarcasm. I leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “We’re going to stop whoever is doing this.”

  Declan hadn’t spoken yet. I made eye contact with him, and an understanding seemed to pass between us before I made my way out of the room.

  Mike grabbed my arm and led me briskly down the hallway, Carlos right behind us. When we arrived in the deserted waiting room, I jerked my arm free, then turned and got right up in Mike’s face. “You touch me like that again, and I will forcefully take you to the ground. What do you think the director would say if he knew you handled me that way?”

  He shrank a little, but his voice had a sharp edge. “You had better tell Carlos and me that you found something useful in Chicago, or we’ll call the director together and see what he thinks about yo
u staying the night with a suspect in a murder investigation and then gallivanting around Chicago with him.”

  I smiled. “You really are an idiot. You still think Declan sabotaged his own bourbon, killed the people he’s worked hard to serve since he moved to Kentucky? He would no more do that than the governor himself.” I glanced over at Carlos. “What do you think? You’re awfully quiet every time we get together.”

  “I think the director made a mistake putting the two of you on this case together,” Carlos said calmly. “I also think the person who practically smothered Marti Cinnamond is scared. That’s why he left without making sure he’d suffocated the life out of her. That’s also why now is the perfect time to zero in on him.”

  I turned my harsh gaze back to Mike. “I think your partner is right. And I have a lead on who this person or people might be. I think Marti knows who’s trying to kill her—she just doesn’t realize it.” I told Mike and Carlos about the Garrison, and how I thought it was somehow tied to the Black Tulip. “And there’s more I should fill you in on.”

  “And what’s that?” Mike said.

  “Believe it or not, I went to Chicago for a specific reason. I toured Declan’s lab. When he purchased the laboratory, it did in fact come with a supply of tacin.”

  “So Declan has had access to the murder weapon all along.”

  “Yes, but there’s more. He showed me the refrigerator inside the lab where this chemical was supposed to have been stored. It was locked behind heavy security—palm and retinal scanners as well as a physical key. But when we opened the refrigerator, the tacin was gone.”

  “And yet you’re still proclaiming Declan O’Roark’s innocence?” Mike said. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Declan wasn’t the only one to have had access. His brother, Darren, also had access. As did a chemist, Fritz Hahn, who’s overseeing the remodel and construction work on this laboratory. But if we can verify that Hahn hasn’t set foot in Kentucky, I’m willing to put him at the bottom of the possible suspect list.”

  “Anything else?” Mike asked.

  “If we can get a sample of the tacin from the crime scenes to Hahn, he says he can analyze it and decipher exactly who created it.”

  Mike considered that for a few beats, then looked to Carlos. “Thoughts?”

  Carlos looked to me. “First, good work, Agent. Second, I say we gather any information we can on Darren O’Roark and this chemist.”

  “Agree,” Mike said. “On both counts.”

  My eyes practically popped from my head in shock at the compliment.

  “Let’s call the Chicago field office and bring Fritz Hahn to Kentucky. In the meantime, we’ll see if he’s been in Chicago all this time.”

  “I also suggest looking at Declan’s flight schedule,” I added. “Both his private plane and commercial. And check to see how many trips Darren has made to Chicago since Declan purchased the laboratory.”

  “I’m glad you realize that none of this clears Declan O’Roark,” Mike said. When I remained quiet, Mike continued. “And what about your source? I’m told you have him to thank for the sprain?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, he’s actually the one who suggested I question Marti about the black tulip tattoo and its meaning.”

  “Why do you think that is?”

  I bit my lip and considered. “No idea.” Of course, I had never known how Romeo discovered his information. “There’s something about this group, though. I think it’s time to invite the Lexington Police and Kentucky State Police into the fold.” It wasn’t unprecedented for law enforcement to work together to solve a murder case. But it could sometimes be difficult for the different branches of law enforcement to give up control over a case that happened inside their jurisdiction.

  “Share information?” Mike asked.

  “Yes. If the federal government hadn’t shut down homeland security at the state level, we would already be coordinating our efforts to stop a future attack. But as it is, our evidence and information is spread across too many channels, and I’d like to bring those efforts together. Do you need to call the director and ask permission?” I said the last part hoping to make a play on his arrogance.

  Mike swallowed the insult. “I think it’s a good idea to share intelligence. Where can we get a meeting room for all parties to come together?”

  “Consider it handled. I’ll text you with the time and location.”

  Followed by his state police protection detail, Truman escorted Ty and me through the transportation cabinet building’s foyer toward the fusion center. But instead of entering the fusion center itself, we entered an adjacent conference room.

  “We’ll meet in here,” the governor said. He walked over to the windows and adjusted the blinds so that the sunlight wasn’t so harsh. “You know,” he said as he turned around, “this is how the fusion center was supposed to be used. State-run homeland security offices were supposed to help law enforcement come together and share information, with the purpose of more efficiently keeping people safe when threats and hazards crossed local, state, and federal jurisdictions. The Kentucky Office of Homeland Security was supposed to take away the territorial bullshit that police officers, detectives, special agents and all the other people involved have always had. Run correctly, a state homeland security director can streamline the gathering of information and sharing of intelligence and help put some of these domestic terrorists away before they even get started.”

  I smiled at my brother-in-law. “Is that part of some speech?

  His lips twitched. “Yeah. Except for the ‘bullshit’ part.” He gestured toward my arm. “How’s the arm?”

  I shrugged. “I’ll be fine.” But in truth, I was annoyed by my continued inability to use my arm, or even my hand. Of course, it had only been one day.

  Ty and I took seats at the table. As we did, I said, “Teddy would be proud of you, you know? And he would have agreed with you about the need for a state-level office of homeland security. As do I. Unfortunately, the President of the United States thinks funds are wasted at the state level.”

  “That’s why I want your help to bring the Kentucky Office of Homeland Security back to life. Even without federal money, I think I can find the funds for it. If I find my own money and rebuild the KOHS, the feds would have no say in the matter.”

  “But the feds would benefit.”

  “Our state would benefit the most.”

  A knock sounded at the door, cutting off our conversation.

  The governor walked forward and shook Mike’s and Carlos’s hands. “Welcome, agents. Come in.”

  Carlos gave me a low wave. Mike nodded at me, but barely acknowledged Ty.

  A Lexington police lieutenant and two of his detectives arrived next, followed by two state police detectives. After all the introductions were made, the governor gestured to the long conference room table, and everyone took their seats.

  “While this is a state government building,” the governor began, “the room behind this glass wall is filled with federal employees, mostly FBI analysts.” He walked to one side of the glass and flipped a switch. A set of retractable shades began to lift, disappearing into the ceiling above the window. Behind the glass was an impressive room that reminded me of a NASA control room. Its entire far wall was covered with massive monitors, plus four large-screen televisions, two on either side of the monitors. The monitors showed bird’s-eye views of various highways and city intersections. The televisions were tuned in to different news stations.

  “I know we’re all busy, so I’m going to turn this meeting over to Special Agent Fairfax of the FBI.”

  I stood and made my way to the head of the table. “As I said during introductions, I am currently a special agent, but I am also an intelligence analyst. Around a year and a half ago, I became so good at turning open source information into useable intelligence on important cases that the director reassigned me in that capacity.” I left out the part about how I’d had to fight like hell to get the dire
ctor to reassign me—and the part about how I’d quit the FBI a year ago. “The attack on the lieutenant governor and the subsequent poisonings are believed to be tied to a case that the FBI has been trying to crack for more than two years now.”

  One of the Lexington police offers spoke up. “With all due respect, agent, what makes you think the bourbon poisoning has anything to do with your ongoing federal case? Nearly all bourbon is produced in Kentucky.” His partner stared at him, then closed her eyes and gave her head a little shake.

  I tried not to laugh at the woman. “That’s a good point, detective, however it’s not the method of delivery that links the cases. It’s the fact that a chemical agent was used to poison the lieutenant governor and DeBeers.”

  “Add to that the fact that the governor has received threats regarding legislation he’s considering, and we have a case that points to domestic terrorists,” Mike added.

  “Domestic terrorists?” an officer with the governor’s KSP detail asked. “Do you have any leads as to who these terrorists might be?”

  “As a matter of fact, Tactical Analyst Tyler Jamison will explain.”

  Ty came to stand next to me at the head of the table. “We think this might be the work of HVEs.” By the nods around the table, the people in the room knew the acronym for homegrown violent extremists.

  Ty continued. “Our intelligence—a combination of witness interviews and open source intelligence—tells us that this group of radicals splintered off of the Occupy Wall Street movement after getting frustrated with that organization’s passive approach. I have spoken with members of Occupy, and they vehemently deny any association with this newer, more radical group. From my observation, this new group has similar beliefs as the Occupy movement—but they appear willing to kill for their cause.”

  “Exactly what is their cause?” the female Lexington detective asked.

  “That they won’t stand by and watch large, wealthy corporations take over small towns and working-class America. And they especially won’t allow the wealthy to continue to decide who holds political offices so that the rich can continue to get richer while the working class continues to struggle.”