Cold Blooded

by Toni Anderson

  The net was closing and it seemed more and more likely that this awful bioweapon had some connection to Atlanta.

  They headed downstairs.

  “Let’s take my vehicle. I keep protective equipment in the trunk,” Jez told him, huffing after them.

  Hunt nodded. “I’ll grab my gear and a shotgun and Agent Griffin. Meet you out front.” Hunt split off from the man from the CDC. He needed ammunition from his desk.

  Mandy Fuller tried to stop him along the way.

  “The guard looks like he’s gonna pull through,” she told him, hurrying to keep up.

  “I know.” Hunt had called the hospital earlier. “That’s good news.”

  “I traced the truck, but the owner reported it stolen—”

  “Mandy, I can’t stop.” He held up his hands in apology but she knew the investigation was critically important. “I’ll come find you as soon as I have time.”

  Fuller looked pissed but he smiled determinedly at her. He felt like they’d made a giant leap forward. He just hoped the widow could help them solve this puzzle and that Pip would forgive him for not listening to her if Cindy’s death was somehow related. He also hoped he wouldn’t end up arresting an old lady as a terrorist.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  They parked across the street from the single-story home with its steep driveway overhung by tall sugar maples. The widow lived northeast of Decatur’s downtown in an older style home that backed onto woods and a large cemetery. At the rear of the garden just visible through the overgrown shrubs was a garage-sized building with a metal chimney sticking out the roof. The sight of it made the hair on Hunt’s nape stand on end.

  “Think that’s a summer house or a home laboratory?” Will asked Jez.

  The scientist pulled a face.

  “You don’t take things home, right?” asked Hunt.

  The man grinned. “Never, but would you like to come over for supper sometime?”

  “Not in this lifetime.” Hunt shook his head. Humor helped defuse the tension.

  Hunt and Will both pulled on raid jackets, so they’d be easily identifiable as FBI agents while walking around the neighborhood with long guns.

  They didn’t want to scare anyone.

  Jez handed them each a breathing apparatus and mask. They took the masks but didn’t put them on yet. There was no obvious identifiable hazard.

  It was quiet out. Kids would be in school. Most people at work.

  “We’re weighing wide scale panic versus personal risk. I think the mask is a sensible precaution. I’m definitely gonna wear mine if I go in there.” Jez pointed at the shed.

  Great.

  “Give us five minutes and then join us,” Hunt told the scientist.

  To start with, Hunt and Will knocked on the front door, but after two minutes of no response they went around the side of the bungalow and stepped up to a screen door at the back of the property. Hunt pressed the doorbell again.

  A strange hum filled the air, like someone had flicked on a lighter under a wasps’ nest.

  “You hear that?” he asked Will.

  The other agent frowned, shook his head.

  Hunt pressed the doorbell again and listened carefully. There was that weird hum again. A shiver ran over his flesh. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

  The other agent nodded. “We can wait for backup.”

  Hunt felt stupid. “For one old lady?”

  “For a group of bio-terrorists who may or may not be in the area.”

  Hunt grimaced. He carefully tried the knob but it was locked. He went to the window and pressed his nose to the glass. His heart did a swift kick against his ribs. “I figured out the noise.”

  Will came up beside him. “Flies?”

  “Yep.”

  They both stared at a dark shadow on the floor. Something disturbed the dense mass and they rose in a thick cloud only to settle again after a few moments.

  Jez came tentatively around the corner, wearing the protective headgear, carrying the little black box that was a rapid field tester for anthrax. He frowned when he saw them. He peered inside the house and swore colorfully. “Can’t tell what she died of from here. If it’s anthrax she’s a perfect bioweapon bomb for anyone who goes inside and deals with the body. Even those flies need to be contained and killed before we go inside.”

  Something buzzed past Hunt’s cheek and he batted it away. “Fuck.”

  The microbiologist checked his detector. “Not measuring anything and that is good news.” He got on the phone, calling in evidence and decontamination teams from HMRU and CDC.

  “Why do I get the feeling someone’s cleaning house?” Hunt said tightly to Will.

  “You don’t think the widow could be in on it?”

  Hunt shook his head. He doubted a ninety-two-year-old woman would want to kill hundreds of thousands of people with her husband’s anthrax. But maybe she thought he was being ignored, or wanted him immortalized. Didn’t make sense to him but he wasn’t going to discount anything right now. He took another step away from the bungalow, convinced he could smell the decomposition even out here. There was nothing anyone could do for the widow—assuming it was Grossman’s widow—but they needed to check the outbuilding.

  Hunt called McKenzie and updated him while he waited for Jez to finish his preparations.

  “We’re gonna need a full biohazard team. Dr. Place just called it in to HMRU and CDC.”

  “Natural causes or murder?”

  “Impossible to tell. Jez said she’s a potential source of the disease so we didn’t enter the main building.” His stomach turned but he ignored it. HRT was looking better every day. “We’re just about to enter a converted garage we’re thinking might be the old man’s laboratory.”

  “Keep me informed.” McKenzie hung up.

  Jez caught up with them as they approached the fancy shed in the back garden. They all put the breathing apparatus over their eyes, mouths and noses. Jez handed them gloves.

  “But don’t touch anything,” the scientist ordered.

  Hunt and Will nodded. They weren’t stupid. Jez led the way, turning the door handle and finding it unlocked. He held up his hand and waited a few seconds, watching the display on his equipment.

  Then he waved them forward, presumably free of anthrax.

  Hunt and Will followed him inside a room that looked like a rudimental lab with a pot belly stove at one end of the room, probably for heat.

  A big freezer sat against one wall. Jez touched it and checked the flex. “Someone turned it off.”

  He carefully opened the door and Hunt braced himself for loose powder or old vials, but there was nothing inside except the lingering scent of bleach.

  Jez checked the display of his sensor and shook his head. “It’s been cleared out.”

  “Now I know why they gave you a Ph.D.,” Hunt joked.

  “No one gave me shit,” Jez said between gritted teeth. “And right now, I’m wishing I’d stopped at AP Bio.”

  They spread around the room, Jez heading to the fume hood tucked against the west wall, Will to the desk. Hunt drifted to a nearby wall covered in framed photographs and certificates. He used his cell to take copies, sending them to Hernandez at SIOC.

  Hunt worked his way across the wall and finally got to a group shot probably taken in the seventies judging by the clothing. One tall guy at the edge of the group caught his eye, clenched fist planted firmly on a skinny waist. Hunt took a photograph, then called the other two men to him.

  Jez peered closer. “Isn’t that…?”

  “Professor Trevor Everson.” And suddenly Hunt really had to wonder about Cindy Resnick’s death and all the things that didn’t add up. Had the professor killed Cindy and Sally-Anne? Framed the drug dealer to divert the investigation? Killed the widow? All the clues were pointing firmly in his direction.

  Whatever the truth was Hunt hoped to hell Pip was safe in her hotel room because things were starting to get ugly. She could kick his as
s later, he just wanted her out of the crosshairs.

  * * *

  Pip drove slowly along a paved road south of Cartersville that skirted the Etowah River, about twenty minutes from Cindy’s cottage. The professor’s cabin was one of four or five tucked away from the road, near a farm and some stables, hidden by large leafy plots and hemmed in on the north side by the river. The properties were more rural and undeveloped than many of the surrounding subdivisions that had sprung up like clones over the last twenty years.

  She thought she recognized the mailbox at the end of the driveway and pulled up beside it. She hopped out of the cab and checked the name on a magazine sticking out.

  Nature. And it was addressed to Trevor Everson. She was in the right place.

  She shivered a little in the afternoon breeze and pulled her leather jacket on over her t-shirt. The sky was overcast and the temperature had cooled off overnight and they’d had intermittent rain, which suited her mood perfectly.

  Hunt hadn’t returned her call and it was ridiculous that she’d experienced a small sting of hurt. The man was working. Doing important things for his country. Hopefully putting the right bad guys in jail. And they’d made no promises. He’d accused her of running away, but it didn’t mean he wanted a future together.

  What did it matter? Hunt Kincaid wasn’t her one true love and she’d do better by avoiding him altogether.

  So why did the thought of never seeing him again hurt so damn much?

  She debated for a moment whether to drive down to the cabin or just walk. But she could see the building just a hundred yards away through the trees and it felt lazy to take the car, and a little presumptuous. She pulled the professor’s mail out of the mailbox, deciding to save him a trip, hoping the kindness would diminish any annoyance he might feel at her turning up uninvited.

  She started off down the driveway, the crunch of gravel loud beneath her sneakers.

  The meeting she’d had with the university IP department and Adrian Lightfoot had been eye opening. It looked like Cindy had been about to revolutionize vaccine research although Pip still didn’t know exactly how. It would be a few years until the patent yielded any real money. If there was enough, Pip was thinking about starting a research fellowship in Cindy’s name. It was something the professor might consider adding his name to as well, as a way of immortalizing their achievement.

  A pair of blue jays bounded through the trees overhead and made her smile. Pip spotted two vehicles outside the small house. A silver hybrid and a dirty, gray truck.

  She went to the back door, clutching the mail, and knocked.

  She thought she heard voices inside. So she knocked again, louder this time. The voices stopped abruptly and she heard footsteps, then silence, though she couldn’t see anyone. No one liked to be tracked down, especially when they were trying to escape. But the funeral was only a few days away. Surely, he wouldn’t want to miss it?

  She pressed her lips together, fighting a growing headache. “Professor? Professor Everson. It’s Pip West, Cindy’s friend. I wanted to tell you I’ve arranged the funeral for this coming Sunday.” She raised her voice to be heard through the thick, wooden door. “I was hoping you could be a—”

  Gravel crunched behind her and she swung around. Something heavy connected with her temple, and pain exploded through her skull. The world went black and she crashed to the ground.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  They were flying along the highway, ten minutes out from Everson’s cabin when Hunt’s cell rang. Libby Hernandez. Two more teams had been mobilized from the FBI’s Atlanta FO, including the SWAT team but Hunt, Will and Jez were twenty-five minutes ahead of them. Jez Place had the accelerator pressed firmly to the floor.

  “Three guesses as to the last post-doctoral research associate to work for Vernon Grossman?” Hernandez said without preamble.

  “I’m way past guessing games, Libby,” Hunt told her. The itch between his shoulder blades was becoming a full blown allergic reaction.

  “Everson.”

  “Everson was a post doc of Grossman’s,” Hunt said to the others.

  “They didn’t publish any papers together so I had no idea,” Jez exclaimed. “But it makes sense given their overlapping subject of expertise.”

  “Can you trace his cell and see where he is?” Hunt asked the analyst. “I spoke to his head of department and convinced her to give me the address of his cabin, but I don’t know if he’s there.”

  Other teams were mobilizing to raid his residence in Atlanta.

  “Give me five minutes,” Hernandez told him.

  “We need to pick him up for questioning ASAP. And we need a CDC team at Blake, picking his lab apart.”

  “And probably another team up here,” Jez added. “Just in case.”

  Dammit. The potential crime scenes were endless and they had to go slow until each scene had been cleared.

  Just as they turned onto the road about a mile from Everson’s cabin Hernandez called him back.

  “Can’t get a trace on his cell phone. Seems to be in a bit of a dead zone. You might lose comms there.”

  Hunt made a sound of frustration. This could be a giant waste of time but they wouldn’t know until they knocked on the door. “Thanks anyway.”

  He disconnected and glanced up only to feel as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over his head.

  “Up ahead.” He pointed to the red SUV pulled up beside the mailboxes. “That’s Pip West’s vehicle.”

  “Any idea what she’s doing here?” Will asked.

  Hunt curled his fingers into fists. “Searching for answers about her friend’s death.”

  Will shifted in the seat behind him. “Looks like she found them, unless she’s involved—”

  “She’s not involved,” Hunt snapped.

  “You sure?”

  “One hundred percent positive.” And wouldn’t he look like a bloody fool if he was wrong. But he wasn’t.

  Yes, she was a journalist. Yes, she was trouble. But she’d dedicated her life to figuring out the truth, not selling bioweapons, or blackmailing the government with the threat of unleashing deadly substances.

  “Pull up here,” Hunt told Jez. They were a hundred yards away from Pip’s vehicle, closer to the neighbor on the east’s driveway should Everson drive past unexpectedly.

  He was anxious to get Pip out of there ASAP but not stupid enough to run into a situation blind. He had years of experience and training for raids, but not one of them had involved someone he cared about being smack bang in the middle.

  They were already wearing ballistics vests and had spare ammo in their pockets. They paused only long enough to get Will’s sniper rifle out the back of the truck and stuff their breathing apparatus into a duffle bag that Jez carried.

  “You should stay here,” Hunt told the scientist. “We don’t know how dangerous this is.”

  Jez gave him a look. “Bullets are scary, but so are pathogens, Kincaid. Let’s move it.”

  Hunt grinned but he wasn’t feeling any humor. Pip was somewhere nearby and she might be in danger. If Everson spotted them and was involved he might try to take her hostage. They locked Jez’s vehicle and headed into the woods, following as Will picked his way carefully toward the cabin. Hunt was aware how much noise he made, but Jez was like a bulldozer tromping through the forest.

  Will held up his hand and raised the scope to his eye.

  “I don’t see any movement through the windows. A silver Prius in the driveway.”

  “Everson owns a Prius.” Hunt confirmed. “You see Pip?”

  Will shook his head.

  Hunt tried to put his anxiety behind his training. It wasn’t easy.

  The overcast nature of the day helped them fade into the shadows, but they were still exposed and visible.

  “Let’s make our way through the woods using the trees for cover. I’m going to go first while you cover me,” Will said. “When I get to that stump over there I should have a good vis
ual of the back of the building and you can join me. I’ll cover you from there.”

  Hunt nodded. He knew they should wait until backup arrived, but Pip was around here somewhere. Maybe she was having a perfectly normal conversation with Everson, or maybe he was feeding her chemicals so he could rape and murder her and stage her death as another overdose victim.

  Had he really believed he could get away with this?

  Hunt eased behind a big beech tree and took up position. He wished they had radios as their cells were useless. He waited until Will got into position then crept toward the cabin, cringing as Jez followed on his heels, as stealthy as a blind rhino.

  Hunt moved cautiously until they reached a thick belt of trees. Out of sight he crouched and ran to where Will had set up.

  “See anything?”

  Will winced. “There’s a figure lying on the ground just outside the backdoor. Looks like a woman.”

  Hunt felt himself go cold inside. “Let me look.”

  Will handed over the rifle and Hunt scanned the ground. He couldn’t see the woman’s face, but he recognized the shape and clothes and the glossy dark hair.

  “It’s Pip.” He felt sick. She wasn’t moving. He handed the rifle back. “I’m going in. Cover me.”

  Will gave him a hard stare then nodded. “Keep around the back of the driveway. I don’t see any windows on that side of the house.”

  Hunt was grateful the man didn’t try to stop him. He ran, keeping low as he worked his way to the back of the building. Once at the driveway he hugged the shadows as he moved quickly over the ground. He ducked behind the car and then worked his way to where Pip lay unmoving.

  He touched her neck, searching for a pulse and felt a slow rhythmic rush of blood that almost floored him. But he couldn’t afford to drop his guard and he kept his weapon raised, eyes on the house.

  The backdoor was slightly ajar.

  He placed his hand on her back, trying to forget how her skin felt against his lips. Pip’s chest rose and fell steadily. She was breathing and had a pulse. He ran his hand over her hair, coming across a wet, sticky patch with a bump to match.