by Julie Rowe
“So, everything he does say is suspect?”
“Yeah, I suppose.”
“And I thought Mikey was dumb,” Gunner said.
Rawley nodded. “I’ll give the Atlanta office a call after I talk to forensics and the coroner. See if they’ve learned anything new. If not, I’ll suggest changing their questioning strategy.” He walked back to the bathroom as he began speaking to whomever he called.
“I’ll take some samples from what’s in here,” Joy said, taking the carton from Gunner and looking inside it. “The faster we get this to the lab the better.” She stood next to him, her body angled toward his. I trust you, her body said to him, and he felt himself respond, emotionally…physically. Desire simmered in the back of his head and low in his gut. Instead of trying to shut it down, he left it alone, letting it support him with a bit more energy.
“Good work,” he said to her. Despite not getting enough sleep and too many bruises, she was attentive and thorough. Tougher than anyone else he’d ever met.
Admiration warmed him from the inside out. He was fucking proud to be her partner, to be her friend. And they were more than just friends. They were good together, in bed and out. She was funny and didn’t take any of his shit. He flat out liked her.
He’d lost Sandy in a nightmare of sand and blood, a nightmare that had plagued him ever since. Unless he was sleeping with Joy. Something his conscience told him had to stop unless he wanted more than just cuddling privileges. More than the comfort of sex with someone who was safe.
Did he want her to demand more?
She met his gaze, startled for a moment, then a smile crinkled the corners of her eyes. “It’s a group effort.”
Such a small thing, that smile, yet it filled that cold, empty place Sandy’s death had left inside him with warmth and belonging.
Joy turned and began carefully removing all the items from the carton.
Gunner gave himself a mental shake then went to the fridge, opening and searching every container, sealed or otherwise. Nothing. He began searching the freezer and came across a foil-wrapped square with meatloaf written in black marker on the side. It didn’t weigh much, maybe a couple of ounces at most.
He unwrapped the tinfoil and opened a plastic container. Inside was a loose paper towel ball. He removed it and cautiously tugged it apart. A USB stick. Yes.
It looked undamaged, but moisture from the freezer could have gotten inside and corrupted the information. Only one way to find out if this stick and their case was connected.
He slipped the stick inside his collection kit then put the paper towel back into the container and returned it to the freezer.
“Don’t touch it.”
The order came from the bathroom, and it grabbed hold of Gunner’s lungs with cold hands.
He turned to see Rawley and MacDougall backing slowly and carefully out of the bathroom.
“What’s wrong?”
“The…the cupboard under the sink…” MacDougall began.
“Has some kind of incubator in it,” Rawley finished. “With wires sticking out of the door.” He spoke into his radio, asking for the bomb squad and more units to help evacuate the building.
Ice settled into Gunner’s airway, constricting his ability to breathe, but there wasn’t time to worry about it. They had to get out. Now.
Behind him, Joy swore and began tossing everything she had laid out on the kitchen table into her collection kit.
“No time,” Gunner ordered, grabbing her elbow with one hand and his kit with the other.
She shrugged him off. “It’s evidence. We need it.” She grabbed her kit, leaving behind the majority of the contents of the milk carton on the table. Gunner ushered her to the door.
Rawley and MacDougall were right behind them. MacDougall was explaining to someone on his radio what he saw in the bathroom, while Rawley was on his phone doing the same.
As soon as they were out of the apartment, MacDougall peeled off, pounding on the neighbor’s door, announcing he was police, and that the building needed to be evacuated. Rawley did the same across the hall. Gunner dragged Joy toward the stairwell.
“Sixty seconds,” Joy wailed. “That’s all I needed. We don’t even know if there’s really a bomb.”
“I recognized the body,” Gunner told her, as they ran rapid fire down the stairs. “It was the kid from the storage locker.”
Joy looked like she wanted to hit something, wanted to wrap her hands around the throats of the people responsible for all this death and destruction. She held onto her kit with white-knuckled hands.
“Damnit,” she said, her voice vibrating with frustration. “Why are there always fucking stupid people.”
A red fire alarm stood out against the off-white pain of the walls. He pulled it. The clang of the alarm did nothing to hide Joy’s continuing response to his news.
“It makes no sense, none. Was he shot?”
“Couldn’t see any obvious wound, but there was a lot of blood underneath him. He didn’t stink, either.”
He herded her all the way out of the building and across the street. A number of other people from inside the building followed them as multiple sirens filled the air.
People looked at them, but no one tried to ask them anything. Maybe it was the Tyvek coveralls or the CDC initials printed on their backs, but the rest of the growing crowd of evacuees gave them a few feet of empty space between themselves and Gunner and Joy.
A fire truck pulled up outside the building.
Gunner and Joy strode over to talk to the first fireman they saw.
“Possible bomb in the building,” Gunner told him. “There are two law enforcement officers inside trying to clear everyone out.”
He had to repeat himself a few times as police, an ambulance, and finally the bomb squad arrived.
Three men in bulky police uniforms and helmets got out of the bomb squad truck, followed by a fourth man. Someone Gunner hadn’t expected to see.
All three officers wore the same dangerous, closed-off expression. All three looked around in the same order, stopping at Joy and Gunner. The CDC coveralls weren’t a normal sight at a possible bomb threat location.
They were so similar in expression, size, and features they could be triplets.
The fourth man stood to one side, staying out of everyone’s way. A man who shouldn’t be here. Dozer.
Rawley and MacDougall emerged from the apartment building and headed toward them when Gunner waved at them. Rawley gave the bomb squad a detailed report, ending with the description of the incubator.
All three of them conferred with each other and another member of their team before the first bomb squad triplet announced, “Detonating it in place is the safest option. A door like that could open by accident.”
“Dangerous,” the second one said.
“Dumb,” the third one added at the same time.
“What do you guys need to get it done?” Rawley asked.
The triplets gestured for Rawley and Dozer to join them in a close formation, where they lowered their voices so no one could hear them.
Joy glanced at Gunner, frowned, and moved closer. She leaned in to say quietly, “There’s blood on the pavement. I think it’s from your leg.”
He glanced down. His leg didn’t feel any worse. He would have noticed if the stitches pulled, wouldn’t he?
“Can I get you to check it when we have five minutes?”
“Sure,” she said in a take no prisoners tone, “but if it keeps bleeding, I’m not going to want to wait for the first five-minute window. I’m going to tackle you, sit on you, and hold you down until it’s been checked.”
He loved it when she got all snarly with him. “That’s fair.”
She glared. “I’m serious.”
“So am I. I’d do the same to you if our situations were reversed.”
She harrumphed just as Rawley’s huddle with the triplets and Dozer broke up.
Rawley spoke with Dozer for another
minute while the bomb squad trio headed for their van. Then, Rawley got into his SUV and drove off, leaving Dozer behind.
“What are you doing here?” Gunner asked him. “You can’t be cleared for duty.”
“I’m observing,” he said, rolling his eyes. “That’s all I’m allowed to do. Rawley is taking off to check out a lead from our cyber-team. They found an address here in New Orleans that might be connected to the dark net purchase of bio-weapons.”
“I can’t believe Rodrigues allowed you to come back to work at all. Not so soon after the explosion,” she said, giving him a once-over.
“She wasn’t happy about it, but she needs every pair of hands she can get, so she gave me permission to observe, advise, and report on this situation.”
“Really, Mr. Control Freak?” she asked him. “You agreed to that?”
He gave her a brilliant smile. “Of course.”
“Right.” She looked at Gunner. “He’s all yours. Have fun.”
“Gee,” Gunner said in a fake whine. “You give me all the best presents: milk cartons full of mystery bacteria, suspects, and Homeland Security agents.”
A brilliant but false smile bloomed on her face. “Merry Christmas.”
The bomb squad began issuing orders to the public with a megaphone, instructing them to move away. Two entire city blocks. The added distance was in case any of the unknown biologicals were capable of surviving the blast and becoming airborne.
Gunner and Joy checked with the squad to ensure all of the men going into the building with explosives were aware of the possible pathogens siting in petri dishes on the table. Knocking them over and spilling whatever it was on them or their equipment was something to avoid.
It took a couple of hours for the explosives to be placed and all the buildings immediately adjacent to the apartment building to be evacuated. When the explosives were detonated, the blast still knocked people off their feet, including Gunner.
Everyone was ordered to stay where they were while the squad went to evaluate the remains of the building and the debris field. He was ordered to stay down when he tried to get up by a paramedic. Joy watched as the medic unwrapped Gunner’s leg and studied the sluggishly bleeding wound.
“Need more stitches?” she asked.
“It’s not that bad,” Gunner replied.
The paramedic snorted but didn’t look up. “I think we can get by with surgical glue.”
No one said anything else until the paramedic was done and Gunner pulled his pant leg down to cover the new bandage.
Dozer strolled over. “Mike Creek’s phone is finally revealing its secrets. We were able to retrieve some data he thought he deleted. This whole business is bigger than just a few kegs of Frank Creek beer.”
“Bigger?” Gunner asked. “How much bigger?”
“Not sure. We know two things for certain. There are more people involved, and they’re getting money for this shit from somewhere.”
Human beings could be so fucking cruel to each other. And for what? Power? Control? They were illusions, mirages that held no substance. Almost nothing in this life was under anyone’s direct control.
“So far, all the phone numbers lead to burner phones, but there’s enough in the text messages to indicate at least six different people involved in the production of your E. coli, distribution of the contaminated beer, and sales to the public.”
“So, there’s at least one person unaccounted for,” Gunner said. “But possibly more.”
“Possibly,” Dozer agreed in a contemplative tone. “We need to take a closer look at all the messages, see if there are any code words or other sneaky bullshit on it. If this is an act of terrorism, then we’ve got an active cell here.”
“How many people in a cell?”
“Usually, between six and twelve people.”
“So, we could be dealing with six more people?” Gunner asked. “Lovely.”
“Find any addresses?” Joy asked.
“That would be convenient, wouldn’t it?” Dozer asked. “But no, and the GPS on it was scrambled. It thinks we’re in Timbuktu.”
“Are we sure the apartment belonged to the beer store manager?” Gunner asked.
“Yeah, the Super identified him out of a photo lineup.” Dozer studied Gunner’s leg. “You okay?”
He gave Dozer a sardonic smile. “I can rest when I’m dead.”
“Not funny,” Joy told him with one eyebrow raised. Unfortunately, it was a suspicious eyebrow.
Dozer’s phone rang, and he pulled it out and walked a few steps away.
Joy opened her mouth, but Gunner spoke before she could. “Don’t start, I’m not suicidal.”
“I’m not saying you are, but if you keep pushing yourself, you’re going to end up in a hospital.”
Gunner rubbed his face with both hands. “I don’t want to fight with you.”
“You shouldn’t be working,” she said.
“Maybe neither of us should be working, but there aren’t enough of us to go around, so we’re both going to have to suck it up and keep at it.”
She frowned. “Point to you, but can I trust you not to do anything stupid?”
Dozer came back before Gunner could reply. That was probably a good thing. Blaming any future stupidity he might do on the Y chromosome wasn’t going to be much of an excuse.
“We’ve got a lead. The address of a frat house that bought two Frank Creek kegs.” Dozer grinned. “You two want to come?”
“Yes,” Joy said at the same time Gunner said, “Absolutely.”
The drive to the first frat house was tense. Joy looked like she was busy calculating the moment when Gunner’s leg would collapse. Dozer drove looking like he’d planned a whole bunch of funerals and enjoyed it.
“We forgot MacDougall,” Joy said.
“He’s meeting us there after he’s done at the apartment building,” Dozer said. He drove for a couple of minutes without saying anything. “So, about your leg…”
“What about it?” Gunner asked in what he hoped was a polite voice.
“What exactly happened?”
“Impaled with a piece of metal. How’s your head?”
“It hurts, but not bad enough to sideline me.”
“How strange,” Gunner said in false surprise. “That’s just how I would describe the injury to my leg.”
Joy’s half laugh, half snort was patently disbelieving.
“Don’t laugh, happy lady,” Dozer said. “I’m willing to bet you’re black and blue from head to toe.” He sighed and shook his head. “None of us should be working right now.”
Gunner and Joy looked at each other.
“Why are you doing it?” Joy asked.
“I’m a glutton for punishment?” Dozer paused for only a moment, but neither of them laughed. “Seriously, I’m convinced this is terrorism, foreign or domestic.”
“What convinced you?” Gunner asked, curious as to how the agent was thinking.
“The execution style murders. The use of biological weapons. The targeted recruitment.” He glanced at both of them, just a flick of his gaze. “I think you two could bow out if you wanted to take care of your injuries. It would be the smart thing to do.”
“Does he know anything about investigating bacterial or viral pathogens?” Joy asked Gunner.
Dozer supplied the answer. “I went through a six-week intensive course on bioterrorism response, and I’ve been the liaison between the CDC and Homeland for months.”
Joy rolled her eyes, and Gunner had to stifle a chuckle.
“He’s a doctor, and I’m a nurse,” she said. “We have years of experience in front-line healthcare. Before we were posted in our current roles, we went through a two-year specialized program designed by the CDC for the CDC,” Joy said. “To put it another way. Your six-week course wouldn’t qualify you to write parking tickets in the CDC’s parking lot, let alone investigate a possible outbreak.”
Dozer smiled. “That’s the right attitude.”
<
br /> Gunner stared at him. That smile was full of…pride. “Is this your idea of a pep talk?”
“It worked, didn’t it?” His grin was wide and very smug. “Your heads are back in the game.”
“I’m surrounded by a village of idiots,” Joy said, flopping back on the seat. “Unfortunately, I think I may be one of them.”
Yeah, she was probably right.
They arrived at the frat house to find MacDougall already there and arguing with three young men.
“You can’t enter our house without a warrant,” one of them said.
“Everyone in our house is over twenty-one,” the second one said.
The third one had his phone out and was filming the entire conversation.
Dozer strolled up, that wide, friendly smile on his face, only he didn’t stop to face off with the two guys arguing with MacDougall, he went straight for the kid with the phone out.
“Here,” Dozer said, stepping into the kid’s personal space. “Let me help you with that.” He yanked the phone out of his hand and hurled it against the exterior of the house. The crunch it made was oddly satisfying.
“What the hell, man,” the kid said.
“Call your dad,” the first kid said to the second one.
Dozer held up his ID. “Here’s what’s going to happen,” he said conversationally. “We’re not here to search your house for drugs or underage kids getting drunk on cheap beer. We’re here to locate the cheap beer because some asshole poisoned it. That’s right. Someone sold you something that has the potential to kill every single person who drinks it.”
The three frat brothers stared at him like he’d issued the death threat himself.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Frank Creek beer,” Gunner barked. “Someone put a dangerous and deadly bacteria in your beer. It’s killing people.”
All three young men looked at each other, then at Dozer, Joy, and finally, Gunner’s face, as if they might see evidence of a lie.
The first kid started to hyperventilate, then he bent over gasping for breath.
“It’s in the kitchen,” the second kid said so fast his words tumbled over each other as they came rolling out of his mouth. “We’ve been drinking it for a couple of hours already. Are we all going to die?”