Indispensable Party (Sasha McCandless Legal Thriller No. 4)

by Miller, Melissa F.

  Sasha stared down at the foil packages. “Thanks.”

  Dr. Yu patted her arm. “You’re welcome. And try not to worry. Leo was vaccinated, along with the entire board of directors and the officers of his company. No one died, and, as far as I know, no one experienced any side effects at all.”

  She zippered her bag and leaned forward. “Whatever you’re involved in, Leo, take care.”

  He smiled at her and said, “We will. Thanks again. I know you put yourself on the line to do this, and I won’t forget it.”

  She waved off his gratitude and hopped out of the SUV. Sasha watched her run across the parking lot and disappear into the boxy, white building across the way.

  Sasha returned to the front seat and placed the antiviral medicine in the inside zippered pocket of her bag. She exhaled slowly and reminded herself that Connelly was under a considerable amount of pressure and stress. She cleared her mind of her irritation and smiled at him.

  “Do you have any other surprises in store or can we hit the road now?”

  He reached out and caressed her jaw. “Thank you. No more surprises,” he said in a soft voice. Then the engine roared to life, and he backed out of the spot.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  By the time Connelly barreled through the Easy-Pass toll lane and merged onto the Eastbound Turnpike daylight was fading behind the mountains.

  He stared down the miles of patched and uneven road that unfolded in front of them, his hands gripping the steering wheel tight enough to turn his knuckles white.

  Sasha sat in silence for a while, letting him work through his worries on his own. Finally, she cleared her throat and tried to decide how to phrase the suggestion that they stop for a bite. A green and white mermaid flashed past as Connelly sped by a sign advertising the amenities at the upcoming service plaza.

  “Can we stop at Somerset? I think it’s the last clear shot for Starbucks until Breezewood. I could really use a cup of coffee,” she said. And you could use to decompress and eat a snack or something, she added silently to herself.

  “You don’t like Starbucks,” he answered, accelerating.

  “Come on, Connelly. I’m in the mood for a gingerbread latte,” she lied.

  He raised an eyebrow at her but sighed, and eased the car into the right lane.

  He followed a minivan into the rest area. The parking lot was nearly deserted. He took a spot close to the entrance, and they hurried out of the car and jogged toward the doors as the wind whipped at their coats.

  Inside, Sasha headed for the Starbucks line and urged Connelly to get himself a slice of pizza. The peppy holiday music that piped out from behind the counter was a poor fit for the tired-looking, bored barista who took Sasha’s order.

  “You said a skinny latte, right?” the girl confirmed.

  “Right.”

  “Whipped cream?”

  Sasha stopped herself from asking who would order skim milk and whipped cream. “No thanks,” she said, forcing a smile.

  “Happy holidays,” the girl intoned, dead-eyed and expressionless as she handed over the gargantuan drink.

  Sasha headed to the tables near the pizza joint and was pleased to see Connelly had taken her advice. He sat, his long legs sprawled out under the small table, with a personal pizza and a steaming black coffee in front of him.

  “You didn’t have to wait for me,” she said, eyeing his coffee with no small amount of jealousy.

  “I wanted to.”

  He smiled, but his eyes were serious.

  She slid into the seat across from him and leaned over the table.

  “Connelly, what’s wrong?”

  “What’s wrong?” he echoed, frowning at her.

  She hurried to add, “I know this is a serious situation. But, we’re doing everything we can. You have the support of the board to talk to the government. We’ve filed a temporary restraining order against ViraGene. There’s nothing else we can do right now, right?”

  The tension didn’t leave his face.

  “That’s exactly it,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper. “Somewhere out there, someone’s running around with the deadliest weapon you could imagine, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

  She stared at him.

  “It’s not your job to stop him anymore. You’re the chief security officer for a pharmaceutical company, not a government agent—or a superhero.”

  She felt her own stress level rising. They were not going to get involved in saving the world. At least she wasn’t. She was going to meet with the task force to explain why the first vaccine order had been shorted and then she was going to wait for the court to grant her emergency temporary restraining order. And that was the extent of it. She sincerely hoped Connelly didn’t plan to track down a virus-wielding lunatic.

  “I know,” he conceded, staring down at his pizza. He lifted his eyes and searched her face. “But, you don’t understand. That virus can’t get out.”

  Sasha nodded but couldn’t speak around the lump in her throat. She took a sip of her sweet coffee drink instead. Over Connelly’s shoulder, she spotted a state trooper lounging by the vending machines just inside the entrance. She hadn’t noticed him when they rushed inside from the cold. On closer inspection, the casual pose was an act. His hand rested just beside his weapon and his eyes swept the area in a constant, careful arc.

  “I thought you said the government hasn’t released the news about the virus?” she said, nodding toward the vigilant trooper stationed by the door.

  Connelly nodded. “Trust me, they haven’t. They can’t risk that level of panic and hysteria. They probably alerted all the state governors to an unspecified, unconfirmed threat and asked them to put boots on the ground to monitor for suspicious activity.”

  “And the states would just do that? With no real information or meaningful explanation?”

  Sasha hoped her voice sounded less judgmental than she felt. Given his current mental state, she wasn’t looking to rehash their battles over the Patriot Act.

  “Yes, they really would. But, there’s only so long before some desk jockey in D.C. blurts out to his wife that she should wear a mask to the grocery store , just in case. Then, she’ll tell her mother and best friend that there’s something contagious and very bad that the feds are worried about. Twenty minutes later, it’ll be all over Facebook and twitter. So, the window to handle this under the radar is closing. Quickly.”

  Connelly balled up his napkin and tossed it on top of his uneaten pizza.

  Sasha plucked the napkin from his plate and pushed the food toward him.

  “Please eat. You’re the one who always says sleep, food, and exercise are weapons available for everyone’s arsenal; anyone who doesn’t take advantage of them is a fool.” She smiled to lessen the blow of scolding him with his own stupid maxim.

  His mouth curved up at the corners in the smallest of smiles, and he picked up a slice of pizza and started to chew.

  That hurdle cleared, Sasha returned to her coffee and ruminated on how to get him to move off the idea that he could swoop in and contain a deadly virus.

  They finished their pitiful excuse for dinner in silence and left, nodding goodbye to the trooper before they bent their heads against the howling wind and ran back to the car. In her pocket, Sasha’s phone vibrated and rang, but she didn’t notice.

  CHAPTER 18

  Gavin paced beside his car and willed Sasha to pick up her ringing phone. Instead, her voicemail message filled his ear.

  “Sasha, it’s Gavin. Call me as soon as you get this. I found Celia. She’s up at this prepper compound out past Firetown, and she’s really sick.”

  He exhaled and dropped his phone back into his pocket. He wished he’d caught her. But he didn’t have time to worry about it now. He slid behind the steering wheel and started the engine. Then, he leaned over and racked the passenger seat all the way back so Celia could rest more comfortably while he found a doctor’s office or urgent care center for her. He hoped
he wouldn’t have to drive all the way to the hospital in Springport. She was in bad shape; he needed to find someplace closer.

  As he returned to a seated position, the weight from the gun pressed into him. He didn’t really need it now. There was no one up there other than him and Celia. He removed the gun and holster and locked them in the glove compartment, then he turned the car around and headed for the gravel drive.

  When he reached the metal gate, he exited the car and left the engine running. He bent down to examine the arm. If he could raise it, he could drive the car right up to Celia’s cabin. He wasn’t concerned about his ability to carry her—she was little more than a limp rag at this point—but he assumed being out in the cold would be bad for her condition.

  He crouched and pushed on the rusted metal hinge. Behind him, footsteps crunched across the frozen snow.

  “Sir! Turn around slowly, please,” a voice barked near his ear.

  Gavin rose to his feet and pivoted to face the business end of a twelve-gauge Remington Magnum. Its owner held it steady and pointed it at the center of Gavin’s chest.

  The woman wore an orange parka with the hood drawn tight around her face. Her eyes were unblinking.

  He glanced back at his still-running car, with the loaded gun safely locked away in the glove compartment. You idiot, he thought to himself. He raised his hands above his head, nice and slow.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  The woman marched him past the cluster of cabins to a long, low rectangular building.

  “Open it,” she said when they reached the double doors. Gavin pushed through the doors and stepped into a mostly empty mess hall. A dozen and a half wooden picnic tables flanked by scarred benches on each side formed six rows of three. Three men in fatigues were unloading boxes at the far end of the room.

  “This way,” she said, aiming the gun toward a doorway off to the right. The arrival of a prisoner at gunpoint either went unnoticed or was unremarkable because no one even glanced up as they walked through the mess room and into a small, dimly-lit hallway.

  A single naked bulb dangled from a fixture in the ceiling and a map of the grounds, a reminder about not feeding the wildlife, and a calendar of events—relics from when the campsite had been run by the Department of Natural Resources—-still hung from a corkboard nailed into the log wall. Just past the corkboard, a door was set into the wall. Hanging from the door was a laminated sheet of paper that identified the room as “Captain Bricker’s Office.”

  The woman rapped on the door.

  “Come in,” a male voice rumbled from the other side.

  She nudged Gavin through the doorway with the muzzle of her rifle.

  The man who had been sitting behind a metal desk jumped up guiltily. He didn’t look like any kind of captain Gavin had ever seen. He was in his late thirties, a little soft around the middle, with shaggy brown hair that touched the collar of his hunting jacket.

  “You’re Captain Bricker? Are you in charge here?” Gavin asked.

  The man’s eyes opened wide. “No, sir. I’m George—Sergeant Rollins. Lydia, what’s going on?” he turned to the gun-toting woman for an explanation.

  “Trespasser, sir. I found him messing with the gate while I was on patrol.” She spoke in a clipped, militaristic voice.

  Gavin wondered where these people had come from. The compound had been empty. Unless they’d been holed up in the recreation center the entire time. But, then where was their vehicle?

  While he asked himself questions he couldn’t answer, Rollins watched him. Indecision was plain on the other man’s face. Gavin decided to take charge of the encounter.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” he said, addressing Rollins and studiously ignoring the woman named Lydia. She struck him as the trigger-happy sort.

  Rollins nodded, visibly relieved that he was doing the talking.

  Gavin continued, “There’s been some sort of misunderstanding. I’m looking for one of your members—Celia Gerig?”

  Beside him, he heard Lydia’s sharp intake of breath. The color drained from Rollins’ face.

  “What do you want with Celia?” he demanded.

  “I’m a family friend. Her mother hasn’t heard from her in a while. She’s worried. She told me Celia belongs to your, uh, organization, so I came up to see if she was here.”

  Gavin delivered the half-truth convincingly, judging by the way Rollins relaxed his shoulders.

  “I see,” Rollins said slowly.

  “Celia’s sick,” the woman snapped.

  Gavin turned to her. “In that case, let me take her to get medical care.”

  “I didn’t say she was here,” Lydia responded, narrowing her eyes. “Anyway, I’m a nurse. I’m qualified to care for her.”

  “May I see her?” Gavin asked, careful to be polite and nonthreatening.

  Lydia cut her eyes toward Rollins. Whatever his actual status was, the mild-mannered man was clearly her superior in the prepper hierarchy.

  “I’m sorry,” Rollins said slowly. “You can’t. She might be contagious.”

  Gavin would have plenty of time to regret the next words that came from his mouth.

  “Actually, I’ve already seen her. I found her in that cabin. I just want to talk to her and make sure she’s okay staying here. If she says she is, I’ll leave—I swear.”

  A look passed between Lydia and Rollins. A long moment ticked by. Then Rollins sighed.

  “Quarantine him,” he said.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  “We have a problem,” a female voice said as soon as Anna picked up the ringing phone.

  Anna waited for the woman on the other end of the phone to identify both herself and her problem.

  Anna wasn’t simply Jeffrey’s wife; she was his lieutenant. He was the public face of Preppers PA, and he shielded her from her his dealings with outsiders, but she was responsible for the day-to-day operations within the organization. She shielded him from the in-fighting, the minutiae, and the tedious work that any group of individuals, no matter how united around a common cause, created. Jeffrey Bricker had the vision, but Anna made the trains run on time.

  “This is Lydia. We have a problem,” the woman repeated, her voice shaking.

  Lydia Markham. Anna called up a mental picture of the woman. Mid-thirties, medium height, straight brown hair. Pleasant, if unremarkable, in appearance. Physically strong. Single. Had specialized training as a nurse, which made her valuable.

  “What’s the problem, Lydia?” Anna asked, tucking a stray tendril of hair behind her ear and peering through the kitchen window to make sure the kids were all accounted for and occupied out back while she waited for the nurse to gather her thoughts and tell her story. She watched their nighttime snowball battle and wondered if Lydia’s romance with her segment leader had soured. Anna had told George not to get involved with a woman under his direct command.

  “Well, you know how George—”

  “Do you mean Sergeant Rollins?” Anna interrupted, sending a clear message that she didn’t want to hear about any relationship troubles.

  “Uh, right, Sergeant Rollins. Anyway, you know how Sergeant Rollins was charged with obtaining the medicine?”

  “Of course,” Anna said, too quickly.

  She had no idea what Lydia was referencing, but the odd emphasis the nurse placed on the word ‘medicine’ made Anna think of the vials rolling around in Jeffrey’s duffel bag. Under the existing structure, however, she was the only one who would have given Rollins an assignment of any kind, and she hadn’t.

  Unless Jeffrey had circumvented her? Her face burned hot, and her mouth went dry at the thought that he hadn’t trusted her to carry out a mission—whatever it may have entailed. She forced herself to focus on the nurse’s halting voice.

  “Right, of course you do. Sorry. So, Celia Gerig was put in place to acquire the items, and she did. She did great. But…” Lydia trailed off.

  “But what, Lydia? I don’t have time for this,” Anna said, adding a hint of steel to
her voice to prompt the story along.

  “Right, sorry.” Lydia said before letting the words spill out as fast as they came. “So, after the leadership meeting, we all vaccinated each other—you know, like a first responder team.”

  A vaccine. Anna exhaled in relief. The vials were just a vaccine. Jeffrey’s failure to involve her in such a routine acquisition was odd, and the fact that there’d been a leadership meeting without her was undeniably troubling, but this was all a non-issue. The vials were just a vaccine.

  “It’s okay,” Anna assured the younger woman.

  “No, you don’t understand! It’s not okay. Celia had a reaction or something. She’s dead.” Lydia’s voice cracked, and she began to sob softly.

  “She’s dead?” Anna repeated stupidly. Her face went numb, and the window glass looked like it was undulating. The dark shapes of her kids carried on their snowball fight through the waves as her hands started to sweat.

  “I don’t know what happened,” Lydia wailed. “She started to feel shaky and queasy yesterday, about eighteen hours after I inoculated her, so Geo—Sergeant Rollins and I took her up to camp to rest. We figured it was better for her to be out sight for a while anyway. It wasn’t going to take much effort to connect her to the missing vaccines. We took her up Saturday night after the vaccine clinics. We came back up this evening with a couple men from the unit to stock the munitions shed and unload the medical supplies. Sergeant Rollins dropped us off and left to refill the gas tanks. I figured I’d go check on her. She was in really bad shape, which she shouldn’t have been. I mean, the textbook reaction to a flu vaccine is a mild fever, maybe some achiness. There was nothing mild about this. She was burning up, dehydrated, and delirious. She could barely stand. She was a ragdoll.”

  “What did you do for her?” Anna asked.

  “There wasn’t much I could do. I hooked her up to a hydration IV and tried to talk to her, but she didn’t recognize me. She was babbling about her friend.”

  “What friend?”