Indispensable Party (Sasha McCandless Legal Thriller No. 4)

by Miller, Melissa F.

  “I thought it was just delirium, you know? But, after I got her settled back in bed, I did a foot patrol, and, sure enough, I found a trespasser who claimed to be looking for Celia.”

  Anna’s head was spinning. Celia was dead, and there was a trespasser on their land looking for her.

  “But you said she died?”

  “She was in really bad shape, Anna. She was slipping in and out of consciousness. If I had to guess, and this is only a guess, she vomited while she was unconscious and choked on her vomitus.”

  Anna shuddered. Then she drew herself up and pushed past the image.

  “Does this friend know?”

  “No. I mean, as far as I know, she was alive when I encountered him. I quarantined him, and then I went to check on her. That’s when I found her,” Lydia said.

  “You quarantined the man?”

  “I had to. He said he’d seen her already. He’s been exposed to … whatever she had. Sergeant Rollins was back from getting the propane by then. He instructed me to quarantine the man, so I did,” Lydia said matter-of-factly.

  Quarantine. Unlawful detention. Kidnapping. There were a lot of ways to describe what Lydia and George had done. Anna closed her eyes briefly and tried to think.

  “I need to talk to Jeffrey. Do not engage with this friend, whoever he is, until you hear from one of us,” she said finally.

  “Yes, ma’am. What about Celia’s body?”

  “What do mean?” Anna asked.

  “Uh, what should we do with the corpse? I mean, people will start arriving en masse in the next twenty-four hours, don’t you think? We can’t just leave her lying in the cabin, can we?”

  Anna’s heart thumped. She lowered herself to the nearest kitchen chair. Jeffrey had put out a call to convene at the camp and hadn’t told her? That was unthinkable.

  “Anna, are you still there?” Lydia asked.

  “I’m here. Bury her, I guess,” Anna didn’t know what else to do with a possibly infectious corpse. More pressingly, she didn’t know what to do about Jeffrey’s apparent betrayal.

  “Will do,” the nurse said, chipper now that she had her marching orders.

  Anna ended the call and took a moment to steady herself, gripping the edge of the counter. She waited until her heart had slowed and her breathing was steady, then she walked to the door and stepped out into the backyard.

  Like mothers the world over, she pushed down the panic that rose in her throat so her children wouldn’t sense danger.

  She turned on the floodlights and leaned over the porch railing to shout, “Use your remaining ammo and come on in and get ready for bed!”

  A flurry of snowballs and hoots of laughter filled the air as the kids finished their battle. Anna inhaled the cold night air, hoping it would drive out the fear and worry that flooded her body. The little ones tromped up the stairs to the porch, trailed by their older siblings. She brushed snow off faces, helped chubby hands unlace boots, and kissed the crowns of six heads, even those she had to stretch onto her toes to reach.

  She stopped Bethany as she passed by and pulled her to the side of the porch. At twelve, she was capable of helping—old enough to handle the responsibility and young enough to find it a novelty, not a burden. The older kids would take care of themselves but would chafe at bathing and dressing the youngest two.

  “Bethany, I need to talk to Dad. Can you please get Clara and Lacey into the bath and help them with their pajamas?” she asked, keeping her tone light.

  “Sure, Mom,” Bethany answered with a serious nod.

  “Thanks, sweetheart.”

  Anna smiled at her daughter. After the back door slammed shut behind Bethany, she turned and stared out into the dark, her eyes sweeping her fallow vegetable garden, the sturdy hen house, and the tall oak tree from which Jeffrey had hung the tire swing.

  She could barely make out the dark shapes in the night, but she stood there for a long time, trying to imprint the scene in her mind’s eyes. She felt, deep in her bones, that she’d never see her backyard again.

  She was still standing like that, scanning the dark yard, when she heard the door ease open and then softly shut behind her.

  Jeffrey crossed the porch and came to stand beside her. He stood close, his shoulder touching hers, and said, “Is everything okay?”

  She kept her eyes pinned forward and steadied her voice before answering.

  “No.”

  He waited. She steeled herself and turned to face the man she’d followed, without question, for almost two decades.

  “Celia Gerig is dead.”

  His eyes widened, and he inhaled sharply, but his expression gave nothing away.

  “That’s unfortunate. She seemed like a good woman,” he said mildly.

  Anna pressed her palms against his chest and stared up at him. “Jeffrey, stop. I know. I know about the stolen flu vaccines. I don’t know why you didn’t share your plans with me, why you didn’t trust me, but we don’t have time to get into that discussion now. Lydia Markham called. Celia got very sick and died. She’s at the camp, along with some civilian who Lydia and George found prowling around. He claims to have been in contact with Celia, so they’ve quarantined him against his will.”

  His face crumpled, and he swallowed hard. “I trust you, Anna. I trust you without reservation. I was trying to save you some worry and to wall you off from the mission. We probably broke some laws. The vaccine acquisition was a critical priority, though. I am sorry Celia’s dead, but she died in the service of our cause.”

  Anna considered this for a moment. She could tell he was being truthful, if understated—they definitely broke some laws. She could also tell he was holding back information.

  “Are those vials in your duffel bag the vaccines?”

  “Yes,” he answered instantly.

  “Is that all of them?”

  “No. There are more doses up at the camp, enough to vaccinate the entire organization. I also have some in reserve to barter with if the currency system collapses. I already traded some to a militia outfit in exchange for silver.”

  “Why do you need them so badly?”

  He took her hands in his and stared into her eyes, “Because we received reports from abroad that the killer flu live virus is on its way to the U.S.”

  “The Doomsday virus? You mean there’s been an outbreak somewhere? Asia?”

  He closed his eyes briefly and shook his head.

  “No,” he said, opening his eyes and meeting her gaze. “Someone stole the virus from a research facility in Europe. The virus is on its way here—if it’s not already within the borders.”

  Anna stared at him and tried to comprehend what she was hearing. Jeffrey’s reach was wide and deep, he had eyes and ears everywhere: if he’d heard it, she could assume it was true. But, still, she sensed he wasn’t telling her everything.

  “The killer flu is here, in a bottle somewhere?”

  “Yes.”

  He looked down at her but didn’t say the words that they’d spent fifteen years preparing for. The words she always knew would change their lives, even as she hoped the day would never come.

  If he wouldn’t say it, she would. “It’s time to go.”

  She went inside and talked to each child, one at a time, and explained it was time to move to the camp. From little Clara up to Clay, her oldest, each of them looked at her with wide, serious eyes and simply nodded. They’d been preparing for this day for years—and, in the case of the younger ones, their entire lives. They hurried to change out of their pajamas and into warm clothes and choose the special items they wanted to bring along—each child was permitted to pick two treasured belongings. Then they filed downstairs and grabbed their Go Bags.

  Anna trailed behind them, turning out lights and pushing in chairs. From behind his closed office door, she could hear the rumble of Jeffrey’s commanding bass voice but not his words. She was glad for that. He was likely talking to Rollins and Lydia, giving them instructions for dealin
g with the quarantined trespasser.

  She stopped in the mudroom and unearthed the first aid kit and a pile of old towels from beneath the utility sink. She loaded the towels and the medical supplies into the back of the Suburban, next to the chickens, who clucked at her and scolded her from within their cage.

  Jeffrey came out from the house, his eyes hooded and his expression unreadable. He zippered his hunting jacket to the chin and hefted two containers of gasoline from a shelf. She waited at the back of the SUV until he walked around to wedge the containers in the corner.

  “Everything set?” she asked.

  He nodded yes but didn’t meet her eyes. She knew him. He viewed the chain of events that ended with a dead woman and a quarantined prisoner as a personal failure. Although she tended to agree with that assessment, he was her husband, and she loved him. She put a hand on his arm.

  “Thank you for protecting us,” she said in a low voice.

  He turned and gave her a brief smile, and then he said, “We should go.”

  While he warmed the engine, she went back inside and walked through the dark, silent house one final time. It already felt deserted, like a house that had been abandoned years ago, not like the home they’d built together. She allowed herself one look back and then crossed the threshold, pulling the door shut behind her. The click of the lock engaging was loud in the still night.

  She hopped into the passenger seat, buckled her seatbelt, and twisted around to look into the back seat. Clara was already drifting off to sleep, but the others were wide awake and watchful. They stared back at her.

  She flashed them a reassuring smile before turning to Jeffrey. They looked at each other for a long moment, and then he shifted the vehicle into gear and pulled away from their home.

  CHAPTER 19

  It was after nine when Connelly pulled the SUV into the garage behind his rented townhouse. Sasha stepped out of the car and stretched, working through a series of quick yoga poses right there in the cold night air, stretching in her bulky wool coat, just to loosen her muscles. Connelly shouldered his bag and, over her protests, took hers, too. She trailed him through the small square of gravel that served as his backyard and blinked into the motion-detecting floodlights that snapped on as they approached his back door.

  While Connelly unlocked the door, she pulled out her phone to try one more time to return Gavin’s missed call. She’d noticed Gavin’s message after she and Connelly had left the service plaza and, concerned by the urgency in his voice, had tried twice to reach him, but got his voicemail both times.

  She began unbuttoning her coat while the phone rang. Gavin’s voicemail picked up again. She waited for the beep and said, “Gavin, I’m getting worried now. Call me.”

  She ended the call and tossed the phone on Connelly’s spotless kitchen counter.

  Connelly was rummaging in the refrigerator. He turned and looked at her over his shoulder.

  “Gavin’s a competent guy, Sasha. He can take care of himself.” Connelly stood and raised two bottles of winter lager. “Beer?”

  Sasha nodded. “Thanks. I know Gavin’s a big boy, but his message said Celia’s really sick and she’s at the prepper compound. So, who knows what’s going on. Maybe Celia has the killer flu. Maybe Gavin’s going to get sick.” She stopped herself as the maybes piled up in her mind, each one worse than the last.

  Connelly pried the caps off the beers and handed her one.

  “I know. But, worrying is just wasted energy, Sasha.”

  She sighed. He was right. She knew he was right.

  She took a long swallow of the cold, spiced beer. Then she asked, “Do you think the virus is already out there? In your gut, is that what you think?”

  His eyes told her nothing and everything.

  Images of pedestrians collapsing in the streets, grocery store shelves bare of food, doctors and nurses wearing masks, and soldiers marching door to door quarantining frightened families as babies cried flashed through her mind. She thought of Naya, of her pregnant sisters-in-law, then the rest of her family. Her throat constricted.

  Connelly pulled her into his arms, and she pressed the side of her cheek into his warm, broad chest. The cloth of his shirt felt soft against her skin. He held her tighter.

  “I don’t know, Sasha. I don’t know.” He murmured the words into her hair.

  Monday

  CHAPTER 20

  Monday morning dawned cold. A nor’easter was tracking its way toward D.C., stalking like a cat through North Carolina. A quick glance out the bedroom window revealed a light dusting of snow, but lines of school and government office closings scrolled across the ticker that ran along the bottom of the Weather Channel feed.

  Leo supposed that spate of closings could simply be the metropolitan D.C. area’s usual overreaction to the threat of snow, but he had to wonder if someone had made the call to shut down the city because of the more serious threat that lurked somewhere out there, far more deadly than even the worst blizzard.

  You’re paranoid, he told himself. He turned away from the window and looked down at Sasha, curled into herself like a cat, still sleeping. Even sound asleep, she looked tired.

  He tried to recall another time that he’d woken before she did and failed. The fact that she hadn’t sprung from bed before the sun was a worry in itself. He watched her heavy, slow breathing. Her wavy hair fell over her face in a partial curtain, but her pale skin peeked out. He smiled at the faint smattering of freckles that sat on her small straight nose and annoyed her in the summer, when the slightest tan served to connect the dots into a dark constellation.

  The image of a sun-kissed Sasha faded and, unbidden, a very different Sasha, feverish and delirious, her lips cracking from dehydration, the sheets twisted around her legs, flashed into his mind. His heart squeezed in his chest, and he had to force himself to breathe.

  “Hey, wake up, sleepyhead,” he said, reaching down to touch her bare arm. The contact with her warm body was an effort to drive the picture from his head as much as to wake her up.

  She sat bolt upright the instant his hand touched her arm.

  “What time is it?” she asked, pushing her tangle of hair out of her eyes.

  “Almost seven thirty,” he told her.

  “What? That can’t be right,” she said, shoving the blankets to the bottom of the bed. “I never sleep that late.”

  “You’re tired. It doesn’t matter. We have plenty of time. There’s not going to be any traffic because everything’s closed,” he told her, gesturing toward the flat screen television mounted to the wall.

  The local weather map showed the approaching storm under a cheerful ‘White Christmas’ headline, even though Christmas was still weeks away. He handed her a mug of coffee, which she took with a grateful smile.

  She leaned back against his headboard and sipped the coffee.

  “Mmm. Thank you. Look, the federal government’s closed. Is our meeting still on?” She pointed toward the screen.

  He didn’t bother to look. “Even when the government’s closed, it’s not really closed. Essential personnel will still report to work, and our meeting will go forward no matter what.”

  As he said the words, the reason for the meeting cast a black shadow over the room, and their few minutes of quiet peace evaporated.

  She looked at him wordlessly for a moment then drained the mug and placed it on his bedside table.

  “Guess we’d better get a move on then,” she said as she headed for the shower.

  He waited until he heard the water running, then opened his closet and pulled a small metal box down from the top shelf. He unlocked the box and removed his Glock. He turned it in his hand and inspected it. He had stripped, cleaned, and lubricated it after his last trip to the shooting range. It was ready to go. He loaded a magazine into the well and then returned it to the lock box. Then, he shoved the box back into the closet and shut the door.

  Technically, he could carry it. Despite the District of Columbia’s st
rict gun control laws, he’d managed to negotiate permission from Homeland Security to carry a concealed weapon in all fifty states as part of his separation agreement. Technically, that permission exceeded the federal government’s powers, but everyone involved in the decision knew that if Leo Connelly drew his weapon, the situation was sufficiently dire that any overstepping would be forgiven.

  But, Sasha’s gun ban was somewhat stricter than the District’s and, given that they were going to spend the morning surrounded by armed federal agents, he saw no point in picking that particular fight with her just yet.

  He just wanted to be ready. For what, he couldn’t say, but whatever it was, he knew he’d feel better facing it with a loaded weapon.

  He heard the sound of the water shutting off. A minute later, Sasha appeared in the doorway, a towel wrapped around her hair and wearing his thick cotton robe, which was only about a million sizes too big for her. The hem dragged across the floor as she walked toward him, following behind her like a train.

  The sight of her swimming in his robe brought a smile to his lips, but the words she spoke wiped it off immediately.

  “Hey, I was thinking. Maybe you should carry your gun today. You know, just in case.” The forced casualness of her tone was belied by the spark of worry in her green eyes.

  He nodded, serious and solemn. “Maybe I should. Just in case.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Colton dressed quickly as the morning news exhorted him to stay home and ride out the approaching storm. ViraGene didn’t close every time the federal government shut down at the sight of a snowflake. He knew plenty of support staff would call off or work from home because their kids would be home from school, but those who could make it in were expected to show up for work every Monday through Friday, unless it was a paid holiday. Period.

  He would arrive later than usual, however, because he had an errand to run. Not just any errand, an errand that had to be undertaken in secrecy, so that it would never trace back to him. He didn’t want to risk taking his car. The Metro system was still running, for the time being. Colton decided he’d better get going before some lazy bureaucrat looking for a day off shut that down, too.