Krewe of Hunters Series, Volume 5

by Heather Graham

  “He must be speaking from experience,” Brett told Lara. She laughed softly, linking an arm through his, and they left Diego there on the platform. He’d apparently formed his own relationship with the dolphins. Brett looked back and saw two of them swim over and let Diego stroke their backs.

  Back at the house, he and Lara tiptoed past Meg and Matt, who already seemed to be asleep on the couch. Up in the guest room of Grady’s suite, they turned to one another by instinct and fell swiftly into a frenzy of lovemaking, as if they really did have only minutes.

  He wondered if making love to her would ever get old.

  No, never old. Just more comfortable, easier, with more time to laugh and tease.

  But it would always be amazing.

  As he drifted to sleep, he thought of Miguel. And he wondered if this was how Miguel had felt about Maria when it had all begun for them.

  * * *

  Lara had done more work on the Just Say Thanks day, with press releases and appeals to their sponsors, than on anything else since her arrival at Sea Life. She’d approached it with every bit as much passion as she ever had brought to her political campaign work and enjoyed it more.

  They always hoped for contributions to help keep the place afloat, but they didn’t have to kowtow to lobbyists, nor were they expected to provide payback beyond the occasional gala dinner and special opportunities to interact with the dolphins.

  Far better than politics!

  But Just Say Thanks day was the best, because it was all about giving back to those who had given so much themselves.

  She was with Rick and the trainers when they had their 6:30 a.m. meeting, and she was with Grady twenty minutes later when he spoke with the rest of the staff, including the interns.

  She caught Dr. Amory watching her as they all listened to Grady talk about the importance of the day. When Dr. Amory smiled at her and gave her a thumbs-up sign, she returned it. She saw in his face that what he’d told her the other day had been true.

  He loved Sea Life. He didn’t mind being a happy poor man.

  When it was almost time for the Just Say Thanks people to arrive, she was thrilled to see that her efforts had paid off. Ely Taggerly, Grant Blackwood, Mason Martinez and Sonia Larson had all, as promised, shown up to make the day special for the vets.

  Grant flirted with her—the man just couldn’t help himself, she thought—but she easily kept a safe distance.

  The locals and tourists had also come out in droves to say thank-you to the veterans, and that made her even happier. Their show of support was bound to bring smiles to a lot of faces.

  When the buses drove up with the soldiers and their counselors, she felt an incredible rush of pleasure at being part of something so special. She stood at the entrance, the head of their welcoming committee.

  There were several hundred people lining the paths behind her, waving American flags and applauding as the soldiers entered the facility. She glanced down the line; Sea Life sponsors, from the high flyers to those who donated what few dollars they could, were mingling with all the other guests. Sonia Larson was applauding enthusiastically, a look of tremendous appreciation on her face. Lara was also glad to see Meg just a short distance away, keeping an eye open for anything out of place and potentially dangerous.

  The soldiers started getting off the buses and making their way through the gate. Some walked easily while some needed canes or crutches. Still others were in wheelchairs.

  Some had prosthetic arms or legs—or both. Some looked down, faces reddening, as if embarrassed by the show of appreciation. And some smiled and laughed, fist-bumping the children standing by the path and thanking those who’d come to thank them.

  Once all the vets were inside the gate, they headed in groups down to the docks and the different lagoons, where the trainers would work with them. Lara helped with directions and made sure everyone knew where they were going.

  She also talked to reporters and made certain that they only talked to veterans who had agreed ahead of time to be interviewed. She left one reporter with Grady, then took a minute to hang out by Cocoa’s lagoon, where Rick was taking a group in to swim with her as another group made their way out of the water.

  Lara was pleased to see that her favorite dolphin was ready to show off. Even as the soldiers readied themselves to go into the water, Cocoa greeted them with a spectacular leap and a chattering sound that sounded almost like “Welcome.”

  Lara paused then, and felt a wave of gratitude and emotion nearly overwhelm her as she noticed a wheelchair by the dock. It was piled high with the artificial limbs the men and women couldn’t wear into the water.

  She turned to see if she could help the group whose swim had just finished, but she didn’t need to. One of the soldiers using a crutch was already standing by the wheelchair, handing out limbs.

  “Hey!” one of the others called to him. “Wrong leg. Give a marine one task and he blows it!” he teased.

  “That one might make you taller, GI Joe,” the marine called back.

  They were young, she thought. All so young. And it occurred to her that too often there was no choice in life but to fight, and so many times the fight took the young and beautiful of the world.

  “Lara,” Adrianna called to her from the platform. “Want to help piggy-back a soldier?”

  She was startled; she’d had no idea she might be asked to help out in the water.

  “Me?” She felt a moment’s genuine fear. What if she did something wrong?

  “Cocoa knows what to do, but she likes to have someone she trusts with her.”

  “I’m not wearing a suit yet.”

  “There are extra suits like mine in my locker,” Adrianna said.

  Lara thought Adrianna’s outfit, which was more like a T-shirt and shorts than a bathing suit, looked both comfortable and flattering.

  “Come on in!” one of the soldiers called, and suddenly it was a chant.

  “Okay, I’m coming! Just let me grab a suit and I’ll be right back,” she said.

  She realized she was still scared, but this was also something she really wanted to do.

  Meg nodded to her. “I’ll be watching the lockers,” she said quietly.

  Lara hurried back to the lockers, heading to the left side where the trainers kept their things. Adrianna’s locker was open, with a pile of suits neatly folded and ready for use on the upper shelf. Lara grabbed one and shut the door, and the locker next to Adrianna’s popped open. Evidently the lock on it hadn’t caught.

  She started to close it, then paused.

  There was a small tube of paint lying on the floor of the locker.

  Red paint.

  Like the color poured all over the dismembered doll she’d found on her desk.

  For a moment she froze. Then she felt her anger kick in, and she looked quickly through the locker, trying to determine whose it was.

  None of the lockers had nameplates, and the contents—a newspaper, a water bottle, a towel—didn’t tell her anything. She bent down and carefully picked up the tube of paint, using her shirt to hold it so she wouldn’t disturb any prints.

  Then she went ahead and changed, leaving the paint wrapped in her clothes in Adrianna’s locker. She closed the door and wished she had a lock, but she figured it would be safe for the next thirty minutes or so. She would tell Meg about it right away, and get it to her as soon as she could. Since she suspected the perpetrator had thought the paint would never be found, she thought it was highly likely that they might find fingerprints on it.

  She had a smile on her face when she headed out the door.

  And she felt a steely determination that no one was going to mess with Sea Life.

  * * *

  “I’ve now had the opportunity to compare the brains and tox screens of each of our
dead men, so I’ll speak as plainly as I can,” Kinny told Brett and Diego. “Certain chemicals that the body makes—dopamine, for one—can be given in doses to patients suffering from various diseases of the brain and nervous system. There are a number of dopamine systems in the brain, managing neural and muscle control. It’s logical to think other chemicals—including man-made chemicals—could have different effects, effects that could be harnessed in some way.” He paused, shaking his head. “I believe that someone was directly injecting certain chemicals into the brains of the dead men to destroy their mental capacity, their ability to reason, and leave them open to nothing but his direct commands. I haven’t been able to figure out the exact compounds that were used, because they were slightly different in each case. What, exactly, the experimenter has been trying to do, I’m not sure. But while the victims meant no more to him than cockroaches do to you and me, I don’t think that creating a zombie army is what he was trying for. I think the murders were simply part of the experiment.”

  “So your theory is that someone was experimenting with mind-control drugs for a reason we don’t understand. He used some kind of poison to create the perfect simulation of death, then injected the ‘dead men’ with other chemicals to destroy their ability to think and to control their behavior, keeping them alive long enough to kill someone else? Someone close to them,” Brett asked.

  “Yes, as far as it goes. It’s the end game that eludes me. But here’s the thing. There are traces of chemicals that improve motor skills and mental well-being in the mix, as well,” Kinny said. “Given the degradation of the remains, I can’t be positive, but it does seem that puffer fish poison was used to simulate death so the actual experiment could begin, but I don’t think it was key to the experiment itself. All I know is that we have a budding Dr. Frankenstein on our hands.”

  “So we’re looking for someone with medical know-how?” Diego asked.

  “Indeed we are. Possibly a biochemist,” Kinny said.

  “And here I thought everything led to Barillo,” Diego said.

  “Maybe it still does. The man has a medical degree, and one of his sons is in med school,” Brett said.

  “I forgot about that. And he’s probably got doctors in his employ.”

  “Not to mention his mansion might as well be a castle. I think we’re going to take a trip to see Dr. Barillo right now,” Brett told Diego. “Thanks for the help, Phil.”

  Diego waved to Kinny on the way out. “First zombies and now Frankenstein,” he said. “What will we discover next? The chupacabra?”

  * * *

  Lara saw Meg watching from the platform while she was in the water with Cocoa and one of the vets who was waiting for his dorsal tow.

  The young naval officer was minus his left arm; despite that, he could probably swim better than she could. But she knew Cocoa, and Adrianna was trusting her to help both dolphin and vet enjoy their experience, and Lara liked to think that even if she wasn’t actually a trainer, she did have a special bond with the dolphin.

  Cocoa certainly made her look good, going above and beyond and giving the officer a great swim around the entire lagoon. When she had safely returned him to the platform area, she made a stunning leap right over Lara’s head, delighting the entire crowd.

  When Lara emerged from the water, she was on a high. It had been an unbelievable experience.

  Shaking hands with so many of the servicemen and women, laughing and as wet as they were, she felt a sense of camaraderie unlike anything else in her life so far. It was a far cry from what she had known in politics, that was for sure.

  She hadn’t had a chance to tell Meg about the paint she had found earlier, because as soon as she’d left the locker room she’d been surrounded by soldiers rushing her down to the water, and now, just as she was about to say something, Meg got a call on her cell. Lara pointed to the locker room and mimed dressing. Meg nodded and went back to her call.

  Lara hurried into the showers marked Women. There were several stalls separated by nothing but thin plastic curtains. She could have hurried back to the privacy of the office, but she wanted to hurry. Quickly stripping down, she stepped into the hot spray.

  A few minutes later, when she turned off the water, she heard something just outside.

  The whole facility was crawling with people. Many of the veterans and counselors were women. Maybe one of them had wandered in to change.

  But the noise had been furtive, a strange scraping sound, as if someone had inadvertently brushed against the wall.

  “Hello?” she said.

  No answer.

  She could scream, of course, and a hundred people—including Meg—would come running. It was ridiculous to feel afraid.

  But she did.

  Someone had been in there, watching her. She felt incredibly vulnerable, standing naked and wet in the tiny shower stall.

  And for all she knew, someone was standing just outside the curtain, waiting to attack when she emerged.

  She hesitated for a second longer. There was no weapon in the shower, unless she could force her attacker to slip on a bar of soap. There was nothing to do but open the curtain and look outside—and be prepared to scream blue blazes if someone really was out there.

  She jerked the curtain open, ready to face an attack, but the room was empty. From outside, she could hear cheering and laughter, signs that the day was the huge success she’d hoped for.

  She grabbed her towel, dried off, then hurried to retrieve her clothing.

  Immediately, she realized that something was gone.

  The tube of bloodred paint had disappeared.

  And then she knew. Someone had been in there with her. Someone who’d somehow known what she had found.

  Someone who knew what it meant and had no intention of being incriminated.

  CHAPTER 16

  “Mr. Barillo isn’t receiving visitors,” a voice said over the speaker.

  Brett and Diego were in their car in the driveway at Anthony Barillo’s waterfront estate. A call box on a pole to the left of the great iron gates protecting the estate warned “All visitors must request entry.”

  They had requested.

  Someone at the other end had listened to them identify themselves, and then, sounding bored, the detached voice had replied.

  “You know, sometimes it seems as if people just don’t like us,” Diego said, shaking his head. “This could get depressing.”

  “We’ll get in,” Brett said firmly.

  Diego smiled. “Of course we will.”

  “You tell Mr. Barillo that Special Agents Brett Cody and Diego McCullough are out here. He came to see me, and now we’re coming to see him.”

  The voice started speaking again.

  “I’ve informed you once, Mr. Barillo isn’t—”

  “You go tell your boss what I said, and I suggest that you do it quickly, instead of trying to send us away before checking with Mr. Barillo,” Brett said firmly.

  There was silence on the other end and then he heard another voice, this one aggravated. “What do you want?”

  “To speak with Anthony Barillo.”

  “Are you trying to arrest my father?”

  “I’m trying to speak with him.”

  “Then—”

  Brett glanced over at Diego. Then they heard a third voice—older, gruffer, accented and deep.

  “What is it, Jeremy? Who is there?”

  “Agents Brett Cody and Diego McCullough, Mr. Barillo,” Brett said. “I’d like you to do me the courtesy of inviting me in for a conversation.”

  “Open the damned gate,” Barillo said.

  The gates swung open. Brett entered the long driveway that curved in a horseshoe shape in front of the house. Barillo had two acres on the water, an estate purchased from a
popular music mogul twenty years earlier. The lawn was perfectly manicured and expansive. The porch was tiled in rich mosaics. The front door was etched glass.

  When they got out of the car, Diego nodded toward two men in suits standing on the porch, one on either side of the door. They were wearing earwigs, and while their arms were folded across their chests, Brett was certain that they were armed. Their faces were impassive.

  Brett didn’t expect trouble, however. It would be bad business for Barillo to let his men have a gun battle with federal agents in his front yard.

  “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Brett said, exiting the car and heading to the door.

  One man nodded grimly and opened the door for Brett and Diego.

  They entered a large foyer leading to a huge room with ceilings that appeared to be about twenty feet high. A curving staircase led to an open balcony above them, and halls to the right and left led into the rest of the house. Brett had heard that the place had over ten thousand feet of living space.

  A woman in a tight-fitting business suit and high clicking heels hurried toward them. “Mr. Barillo will see you in his office.”

  She swept a hand to her right and led them forward, opening a carved wooden door at the far side of the entry.

  Anthony Barillo was there, standing behind his desk.

  Brett thought that the desk—and the room—seemed to dwarf him. On the one hand, it was a typical office, with a desk, computer, bookshelves, an elegant globe in the center of the room and several chairs arranged before the desk.

  On the other hand, the windows behind the desk looked out on the water and a yacht that was at least fifty or sixty feet in length berthed at an even longer dock.

  “Gentlemen,” Barillo said.

  His voice still sounded rich, but Brett detected a light rasp to it. As Barillo sat, his hand shook slightly. “Sit, please. To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked drily.

  Brett and Diego looked at one another and took the chairs facing the desk and the view. They’d already decided that Brett would be asking the questions. Diego, who was even now angling his chair so he could see the door in his peripheral vision, would be listening and watching their backs.