The White Iris

by Susanne Matthews

  “Wait a minute. I know you. We met a few years ago. I’m Lenore Singer, and you are?”

  “Trevor Clark. Does Julie Swift still live here?”

  Damn, damn, damn. What the hell is he doing here?

  Julie looked around the room quickly, trying to stem her panic. There was no place to hide, not when Lenore opened the door even wider.

  “She certainly does. I’m just visiting for a couple of months.”

  My God, Lenore would let in a mass murderer if he smiled sweetly and looked familiar.

  Just when she’d thought today might be a good day. Thanks to a bottle of wine, after a few bad memories, she’d slept through the night for the first time in weeks, and while she had a slight headache, it wasn’t much of a price to pay for a temporary reprieve from the demons and monsters that haunted her dreams. Of course, this visitor could bring on a migraine and maybe a full-blown asthma attack, too. What else could go wrong?

  “That’s right. We all went to that football game together. I remember you now.” Lenore, standing in the doorway, bent down and then tossed Minion One back into the room. “You’re a sly one.” She winked. “Well, I wish I could stay longer and reminisce, but I’ll miss my bus. Ta-ta.”

  Lenore went out and Trevor stepped into the room, preventing the beige kitten from escaping a second time by closing the door.

  “Hi. Sorry to drop in unannounced like this. I tried to call yesterday, but I missed you at the lab, and your old numbers didn’t work.”

  “I changed carriers last year,” she said automatically before she could stop herself.

  What am I doing? It’s none of his business. I don’t answer to him.

  Dressed in dark navy denim jeans, a blue-and-white-striped rugby shirt, and a black nylon Windbreaker, he fidgeted near the door, decidedly uncomfortable, as if this was the last place he wanted to be—but if that was how he felt, what was he doing here? His horn-rimmed glasses were back in place, and the dark stubble on his chin and cheeks testified he hadn’t shaved this morning. He was absolutely gorgeous. Her hormone levels jumped ten points just inhaling his cologne, the familiar aroma making her heart flip-flop.

  That’s not your heart, girl, her conscience prodded.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting anything…” He glanced toward her bedroom.

  “Not likely at this hour of the morning,” she answered grumpily, annoyed that the thought she might have a man in her bed didn’t bother him. “The only thing you’re disturbing is my peace of mind. What are you doing here?” She yanked on the oversized T-shirt, pulling it down over the yoga pants she wore. Not exactly her most glamorous look.

  Damn. Is this one of the shirts he left behind?

  “Can I come in?” he asked, standing by the door, the inquisitive kitten looking up at him.

  She rolled her eyes. “You’re already in,” she pointed out. “If you mean can you stay and will I listen to you, it depends on what you’ve got to say. I may have to play nice-nice at the lab, but this is my home.”

  He kicked off his loafers the way he always had and stepped farther into the room, his gaze drawn to the painting of Murphy’s Mountain, the one that dominated Carson’s Creek. He shuddered. It was the same reaction he’d had the day he’d seen the picture at Ellie’s.

  “You really don’t like to be reminded of home, do you?” she asked.

  “It’s not just home,” he said softly. “Nolan and Dad died at the base of that mountain.”

  “I’m sorry,” Julie said, embarrassed by her bad temper. Nana would be ashamed of her. The least she could do was be polite to her guest, even if he was an unwanted one. “You never mentioned that before. As I recall, when I asked you about it, you just said it happened out on the range.”

  And obviously, that was a half-truth at best.

  “I don’t like to talk about it,” he said. “I’m sorry I didn’t come for Ellie’s funeral. I figured you wouldn’t want me around. If I was wrong, then I apologize for being as big an ass as you obviously think I am.”

  “Maybe not an ass,” she mumbled. “More like a mule-headed fool. Is that why you’re here? To convey your sympathies? A card would’ve been fine.”

  “No, that’s not why I’m here, although I am sorry. But I need to talk to you about the case.”

  Of course you do. Why did I even consider there might be more to you than work?

  “Fine,” she huffed out. “Would you like a cup of coffee? Since it isn’t even ten, you must’ve been up early and, as I recall, airline coffee sucks.”

  Look at me. Suzy Homemaker.

  “That would be good, thanks.”

  He wasn’t behaving like himself any more than she was. Polite strangers, drawn together for a common purpose. That’s all they were now. Regret filled her. Relationships should have funerals so they could be mourned and buried. Then those affected could move on.

  “Come into the kitchen. I’ll get you a cup, and you can tell me why you’re here. Patches is asleep on the windowsill, but watch your step. There’s another one of those little guys around. They try to trip you when you walk.”

  “I’ll be careful. I didn’t think you liked felines. The barn cats always got underfoot, too. I suppose these little guys like to climb?”

  She chuckled and relaxed a bit. “Oh yes. And their claws are sharp. They aren’t old enough to be declawed yet. I’ve become one of those crazy cat ladies.” She reached for a clean coffee mug. “It’s been hard accepting that Ellie’s gone, harder than it was when Nana died, but Patches, Minion One, and Minion Two have helped, along with having Lenore here. Ellie and Brad would’ve been married next spring. My only consolation is that the coroner said they were killed instantly. The cats and the painting are pretty much all I kept from Ellie’s apartment—her mom painted the landscape.”

  Trevor’s tension had eased now that the painting was out of sight.

  “I remember. I’m sorry about everything. Losing Ellie … It’s hard to be alone. I still have Nick, but he’s across the country now, and I haven’t seen him in months. We talk, but…” He removed his jacket and hung it on the back of the stool before sitting down at the kitchen island.

  She handed him a mug of coffee. “Still take it black?”

  “Yeah, thanks.” He took a mouthful. “You make a good cup of joe.”

  She nodded, smiled, and leaned against the counter, as far away from him as she could get in the tiny kitchen. This—him sitting here having coffee and her still in her pajamas—was too familiar, bringing back memories she’d hoped she’d set aside for good.

  “I drink enough of the stuff, and apparently I’ve converted Lenore, too. So, what is it about the case that brought you to my door on a Saturday morning?”

  She needed to get this over with and get him out of here before her loneliness—and her horniness—made her do something stupid like rip off his clothes and ravish him. The sex between them had always been explosive, and it had been so long…

  Get a grip.

  He hadn’t come here for a romp in the hay. She took a mouthful of coffee, forcing her thoughts away from images of him doing things to make her body sing. Heat rose in her cheeks.

  Trevor set down the mug, and if he noticed her high color, he didn’t comment on it.

  “In July, when I was here,” he began, seemingly immune to the sexual energy filling the tiny room, “I told you and Brad about the Prophet. What I didn’t mention was that when we found out about the cult, we tracked it to its original location. There were a number of shallow graves there, and I had them exhumed. This is Dr. Lenore James’s report,” he said, holding up a USB flash drive. “I’d like you to have a look at it.”

  “I’ve heard of her. She’d very good. You could’ve e-mailed whatever’s on this,” she said, tamping down her desire. He was all business; she would be too, even if it killed her.

  “I know, but I wanted to discuss it with you, and I’ve never been fond of electronic conversations. They never work in my favor�
��nor do phone calls.”

  She thought of the arguments they’d had two years ago when she was in Carson Creek. If they’d been face-to-face, would it have made a difference? Probably not. He wouldn’t tell her the truth then, and he wouldn’t now, but they’d have had sex, and sex was better than nothing, right?

  “I also thought I’d talk to the acting director, but I got his message saying he’s out of town until Tuesday,” he continued, pulling her back to the present and putting her libido firmly back in its place.

  “Yeah, he’s in Washington. The president is going to name the next golden boy to run the CDC, and he called him there. I don’t know if that means Nelson will get the job or just get let down easily. He’s a competent man, but if your prophet unleashes his Great Burning…”

  “You don’t think he’s got the stones to stop him.”

  “I don’t think he’d be good in a crisis.”

  “Scientific observation?”

  “Gut feeling.”

  “That’s a new one for you.”

  “People change,” she said. “Let me dry my hair and dress, and then you can show me what you have. I’ll be right back.”

  Julie hurried into the bathroom, removed the towel, and brushed her hair back into a ponytail. Going into her bedroom, she changed into jeans and a sweatshirt, an innocuous outfit that made her feel more in control of this unwanted situation. If Trevor was here to talk business, then so be it. She could do this.

  • • •

  Several hours later, Julie leaned back in the kitchen chair. They’d drunk several cups of coffee while going through Lynette’s James’s report, and Julie had answered all of Trevor’s questions about poisonous herbs, concentrations, and ratios. The two cyanide deaths were very different. While the boy’s would’ve been quick and painless, Charity had probably suffered.

  “The oleander residue in the bodies varies, but that probably means some of the victims were weaker than others and died after fewer doses,” Julie explained.

  “Could he weaponize it?”

  “The oleander?”

  He nodded.

  “Probably. You can weaponize anything, but I’m not sure how effective it would be in a populated setting. It would have to be very concentrated to be strong enough to kill quickly. There are a lot of other poisons that would be more effective—some of them in this list from Lynette. Foxglove induces heart failure—”

  “I see,” he interrupted. “And there’s other stuff out there, like chlorine gas and sarin, that works even better. I didn’t realize this would take up so much of your time. Can I repay you by taking you to lunch? My plane leaves at four.”

  Her stomach grumbled. “Sure, why not?” Besides, Lenore wouldn’t be home until later, and being alone in her apartment wasn’t something she wanted right now.

  “Have you had any reports of stolen toxins or pathogens? We got that memo in early August before the accident,” she said, closing down the computer and handing him the flash drive. She’d copied the files for later.

  “No, but I’m beginning to think the Prophet has his own sources and doesn’t need to look anywhere else for what he needs. We know since he has pharmacological expertise—he knew about scopolamine and had a real cocktail of drugs to keep his people toeing the straight and narrow. I sent that directive out to everyone, but other than getting lectured by every CEO he’s spoken to, my agent says everything’s good.”

  She bit the inside of her cheek. “You know, if the Prophet has an expert working for him, he wouldn’t need much virus to grow his own or to bioengineer it into something new. Viruses are constantly mutating.”

  “I know, but no one’s reported anything missing or out of the ordinary. If you know something I don’t…”

  Here was her chance to tell him about the errant viruses, but the president’s gag order kept her mute. If POTUS didn’t trust Trevor with that information, why did she think she could?

  “Nope. As far as lunch goes, let’s walk over to Alfie’s. We can sit outside. I haven’t had one of their burgers in ages.”

  Twenty minutes later, ensconced on bar stools at the tall tables on the patio, Julie listened as Trevor explained the most recent raid on what he called the “training school.”

  “Rob felt bad because he hadn’t been able to save her,” he said, taking a mouthful of draft beer.

  “How are you supposed to save someone trying to kill you? That woman went after him with a knife.” She shook her head.

  “But she was brainwashed, like all the others.”

  “Well, be that as it may, I find it hard to believe that people just go along with the Prophet’s crazy ideas.” She bit into her burger. “You know,” she said after swallowing, “maybe he is using oleander to control them. Someone disobeys, and he slips a little in their food—not enough to kill them, just enough to make them good and sick. They get the bellyache from hell and think they’re going to die. He’d probably enjoy that. When they repent, the poisoning stops and they heal. He’s a savior all over again.”

  “Most of the cases of discipline we’ve seen from him have been the more permanent kind.” Trevor mimicked slicing his throat. “But you’d run out of followers pretty quickly that way. You know, you’re a lot like Lilith and Faye. You think outside the box. I don’t remember you doing that before. You always made decisions logically based on evidence. You didn’t speculate…”

  She licked her lips. “I do a lot of things differently now.” Science had let her down too many times lately for her to trust it as she had. She was about to take another bite of her burger when a dark SUV similar to what she called her “phantom vehicle” pulled up to the curb across the street. Two men got out.

  “Do you know those guys?” Trevor asked following her gaze.

  She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. They do look like a couple of my new neighbors…” She shuddered.

  “Are you cold? We can move inside.”

  “No, I’m fine,” she said, the tension in her shoulders leaving her when the men entered the bar across the street. “The pickle was a little too sour,” she lied. Surprising how much easier it became to do each time she did it.

  “Yeah, I thought so, too. Did you give any thought to my offer last month?” At her quizzical gaze, he continued. “I’d like you to join the task force. Before you say anything, hear me out. I know we have a history, but before we made that mistake, we were friends. We worked well together this morning. You’d be an invaluable resource, and we could really use your help on this. Will you think about it?’

  Julie prayed her asthma wouldn’t give away how deeply his casually spoken request had hurt her. No matter how painful the relationship had been, it hadn’t all been a “mistake” to her. How could he dismiss their love so easily? Suddenly, here in a restaurant full of people on a busy Atlanta street, she felt more alone than she had since Ellie had died.

  He looked at her expectantly. “Well?”

  “I’ll think about it. I can’t leave Atlanta right now,” she said, ironically echoing the words he’d used two years ago, “but that doesn’t mean I won’t help.” She reached into her purse, pulled out her card, and scribbled a number on the back. “That’s my cell number. If anything comes up, call me.”

  “So, you’ll consider it?” He sounded so hopeful, as if it actually mattered to him.

  Of course it matters; it’s part of his case, and I’m his expert, his ace in the hole.

  “I will, but you know it isn’t completely my decision to make. The new director will have to sign off on it if I need to leave Atlanta.” She pushed away the remaining third of her burger, her appetite gone. “I’d forgotten how filling these are.”

  He nodded, finishing the last of his.

  “You’ve lost weight. I noticed back in July, but I guess it’s hard to have much of an appetite after what you’ve been through. I remember not being able to eat much after Dad and Nolan— do you want something else? It’s almost two and I don’t want t
o miss my flight.”

  “I’m good.” She finished the last of her beer while he paid the bill. “Thanks for lunch,” she said when he joined her on the sidewalk.

  “Thank you for your help and your company.”

  They walked to her apartment, brushing arms every now and then, the slight contact making her body tingle.

  Damn hormones.

  As they walked, she told him about the changes at the CDC, explaining the heightened security, giving him one more chance to tell her about the viruses, but he was as mute as the Sphinx.

  “I’ll go through the information in Dr. James’s report, and see if I can figure out how the Prophet could use the oleander to discipline as well as kill quickly, but since he abandoned that compound, he wouldn’t even have access to those plants, would he?”

  “I don’t know. Nothing this man does makes any sense. He could’ve harvested them before he left or be growing them elsewhere. We still haven’t found his followers, and they have to be someplace. Think about what I said. I’d love to have you on the team.” He reached for her hand. “I enjoyed lunch.”

  “So did I. That must be your cab,” she said, pointing to the vehicle waiting at her front door, trying to ignore the sensations his hand on hers caused.

  “I guess. Julie...”

  She thought he was going to say something else, but instead, he bent down, brushed his lips across hers softly, and pulled away.

  “I’ll be in touch.” He hurried to the cab.

  Julie lifted her hand to her mouth, where her lips still burned from the slight contact. Had she imagined it? He waved, and she absently returned the greeting, standing there, too stunned by the unexpected gesture to move until the black SUV pulled into its accustomed spot across the street. The car door opened and she ran into the building, not wanting to see who got out, praying she’d be back inside her apartment before whoever it was caught up to her.

  • • •

  As the cab pulled away from the curb into traffic on the one-way street, Trevor watched Julie wave, and then suddenly hurry into the building as if the hounds of hell were after her. She’d never really been nervous before, but a lot of things had changed in two years. Maybe it was the fear that the Prophet would make good on his threat, but he thought it might be something else. She’d lied about knowing those men in the SUV who’d shown up as they were finishing lunch. He was positive she’d recognized them, and the shudder that had gone through her had nothing to do with a pickle. She was terrified of them. Why? Who were they?