by Rita Herron
Craig leaned back, rubbing his temple with his thumb, contemplating the possibilities. What if the same thing had happened to Thornbird? Or what if Thornbird had discovered his wife’s involvement in germ warfare research and had been killed to keep him quiet? But if so, why wait fifteen years?
Unless he’d been party to the unethical germ warfare experiments at the time and now a similar germ had surfaced—maybe he had created both strains.
And maybe Thornbird had orchestrated the murder of his own wife.
The possibility intrigued Craig, and might offer a lot of answers. Answers that would hurt Olivia.
He had to know if Olivia was involved. What exactly she knew.
Her visit from Renard flashed back, and he entered the reporter’s name, then ran a background check, his suspicions mounting. Renard had been to Iraq and Afghanistan, had witnessed the devastation of suicide bombings, had covered the stories of lost lives. How had he felt about returning stateside and being handed local stories? Or had he come to Savannah so he could specifically research CIRP?
Maybe he knew more than he was letting on.
Or…he could have traveled overseas and been working with a terrorist group there. If so, he might have brought the virus back with him.
He scratched his head, wondering if his imagination was going wild or if his theories held credence. If so, how much did Olivia know? And how much could he chance telling her without blowing the case?
The best way to find out was to stay close to Olivia, win her trust, get her to open up to him.
But he absolutely couldn’t let down his guard and allow her to trap him with her sultry eyes and her real or pretended innocence.
THE NEXT MORNING, Olivia awakened from a restless sleep to her cell phone jangling. “Hello.”
She’d expected it to be her boss, but a low voice echoed back. “I warned you. Now it’s too late.”
She sat up, triggering a sharp pain to slice through her shoulder. “Who is this?”
“Goodbye, Olivia.”
The phone clicked into silence, the dial tone droning with the reminder of the eerie message. The voice had belonged to the man at the hospital. The one who’d taken her to the morgue. Did he know she was staying here with Craig?
She punched star sixty-nine but, as she’d expected, the call was unidentifiable. Probably a throwaway cell.
She shivered in spite of the heat, then pushed to her feet. The shower water was running in the bathroom and Craig would be out soon.
She wasn’t alone.
A minute later, Craig appeared with a towel knotted around his waist. He took one look at her and frowned. “What’s wrong?”
Olivia had never relied on anyone else, but she and Craig had to work together. “I just received another call.”
A cold mask flew over his face. “What did he say?”
“That he’d already warned me once.” She licked her ps, wishing he’d said more, that she could have kept him on the phone longer. “That it was too late.”
“Too late?” He moved toward her, gripped her arms. “Too late for what?”
“I don’t know.” A shiver chased up her spine. “He didn’t say. He just hung up. I tried star sixty-nine but it didn’t work. He’s probably using a throwaway cell.”
“Probably. We have to get a tracer on your phone.” Craig reached out and feathered a strand of hair from her face. “I don’t like him using you, Olivia.”
Olivia shrugged. “I just want us to find out what’s going on.”
Craig nodded, then studied her for a minute. “Thank you for telling me. It’s important we trust each other.”
She twisted her hands together. She wanted to trust him. But trust didn’t come easy. Not with her job or her personal life. And she knew it didn’t come easy with Craig, either.
“I’m going to CIRP this morning,” he finally said.
“I’ll be ready in a minute.”
He nodded, then glanced at her shoulder. “Do you need help?”
Yes, she did. She suddenly wanted him to make all this go away. To undress her and carry through on the promise of heat she’d seen in his eyes the night before. “No. I’m fine.”
“I’ll have coffee and breakfast ready by the time you’re dressed.”
He gave her an odd look, making her wonder about the other females in his life. Did he have a girlfriend somewhere who would question why Olivia was staying at his place? He’d made no mention of a lover. And she hadn’t seen any signs of a woman in his house or bathroom. Not even an extra toothbrush.
Why did Craig keep himself so bottled up and restrained? Why didn’t he have a lover?
He stopped at the small corner desk, stuffed a folder inside it, snapped it shut, then strode into the kitchen. She shook off her troubling thoughts and rushed to the bathroom, struggling with the sling and her clothes as she tried to freshen up. The sound of the caller’s voice haunted her as she faced herself in the mirror and brushed on powder to hide the dark circles beneath her eyes.
The wound on her shoulder was a visible reminder of the danger dogging her, and the fact that her father’s body lay dead in the morgue, the virus that had killed him still unknown.
OLIVIA MIGHT CLAIM she didn’t need anyone, but the hardheaded woman was a walking nightmare. She was still weak, yet she’d ignored his eggs and toast for a couple of truffles with her coffee on the way out the door. She was stubborn, opinionated, tenacious and practically bohemian in her lifestyle, ignoring her personal needs for her job.
He grimaced, realizing that, except for the eating habits, he’d described himself. And that instead of being turned off by those characteristics, they drew him to her like a ship in the darkness to a beacon of light. She was so unlike his own motherwho, though she was a virtual pillar by his father’s side, was unable to make a decision for herself or voice her own thoughts. His mom needed parties and doting attention and to be in the limelight, whereas Olivia needed to make things happen, would stand up for a cause she believed in and wouldn’t give up without a fight.
The scent of her skin teased him with other what-ifs as they drove to CIRP. What if they could forget the case? Go back to his place and make love all day? What if he could forget she was a reporter?
But he couldn’t.
And he shouldn’t feel guilty for looking into her past. He’d had every right to research her the night before. Her father had died. And for all he knew, she could be a plant sent to seduce him long enough to sidetrack him from finding the truth. Invading a person’s privacy came with the job. It had never bothered him before. He didn’t like that it did now.
They met with Ian Hall first, then were escorted to the office of Thornbird’s co-worker, Dr. Fred Fulton.
He and Olivia both claimed chairs opposite Fulton’s desk. Fulton was polished, well-spoken, and wore a suit and tie, far from the geeky madman-scientist look that Thornbird had captured so well. Except for a notable limp and the cigar box on his credenza which indicated he smoked, he appeared to be fit. The only distinguishing feature was his handlebar mustache, but it was also neat and suited the man.
“You worked with my father on this virus?” Olivia asked.
“Yes, Miss Thornbird. My condolences.” He crossed his legs, resting his hand on his leg, twirling the cigar between his thumb and fingers. “Your father was a genius. It’s our loss that he’s gone.”
Olivia nodded, although a small flinch betrayed her bravado.
“What can you tell us about the virus?” Craig asked.
“It attacks the amygdala part of the brain just under the cerebral cortex. Stimulation of the amygdaloid nuclei control different patterns of behavior. Later, it begins attacking the central nervous system, causes fever and the rash. Eventually, the body shuts down.”
“So, the physical reaction in the brain triggers psychosis?”
He nodded. “Patients begin hearing voices, may experience ringing in their ears, their thought patterns become jumbled. Often th
ey see patterns and may even hallucinate.”
“How long from being infected until the symptoms appear?”
“The virus appears to attack suddenly. But we can’t be certain. It would help if we knew exactly how the victims are infected, the exact time. Then we could determine specifics.”
“Have you seen anything like this before?”
Fulton pulled at his craggy chin. “A few years ago, we thought the Germans might have created a similar virus, but it was supposedly destroyed.”
“Was that the virus that killed my mother?” Olivia asked.
Fulton inhaled, then blew out smoke. “I…don’t know. Your mother’s death was unfortunate, though.
Craig shifted in his seat. “Do you know of any terrorist cells seeking germs from the U.S.?”
“No, but I’m sure there are some,” Dr. Fulton said.
Craig nodded. “Thanks. If you think of anything else, call me.”
Dr. Fulton stood. “Believe me, Agent Horn, I want to isolate this germ and find out how it’s spreading so we can stop it. If it’s fallen into the wrong hands, this series of suicides may only be a hint of what’s to come.”
Craig grabbed a business card with the doctor’s number, then he and Olivia left in silence.
“I’d like to look at those old files,” Olivia said. “The virus he referred to—maybe it’s a mutated strain from the one that killed my mother. The government covered it up back then, and CIRP might have information on it now.”
“Do you know where old records would be kept?”
“If they kept them, they’d be in the basement.” Olivia motioned for him to follow. “Come on, there’s a service elevator we can take to bypass security.”
Craig followed, checking over their shoulders to make sure they didn’t get caught.
SPECIAL AGENT CRAIG HORN and Olivia Thornbird were taking the service elevator to the basement.
He gripped his hands, the numerous scars reddening beneath the patterns of the overhead light as he disappeared into the shadows to retrieve his tools. The elevator would malfunction. A simple little rewiring job would do the trick.
Moving silently, he strode to the shaft to loosen the bolts and screws. The janitor’s uniform had certainly come in handy. Too bad the guy who’d been wearing it hadn’t wanted to give it up.
A rumble of laughter caught in his throat. The chump had died for a stupid uniform. Had clung to it as if the coveralls meant he was someone important.
But he knew better. Important meant holding people’s lives in your hand. Controlling them. Planning for the future. Having the ultimate power over life and death.
No one knew better than him the importance of protecting citizens. So, a few died in the process. It was the greater good of the people as a whole that mattered.
Senator Horn’s words, exactly.
He crawled inside the elevator shaft and began to work. Agent Horn and Olivia Thornbird wanted to go to the basement. They would definitely make it there, a lot sooner than they expected.
And it would be the ride of their lifetimes—their very last, to be exact.
Yes, Olivia Thornbird’s nine lives had finally run out. The shooting. The chocolates. The elevator.
One way or the other, she would die. And this time, she’d take Agent Horn with her.
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Chapter Eleven
Excitement strummed through Olivia at the prospect of finding new information about her mother’s death, but the grinding of the elevator jarred the pain in her arm.
“Olivia, I spoke to the medical examiner this morning while you were getting dressed.” Craig’s voice rumbled with the vibration of the elevator’s descent. “He hopes to release your father’s body tomorrow, so if you want to start making funeral arrangements, you can.”
She gripped the metal edge for support, a series of images flashing before her. Her father’s dead body. The casket. Saying goodbye.
She wished she could bury him next to her mother so they could rest in peace together. But her mother’s cremation meant she didn’t even have a grave to visit.
Suddenly the elevator jerked to a stop between floors. Craig frowned and pushed the Open Door button, but the door refused to budge. Then the floor shook, a screeching sound erupted from the sides and walls, and the elevator careened downward at an accelerated speed.
Olivia screamed and stumbled sideways to regain her balance. Craig grabbed her to steady her, his expression alarmed as he punched the Emergency button. Instead of slowing, the elevator increased its speed. Craig pressed the Emergency button again and an alarm wailed, but abruptly ended as quickly as it had sounded.
“Hang on!” Craig cradled her against him, pulling them to the floor, then covered her head with his body to protect her as they plunged downward.
Seconds later, the elevator slammed to a halt. Metal ground and sparks flew in all directions. The impact threw them both against the sides of the elevator with such force that Olivia’s head hit the wall and dark spots danced before her eyes. A sharp ringing reverberated through her ears, and she crouched against Craig. The ringing continued inside her head—sharp, brittle, relentless.
The lights suddenly flickered off, and darkness swallowed the interior.
CRAIG GRIMACED AND SWIPED at the blood where he’d bitten his tongue, then struggled to sit up. It was so damn dark he couldn’t see, and an odd odor, like burning rubber, seeped through the cramped space.
“Olivia?” He felt for her, lifted her gently from his side to check her over, careful of her wound. “Are you all right?”
“I…think so. Are you?”
“Yeah.” Her voice sounded weak though, almost muffled, as if she was disoriented. “Did you hit your head?”
“Yes, but it’s all right.” She twisted against him in the dark, the close contact nearly his undoing. They’d almost died seconds ago, and all he had thought about was holding on to her. Making sure she was safe.
Somewhere in those frantic thoughts, he’d realized how much he wanted to make love to her. That nothing mattered except making certain she was still alive so he could taste her
“I…how long do you think we’ll be here?” Olivia asked, a faint panicked note in her tone.
“I don’t know. The alarm went off so someone should try to rescue us.”
“Unless they don’t want us found.”
Craig tightened his hold around her. The alarm had ended so abruptly he’d wondered himself.
The air swirled with smoky remnants of the fall, their breaths the only sound in the tension-filled minute that stretched between them.
“I’m sorry I dragged you and your father into all this, Olivia.”
Her hands slid up to cover his. He hadn’t realized he was gripping her face between his palms, that he’d moved so close their bodies brushed until he felt her breasts pushing against his chest.
“You just did your job,” she said softly.
He swallowed hard. She’d almost been killed three times, twice while under his care. He didn’t know if the killer was personally trying to flaunt his skill in Craig’s face, but he didn’t like the guy’s methods or his unflappable gall.
He’d also underestimated Craig. By trying to kill Olivia while she was in Craig’s custody, the SOB had made the game personal.
And Craig would die before he’d let him hurt her again.
OLIVIA DIDN’T UNDERSTAND the anger in Craig’s tone, but as his hand traced her face, the realization that once again she could have died assaulted her. She was only twenty-three. She didn’t want to die. She had so much to live for. Her work. Her…family?
No, no family. No boyfriend or lover. Not a soul who would care if she met her demise.
Terror-stricken at the thought, she burrowed deeper against Craig. The cold steel walls of the elevator closed around her, the darkness sending a tingle along her neck as if icy fingers were clawing at her skin. A small voice echoed inside her head, whispering that someone wanted her dead. Or
maybe there was more than one person.
They’re coming for you. Just like they did for your mother and father, and the others.
A strangled cry escaped her. The ringing in her ears faded slightly, then dulled to an eerie drone as if her eardrum might have ruptured.
“Olivia?” Craig stroked the hair from her cheek. “What’s wrong?”
She clutched his hand, savoring the feel of his touch on her skin as she composed herself. “I…I don’t know. I guess it’s all been too much.”
Her soft admission seemed to unravel the layers of apprehension between them. Except another kind of tension that had been brewing between them erupted, and he dragged her into his arms. Once his lips touched hers, she was lost in the fiery sensations that spiraled through her. He teased her lips apart with his tongue, probed the deep recesses of her mouth, tasting, exploring, weaving a delicious hunger inside her with his tormenting strokes. His hands mased her back, tickled her neck, then skimmed lower to rub the indentation of her spine before trailing around her waist to the underside of her breasts.
“Olivia.” His breath rasped out as he deepened the kiss, then lifted one hand to cup the weight of her in his palm. He threw his leg over hers, entwining their bodies and pulling her so close she felt the heady rise and fall of his chest. Masculine muscles pulsed and tensed as he caressed her back, the corded muscles in his arms bulging as he gripped her closer.
Dizzy, she moaned, deep and throaty, curling deeper into his embrace as she met his tongue with her own. They danced the mating dance, sipping and kissing until he dropped his head to her neck and trailed more kisses along the tender skin of her nape. Her nipples grew hard, her body steeping with heat, the pool of desire growing so hot within her it was raging out of control. He inched his fingers beneath her shirt, shifted the lace of her bra so that her breasts spilled over into his hungry waiting hands. Then he traced his fingers over her nipple, bringing it to a turgid aching peak before he dropped his head, groaned and took her nipple into his mouth.