by Rita Herron
“So far, it’s clean,” Devlin said.
Craig gritted his teeth in frustration. “We’re on our way to Thornbird’s house. The killer obviously thinks Olivia is a threat, so we’re going to see if we missed something before.”
“It’s worth a shot.” Devlin sighed. “I’ve made some contacts here. A German named Iska Milaski has been known for experimenting with germ warfare. We’re trying to locate him now.” He hesitated. “Another name cropped up in conjunction with Dr. Thornbird, too. Dr. Martin Shubert.”
“He worked with Olivia’s father?”
“No, her mother.”
Craig steered around a Ford and glanced at Olivia. She was resting her head against the seat. Her cheeks looked so white, her dainty pink lips parted slightly, her stubborn chin relaxed.
He almost reached out and covered her hand with his own, but he jerked his attention back to the case. “What’s the story?”
“Shubert used to travel internationally,” Devlin said. “But he retired several years ago. And he’s not far from Savannah. Lives on Tybee Island.”
“Interesting. Any more information?”
“Feel Olivia out, see if she recognizes the name. Then pay him a visit. He may be our missing link in this whole case.” Devlin recited the address.
“I’m on it. Let me know if you find Milaski.”
Devlin agreed and hung up, then Craig phoned to confirm that the house was cleared. Craig maneuvered through traffic to Olivia’s father’s house, then parked in the drive and slanted a look toward Olivia. When they’d been trapped in that elevator, he’d nearly made love to her. Had felt the hurt and fear in her touch and it had driven him wild. And when she’d told him she wouldn’t hurt anyone, he’d believed her. Had almost trusted her.
Olivia shifted, then opened her eyes. In spite of fatigue lines and the exhaustion from their earlier ordeal, she was still beautiful. Her long blond hair spilled around her shoulders in a tangle, her lips were parted slightly, giving her that sultry but innocent look that enticed him to forget all the reasons he’d sworn not to get involved with her. She looked like an angel when she was sleeping, a seductress when she smiled.
Hell, he still wanted her. Wanted her so bad he ached.
But was the angel part simply a disguise?
OLIVIA SAT UP and massaged her temple. Her head throbbed as badly as her shoulder, but thankfully the ringing had subsided slightly. “Who was on the phone?”
A frown knitted his brows. “Agent Devlin. He had a couple of names he wanted to run by me.” Craig’s gaze grew more intense. “A German named Iska Milaski. Rumor has it he’d been working on germ warfare.”
Olivia exhaled slowly. “Does Devlin know where he is?”
“No, but they’re looking. Have you heard of him?”
Olivia searched her memory banks. “No. Who was the other one?”
“Dr. Martin Shubert.”
Shubert? The name from the file she’d seen in her father’s computer.
“Olivia, do you know him?”
Craig’s tone sounded almost accusatory. She scrunched her face, the pounding in her head intensifying. “No, but his name was in one of my father’s files on his computer at CIRP.”
“So you kept it from me?”
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t sure if it meant anything or not.”
His pause reverberated with more doubt. “What was his name in reference to?”
“My mother.” The well of grief inside her opened up, threatening to swallow her again. “I found it the day I got caught in my father’s office, but the guards dragged me away before I could read anything on him.”
“The day you were shot?”
“Yes. And when I looked him up online, I couldn’t find anything.” A shiver chased down her spine. “What does Agent Devlin know about him?”
“Not much. But he gave me an address on Tybee Island where Shubert retired. Once we check your father’s house again, we’ll pay him a visit.”
Olivia reached for the door handle. “Then let’s stop wasting time.”
The sight of the cordoned-off house and warning signs registered in the back of her mind as she entered. Craig followed her inside, his gaze running over the small den. “I’ll check in here again, then in the basement.”
Olivia nodded. “I’ll start in his bedroom.”
She hurried to his room, ignoring the stab of nostalgia that assaulted her at the sight of her father’s bed, the chair in the corner that held discarded lab coats, the clothes in his closet that he would never again wear. The scent of Old Spice…
The room felt stifling hot, the pain in her shoulder a constant drumming ache as she rummaged through each of his pants pockets, shirts and jackets. Next, she searched the dresser drawers, the nightstand, the bathroom. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for—maybe a date book, journal, computer disk, notepad…
A half hour later, she gave up and went to the kitchen. Craig had finished in the den and had retreated to the basement. He’d seemed disturbed when he’d hung up on Agent Devlin. Had he learned new information he didn’t want to share?
Worry knotted her stomach as she combed through drawers, but the kitchen turned up empty, too. Frustrated, she walked to the den and picked up the photograph of her mother sitting on the end table. Her mother’s smile captivated her, the old-fashioned dress still beautiful on her slim figure. She’d never been much for makeup. Only a simple strand of pearls circled her neck; matching earrings in her lobes twinkled in the dim light flickering from the lamp.
These will be yours someday, Livvy.
The choking grief rushed back. She remembered that day so clearly. On her fifth birthday, her mother had given her a box filled with costume jewelry. Then she’d fingered the strand of pearls around her neck.
“One day, you’ll be a big girl. Then Mommy will let you wear her real pearls.”
Where were the necklace and earrings?
Suddenly anxious, she mentally reviewed the contents of her father’s bedroom. Her mother’s things had been packed and stored, taken to the attic years ago.
Her pulse raced. She had to check the attic. If her father wanted to hide something, he might have hidden it up there. Spurred by adrenaline, she drew down the ladder, then climbed into the musty room. Dust and cobwebs clung to the wood, the scent of cedar and age filling the air. She spotted an old trunk and rushed to it, more emotions surfacing as she discovered her mother’s clothes packed inside.
She dug through the chest, and found a red dress she remembered from one Christmas, a pair of high heels she’d played dress-up in, a hat her mother had worn one Easter, then a box of her own childhood drawings, pictures she’d made for her mother. Her throat clogged as the memories flooded her, and she dug deeper and unearthed a small jewelry box tucked underneath the layers of clothes. Inside, the pearl necklace and earrings lay on a bed of ivory satin. She lifted the strand of pearls gingerly, brushed the smooth glossy white globes against her cheek and saw her mother’s face in her mind. Then something slipped from the box.
A computer diskette.
“Olivia?”
She jammed the diskette inside her jeans, then stood and met Craig at the attic entrance.
“Did you find anything?” Craig asked.
She hesitated, contemplating whether to show him the disk. But a moment of paranoia hit her and she held back. “No. Nothing.”
But the diskette burned a hole in her pocket at her lie.
DISAPPOINTED THAT THEY HADN’T found anything at Thornbird’s again, Craig drove toward Shubert’s hoping for better luck. Olivia seemed distracted, worried, quiet. Then again, it had been a hell of a day, and she hadn’t yet recovered from her gunshot wound or her grief. A weaker woman would have already fallen apart.
Admiration for her stirred again, as well as that strong sexual pull, but he tamped it down as they parked at the house where Shubert lived. The two-story Georgian structure stood out among the other summer cottages. Giant azalea
s, colorful flower beds and live oaks dripping with Spanish moss added an ambience to the estate lot. For a scientist, Shubert seemed to have done well financially.
Olivia followed him up to the door in silence, the anticipation as thick as the oppressive heat that made his shirt cling to his back. He rang the doorbell and tapped his foot impatiently, shooing away a gnat as they waited while Olivia’s breath rattled in the quiet.
A few seconds later, a short balding man wearing a butler’s uniform opened the door, exposing a two-story foyer decorated in an almost garish oriental style.
“We’re here to see Dr. Martin Shubert,” Craig said. He flashed his badge. “Special Agent Craig Horn, FBI.”
The little man’s eye twitched. “Excuse me, sir, but what is this about?”
“A case,” Craig said without elaborating as he pushed his way inside. “Please get Dr. Shubert.”
The butler’s nervous gaze flickered over Craig, then Olivia. “Dr. Shubert isn’t feeling well, sir. I don’t think—”
“I have to speak to him,” Craig said, refusing to be brushed off. “Now, either ask him to come down here or take us to him.”
“I…I don’t think he’s goof much help.” The butler coughed into his hand. “You don’t understand—”
“No, you don’t understand,” Craig snapped. “I will talk to him. And if he doesn’t cooperate, I have the power to arrest him.”
This time, the little man’s bald head glowed red with anger. “Very well. Follow me.”
Offering a clipped military turn, he led the way up the winding staircase. Craig’s gaze swept his surroundings. The lurid artwork flanking the walls and flashy red-and-gold accents clashed with the stately manor of the house’s exterior.
“He’s retired for the night,” the butler said as he opened the room to a massive bedroom suite. Plush white carpet embraced heavy dark furniture to form a sitting area that joined the master bedroom. Heavy velvet drapes were drawn shut, blocking out the woods beyond, a small lamp in the corner the only source of light in a room weighted with a sense of desolation.
Olivia gave Craig an odd look as the butler stepped away, her unease mirroring Craig’s. A shrunken man lay on the bed enfolded in a heavy silk comforter. Dozens of pillows at the headboard propped him to a half-sitting position, although his head had fallen sideways, spittle dribbling from his chin.
“Dr. Shubert?”
The man didn’t respond, although his eyelids fluttered open as if he realized someone had entered the room. Craig stepped closer, his instincts alert.
“Dr. Shubert, my name is Craig Horn. I’m with the FBI.”
Shubert’s eyes appeared glazed, his wrinkled face thick with age lines, his gnarled hand jerking as he clutched the sheet between fingers that were milky white.
Craig cleared his throat, directing his comment to the butler. “What’s wrong with him?”
The butler lay a comforting hand on Shubert’s shoulder to soothe him. Then Shubert’s eyes closed again as if he were drifting to sleep.
“I tried to tell you. He’s blind and deaf, and lives in constant pain. He’s been ill for years, but his condition has deteriorated lately.”
“What happened?” Craig asked.
“He contracted a rare virus while working overseas years ago. The others who contracted it died, but by a miracle he managed to survive.” The butler gestured toward the man’s pathetic state. “Unfortunately, this is what it did to him.”
“He can’t communicate at all?” Olivia asked.
The butler shook his head. “He hasn’t spoken in the ten years I’ve been with him.”
Craig straightened his tie, his palms sweating. “I need the name of his doctor.”
A sharp grunt was the butler’s only reply. He motioned them to follow him downstairs, then located the information, scribbled it on a notepad and handed it to Craig.
Craig thanked him, and he and Olivia headed to the car.
“Do you think he had the same virus that killed my mother?” Olivia asked.
Craig shrugged. “Maybe this doctor and Shubert’s medical files will tell us more.”
An anguished look twisted Olivia’s face as they climbed in the car. “He was the last hope I had for finding out what happened to my mother.”
He squeezed her hand. “Don’t give up, Olivia.”
Dread filled Craig, along with more questions. If Shubert had been ill for years, he couldn’t be responsible for the current rash of viruses in Savannah or the attacks on Olivia.
Which meant they still had no real leads, and that Olivia was still in danger…
NIGHT PAINTED SHADOWS around the interior of Craig’s cabin as they entered. Silence stretched through the humid air, the buzzing of insects a backdrop to the apprehension tightening Olivia’s muscles. They’d stopped and eaten a small meal at a diner, although Olivia’s appetite had been minimal. Then she’d finally excused herself and showered. Anxious to see what was on the disk, she inserted it into her laptop and checked the menu, but the data appeared to be encrypted. Damn. She tried several passwords she thought her father might have used but came up with nothing.
She contemplated turning the diskette over to Craig, but paranoia still gripped her. Maybe she’d wait until she found out what kind of information the disk contained. After all, it might be nothing at all, or information on another project, one that was outdated and not related to the present. But if she found out it was important, she would give it to Craig.
Exhausted, she collapsed on top of Craig’s bed. She should go home. Let him sleep in his own bed. Start acting independent again. But the frisson of fear that had dogged her the past few hours lingered, and she didn’t want to leave the safety of his room.
Instead, she closed her eyes, yearning to have him near her. Holding her. Comforting her. Telling her everything was all right.
The desperate feeling was so unlike her that she wondered about her sanity.
Images of the elevator nearly plunging them to death, along with the following explosion, flashed back. On the heels of it, she saw Dr. Shubert’s deteriorated body, then her mother’s face. Had the two of them been infected by the same virus? If so, maybe death had actually spared her mother a long and painful debilitating disease.
But what did Shubert have to do with her father and this new strain of viruses? Maybe nothing…
Shivering, she burrowed beneath the covers, but other images assaulted her. Her father’s bloody body. The other victims. The rash on their arms. The morgue.
Then the voices began again.
You’re going to die, Olivia.
You’re next.
She covered her ears, trying to drown out the sounds as she searched the darkness. But the onset of a panic attack threatened. Her lungs closed, and perspiration dotted her face and hands and neck. She wanted to run, to escape the shadows that plagued her, to shut out the voices.
But there was no place to run. No place that was safe for her to hide.
NO PLACE WAS SAFE for Olivia Thornbird. Except, once again, she’d escaped alive.
“I thought you were going to take care of them,” his boss screamed into the telephone line.
He flexed his hands, stared at the burn scars, war wounds from his childhood given to him by the master to teach him how to be a man. His boss’s beratement had once triggered insecurities. Fear.
No more.
He had learned control. “The woman should be feeling the symptoms by now. Give her a day or two, and she’ll be contemplating ending her own life, that is if she already isn’t.”
“Was the stunt at CIRP really necessary? The feds already have the place under scrutiny, and God knows I want the Nighthawk Island facility to continue its work.”
“You wanted the woman and agent dead. You didn’t specify where it had to take place.” Memories of the fire rolling into the sky flashed in his mind, bringing a smile. The sight of the explosion today had done something to him. Made him almost randy. Given him a se
nse of power. “I did you a favor. The woman and agent were on their way to obtain records that you wouldn’t have wanted found.”
A long hesitation vibrated over the line. “True. But hell, Horn and Thornbird’s daughter somehow found out about Shubert. They paid him a visit tonight.”
“So? The old man is too far gone to tell them anything.”
A fate also caused by his boss’s manipulation and executed by him. He was what his boss had made him. Cold. Ruthless. Calculating.
And some sick sadistic rebellious part of him enjoyed hearing the sound of fear in his master’s voice. An even deeper part wanted to torment his boss as he’d been tormented himself as a child.
But that wouldn’t keep him from protecting the master with his life.
And taking others to please him.
Chapter Thirteen
Craig struggled with the urge to join Olivia in bed, his need for her so unsettling that he opened the French doors and breathed in the fresh air to clear his head. He stared into the moonless night as if the sky might offer him answers. Never had a woman driven such a wedge between him and his resolve to stay uninvolved.
But the sight of her hanging on for dear life in that elevator, then barely crawling from that vent alive replayed in his mind like a horror flick.
His cell phone jangled and he grabbed it, hoping it was Devlin with good news, a lead, anything to help solve this case. If he could just put some distance between himself and Olivia, he might be able to forget her. But he couldn’t leave her alone with her life in jeopardy.
“Craig, this is your father. What in heaven’s name happened at CIRP today? I heard a news clip that you were in some kind of fire. I told you to make this suicide/virus case go away, not pull some theatrics and get that research park burned down.”
His father was blaming him? Craig sighed and dropped his head into his hands. He wanted to believe that his father cared, but his attitude hadn’t changed. It never would. “Dad, I was at the research park to find answers that someone doesn’t want found. Maybe you should change your focus to protecting the people instead of your own precious reputation.”