Mysterious Circumstances

by Rita Herron

  CRAIG AND THE DETECTIVES met back at the precinct to regroup, each second intense as they waited on news that the chopper or another patrol car had located Milaski.

  “The local delivery service did not deliver the chocolates,” Agent Black said. “They have no record of a delivery to the newspaper or Olivia Thornbird at all.”

  “Get Renard back in here,” Craig ordered.

  Black rushed to retrieve him from the holding cell. Then Craig stalked into the interrogation room and pounced on Renard as soon as he entered. “You’re lying, Renard. Tell me where you got the virus.”

  Renard backed away, as if he might wet his pants. “I told you I don’t know anything about the virus.”

  “We checked with that delivery service. They have no record of delivering anything to the paper that day.”

  Renard sank back in his chair, pale and shuddering. “I…swear I don’t know. I would never do anything to hurt Olivia. And the guy who brought in the truffles was wearing a delivery service uniform.”

  Craig barely kept himself from choking Renard, but held back. His instincts told him the man was a scuzz-ball, but that he was telling the truth.

  “He could have been in disguise,” Black offered.

  Craig motioned him to the hall, his mind ticking. “There was a story about several delivery service uniforms being sold on eBay a few weeks ago. See if you can track down the buyer.”

  Black nodded, but Detective Fox rushed up. “Olivia Thornbird’s on TV, Horn. You’d better see this.”

  Shock bolted through Craig as they rushed to a nearby office where the set was already on. Fox was right. Olivia was sitting in front of a camera, a microphone in her hand. Her complexion appeared pasty, and…God, a red rash dotted her arms. She was getting worse. She needed to be hospitalized.

  How much time did she have left? Would she be curable now?

  “My name is Olivia Thornbird. I’m a reporter for the Savannah Sentinel. I’m not here to cause panic, but as a journalist, I believe the public has a right to know when they are in danger.”

  Craig cursed as she spilled the truth about her father’s illness, the suspicion of a terrorist cell holding a dangerous virus, ready to unleash it on the public.

  Why was she doing this? She’d promised him she’d wait. He’d agreed to give her the entire story, and last night…last night they’d made love, he’d thought they were working together.

  He had to talk to her.

  “There’s going to be mass hysteria,” Detective Black muttered.

  “We need damage control,” Fox snarled.

  Craig’s cell phone jangled, adding to the ady anxious atmosphere. He hurriedly checked the ID log and grimaced at the sight of his father’s number.

  Not ready to deal with his political agenda, Craig ignored the call. “I’m going to the station,” Craig said.

  Black and Fox nodded. “I’ll let you know if we get a lead on the delivery service uniforms or if we locate Milaski.”

  “Right.” Craig headed outside to his car, jumped in and tore away from the station. When he got hold of Olivia, he was going to find out what the hell had happened to make her change her mind.

  He’d thought that last night had meant something to her, as it had him.

  Obviously he’d been a fool again. She’d used him as long as she could, even seduced him, and now spilled the story before they’d had a chance to find a cure for the virus or the person responsible for spreading it.

  THE RASH HAD BEGUN to itch. Olivia felt feverish, dizzy, and her tongue was swelling inside her mouth. She hid her arms behind her back as the camera rolled to an end, then faced the shocked looks of the cameramen and newscasters. Their faces had turned chalky gray, making them blend into the bland stage background.

  “Is that it? Do you have more?” Fleshman asked.

  She shook her head, disoriented.

  “Excuse me, Miss Thornbird.” The receptionist who’d greeted her earlier suddenly appeared. “There’s a call for you. The man says it’s important.”

  It might be Craig. Then again, she’d made a special plea for anyone who had any information about the virus or terrorist group to come forward, so this might be her lucky break. She followed the receptionist, well aware the director of the station and Officer Batterson dogged her to Fleshman’s office.

  But she refused to speak in front of them and insisted they stand outside the door while she answered the call.

  “Hello, this is Miss Thornbird.”

  “Miss Thornbird, thank you for finally going public.”

  “What? Who is this?”

  “If you want to know more about your father’s death, then meet me.”

  She squeezed the phone with clammy fingers. “All right. Just tell me where.”

  “Serpent’s Cove, Catcall Island side.”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “You have something I’ve been looking for, don’t you? A disk that contains some of your father’s work.”

  She didn’t have it, but she wasn’t a fool. She wouldn’t tell him that. “Yes, I have it.”

  “Then bring it with you.”

  She agreed, then hung up and checked over her shoulder. Officer Batterson was watching, and so was the director and Fleshman, so she positioned herself with her back to them so they couldn’t see, then she shuffled through the desk until she found a blank disk. She grabbed it and stuck it in her purse, then turned and found Officer Batterson studying her with laser-like eyes, his angular jaw set tight.

  “What’s going on?” the director asked. “Was that news about the virus?”

  Olivia shook her head. “No, I’m afraid it was personal, another story. But I’ll let you know if I hear anything else.”

  He frowned, his brows knitted, but stepped aside. She strode toward the elevator, her heart pounding, her knees weak. She might be walking into a trap, but she had to prove that Craig was wrong about her father. He wasn’t a traitor or a killer, but a hero who’d died studying the virus so he could save lives.

  She only hoped she could stave off the effects of the virus until she could write the story.

  “I need a lift,” she said as Officer Batterson matched her stride.

  His cool eyes skated over her. “Wherever you need to go, Miss Thornbird.”

  She hesitated. But she wasn’t an idiot, wouldn’t go without backup. “Okay, drive me to Serpent’s Cove, but when we get there, stay a discreet distance away and cover me if I get in trouble. He warned me, no cops.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He opened the car door, and she slid inside.

  He gave a clipped response, wrapped a dark hand around the steering wheel and pulled from the parking lot. The sights and sounds of Savannah faded as they drove, every minute ticking by a reminder that death waited to claim her. As they neared the island, Olivia regained her courage. “You can drop me anywhere along here,” Olivia said. “I’ll walk to the cove, just stay hidden in the woods.”

  He parked the car and turned toward her. In the shadows beneath the Spanish moss draping from the trees, his beady eyes glinted. Then he reached up and slowly peeled away the beard. Her breath caught in her throat as he revealed a small dark mole on his chin.

  “Oh, my God. You’re not Officer Batterson, are you?”

  An icy sneer crossed his face just before he pointed a .45 at her chest.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Craig tried Olivia’s cell phone on the way to the station, but she didn’t answer. She was obviously avoiding him. He only hoped she was still there when he arrived. Part of him wanted to throttle her….

  The other part ached to know that she was so ill.

  How could he have trusted her, misread her so? And how could she betray him?

  By the time he arrived at the TV station, the newscasters and staff were in an uproar, fending off panicked calls along with pranks and false leads that would have to be checked out. The director of the station met him up front, looking harried.


  “Where’s Olivia Thornbird?” Craig asked.

  “She left about five minutes ago with that police officer.”

  “Where was she going?”

  “She didn’t say,” the director replied with a judgmental glare. “I can’t believe you guys kept this virus quiet.”

  Craig grimaced. “We were just trying to protect the investigation.”

  Two news anchors and a couple of their assistants raced up. “The phones are ringing off the walls with worried citizens.”

  The director yanked at his tie. “And we’ve had a half dozen calls already with tips.”

  “I’ll arrange for a police team to screen incoming calls for any possible leads,” Craig said.

  “Thanks.” The director offered his hand. “We’ll do everything we can to help, Agent Horn.”

  Craig nodded, punched in the number for Detective Black and made the arrangements. Agitation knotted the muscles at the base of his neck as he hung up. Separating the real calls from the phony ones was going to occupy valuable manpower and time, two things they were short on. He quickly turned back to the station director. “I need to find Miss Thornbird.”

  “Is she contagious?” one of the assistants asked.

  Another anchorman tapped his heel in a nervous gesture. “Have we been exposed? Should we be tested?

  The receptionist chewed a thumbnail. “Shouldn’t she be in quarantine?”

  “No, the virus is not contagious or airborne,” Craig answered. “But it’s imperative I find her. She’s in danger.”

  “Miss Thornbird received a call before she left. My phone records all incoming calls,” Fleshman said. “We could check it—”

  “Let’s go.” Craig shot forward, not bothering for him to finish the sentence.

  They rushed to Fleshman’s office where he sorted through five more calls that had come in since, then played back the call to Olivia. Craig’s pulse raced as he listened.

  Five minutes later, he phoned Detective Black while he raced toward Serpent’s Cove.

  “I think she’s meeting someone there, maybe even Milaski,” Craig said.

  “We got a lead on that delivery service uniform. Man named DJ Dunce bought several off of eBay.” Black paused. “Bad news is that Dunce has a rap sheet a mile long. He’s a hired assassin. And I checked with the vics’ families—each one received a package containing food the week before they died.”

  At least that explained how the victims were infected.

  “It’s worse,” Black said. “I tried Batterson but he didn’t respond, so I sent a patrol car to Miss Thornbird’s—”

  “The station manager said Batterson was driving her—”

  “No.” Black cut him off. “That wasn’t Batterson. Batterson’s dead.”

  Oh, God. Pure panic suffused Craig. “Dunce has her. My guess is that he’s taking her to meet Milaski.”

  And neither man would have any qualms about killing her.

  If the virus didn’t do it first.

  OLIVIA SHUDDERED as the man she’d believed to be Officer Batterson yanked her from the car and pushed her forward across the sand. “You were the man in the hospital, the one who put me in the morgue?”

  A wry laugh trilled in the breeze. The man’s utterly calm manner chilled her to the bone. “You finally figured it out.”

  “But I don’t understand. Who are you? Why have you been trying to kill me?”

  “Just shut up and walk, lady.”

  She stumbled through the sea oats, dragging her feet in the grainy sand to slow herself down. He pressed the butt of the gun deeper into her back as he shoved her into a dark cave. The low-ceilinged interior felt dank, a shuffle of some kind of animal on the rocks making her skin crawl.

  She wanted to scream, but the sound of the ocean roaring would drown out her cries if she did. Footsteps crunched on the ground below her. Then a tall, middle-aged bearded man in black appeared, the faint light spilling in through the cave illuminating his calculating eyes.

  “We finally meet, Miss Thornbird.”

  The man with the gun shoved her to the ground, and she gripped the rough edges of the cave to steady herself as she searched for an escape. “Who are you?”

  “Iska Milaski. I’m sure you’ve heard of me.”

  She gulped. “You have the virus. You’re the one infecting people. But I don’t understand why you’re killing innocent people.”

  “Because your people killed mine,” he said in a harsh voice. “Back in Egypt, your government used my people, some of my very own family, and infected them with this horrible disease.”

  Olivia shuddered. The United States had done that? “My father…my mother, they had nothing to do with that. I know they didn’t.”

  His gaze slid over her. “I suppose you deserve to know the truth. It’s too bad you won’t live long enough to print it, though.”

  “Tell me,” Olivia said. “Why did you infect my father?”

  Milaski circled the cave, his quiet intensity as unnerving as the gun his hired killer held on her. “Your father was a nosy man. He refused to let your mother’s death rest, but we had finally convinced him it wasn’t safe for him to pursue the matter.”

  “My father wouldn’t have backed down out of fear.”

  “Ah, you do not understand.” His thick black brow rose sharply. “He was not afraid for himself, but for you.”

  The truth dawned on her. “You threatened to hurt me.

  Milaski shrugged. “Was business.”

  “Did you kill my mother, too?”

  “No,” Milaski said. “I wanted her to keep working and save my people.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Shubert was running the show then. He developed the germ strain that was tested in Egypt, but he sold it to a crazed scientist from the U.S. Instead of using their own subjects, though, they used our people. They wanted to win some stupid prize for their work.” He spit out the words in disgust. “So for this prize, they made my mother, my father, my little brothers suffer.”

  “But my mother was trying to help save them.”

  “Yes. Unfortunately Shubert had her killed because she was going to expose him and the project.”

  Olivia pressed a shaky hand to her face where perspiration beaded and trickled down her cheek. This man wanted revenge for his people because they had suffered needlessly. She could understand that. But killing other innocents didn’t make it right.

  She swayed, a dizzy spell hitting her. Her head felt light, her words slurring as her tongue grew thicker. The rash was spreading, too. Now red dots covered her hands. “And when my father started working on this virus, he realized the similarities?”

  “Exactly.”

  “But why wouldn’t you want him to expose the people who’d hurt your family?”

  Milaski shifted, the first sign of a conscience showing. “It was too late by then.”

  “I see. If my father made the connection back to the initial subjects used in Egypt, he might name you and stop you before you got your revenge.” It all made sense in a twisted kind of way.

  “We cannot go back now,” Milaski said.

  “The FBI is on to you,” Olivia said. “They’ll find you, stop you. You won’t get away with it.”

  He gestured toward the hired gun, one hand indicating his patience was gone. “It is time.”

  Olivia balked, but Milaski shoved a small notepad and pen in her hand. “Now, Miss Thornbird, write your final story. Do it for my people and your own.”

  She shuddered. Instead of writing the story about the virus, he forced her to write a suicide note. Her hand trembled as she scribbled the words. Tears ached to push forward, but she blinked them back as she added a goodbye to Craig.

  The page blurred, her head spun, and nausea rose to her throat. The ringing intensified in her head, and blood suddenly trickled from her nose. She shivered with fever, and the first tremor of a convulsion assaulted her.

  Milaski’s hired gun grabb
ed her arm, hauled her up and dragged her forward.

  “It will be over soon, Miss Thornbird,” Milaski said. “Death is much more peaceful than the virus effects. I’m certain your father welcomed it when it came, as did my family.”

  hardened her resolve to live, but she stumbled and hit the dirt, tasted blood, then darkness swept her into unconsciousness. Seconds or minutes later, she didn’t know which, Dunce yanked her up, hauled her from the cave through the knee-high sea oats. The heavy brush clawed at her arms as Dunce dragged her toward an overhang where the ocean roared below.

  “Go ahead, Olivia,” Dunce urged in a hypnotic monotone. “You can do it. Find peace in death as the others did.”

  The world blurred around her, a mixture of colors and emptiness. The voices in her head echoed as if bouncing through a canyon, their message urging her to throw herself off the cliff into the ocean, to let the tides take her to sea. Either that, or she could die a painful death beside this cold monster.

  Her head throbbed, a cry catching in her throat as Craig’s face materialized in her mind. Once he’d felt guilty for her father’s death. Would he blame himself if she gave up now, too?

  Dunce pushed the gun deeper into her lower back, his intent clear. Either she jumped or he would push her. Then again, maybe jumping would be the only way she might survive.

  And maybe if she grabbed his arm, she could take the killer with her.

  CRAIG WAS GOING out of his mind as he drove toward Serpent’s Cove. He had no idea if the assassin had Olivia, or if Milaski did. Both were coldhearted killers.

  “We traced Batterson’s squad car to the cove,” Detective Black said when Craig phoned for backup. “A team’s on its way.”

  “I’ll meet you there.” Craig floored the engine and maneuvered around traffic through the narrow streets of Savannah, honking and yelling for people to get out of his way. The next ten minutes passed in a frenzy of heart-shattering images as he imagined what Olivia must be going through. Why hadn’t she waited for him? Called him?

  A truck swerved and nearly hit him; he slammed the horn again and cursed. Then he passed a Honda and raced over the bridge to Catcall Island. His pulse clamored as he neared Serpent’s Cove and spotted the empty squad car.