by Rita Herron
Where was Olivia? Had they killed her and dumped her body in the ocean?
Sweat streaked his neck and back as he parked, jumped out and ran toward the cove. Several heart-pounding minutes later, he checked the cave and found it empty. A million scenarios raced through his head. All sickening.
Dear God, where was she?
He pivoted, scanned the area, the brush beyond. A big rock formation that resembled a hawk jutted out near the water’s edge by an overhang that had sharp angles, reaching like talons toward the sea. His heart pounded. Then he glanced up and spotted Olivia.
She stood on the tip of the ledge, her hair flying in the wind, a streak of sunlight dappling golden rays that pitched her angelic face in murky lines. A tall, imposing man stood in the shadows behind her, a gun pressed to her back.
His own body lurched forward when she wobbled to the edge, her arms outstretched.
He shouted her name. “Olivia, no! Get back!
His pulse racing, he ran through the sea oats to the steep, rocky path that led to the ledge and climbed the embankment. Rock and dirt skittered below his feet, pinging to the ground. Seagulls circled the shore. The waves crashed and broke with high tide, the noise drowning out his shouts as he ascended to the top.
His gun poised to fire, he climbed the last foot. Just as he crested the top, Olivia swayed as if she was disoriented. He saw blood on her cheek and perspiration on her forehead. Her symptoms were rapidly growing more acute. “Olivia?”
She didn’t hear him. She grabbed the man’s arm and wrestled with him, tried to pull him with her.
Then a gunshot rang out. He ducked to avoid it, and Olivia went soaring over the side of the cliff. Dunce leapt backward, running toward the woods. Craig yelled Olivia’s name, ran for the ledge, saw her hit the water. Another gunshot pinged near his head, and he turned around, fury heating him as he unloaded shot after shot into Dunce’s body. The man’s face contorted, blood spurting from his chest as he sank to the ground.
Craig ran to the ledge. Had Olivia been shot?
He didn’t have time to make it down the embankment. Without hesitation, he threw himself over the ledge and plunged into the crashing waves. Seconds later, he shoved up through the tide, searching for Olivia.
OLIVIA WAS FIGHTING the waves, struggling against the tide. She had to fight. Had to swim. Had to survive.
But the force of the tide caught her body, dragged her under again. She flapped her arms wildly, fought the wave, warned herself not to panic. But her injured shoulder throbbed, protested the brutal beating of the waves, and she was too weak to beat the strength of the undertow as it dragged her farther from land.
At last, she broke through the surface of the water. Gasped for a breath. Tried to shove the hair from her eyes. How far was she from the cove? Could she make it back?
No. The tides were sweeping her farther out to sea. The land…she could no longer see it. The cliff where she’d just been looked like a tiny pinpoint of light. A hurtling wave dragged her under again. She held her breath, let herself fall limp and tried to float with the current.
The voices in her head screamed at her to give up. She ordered herself to fight them as she broke to the surface again, coughing and sputtering. She thought she heard someone call her name. The sound echoed above the roar of the waves, drifted on the wind, then was carried out to sea.
She tried to swim toward the voice, clawed at the water, tasted the salt and sea, and choked. The salt stung her rash-stricken aching arms, and exhaustion stole her strength.
Through her feverish haze, she thought she heard her name again. But the wind and brutal water slapped her farther out, captured the sound and tossed it into the darkness. She was so weak, too. She couldn’t fight it any longer.
She had her answers about her father now. About her mother. The truth.
And Craig…he didn’t love her.
Then another vicious wave swept her into the sea, and she ped for peace as the tides swallowed her.
CRAIG BROKE THROUGH the surface of the crashing waves, adrenaline surging through him as he spotted Olivia being swept under the water. He inhaled, then threw himself into motion, his arms gliding in even, rushed strokes as he swam toward her. The wind knocked him off pace, slowed him down, the undertow grabbing at his feet and sucking him into the vortex.
But he fought the panic and swelling riptide and raced through the waves, one stroke, two, another and another, until he was inches away from where he’d last seen her. “Olivia!”
She didn’t answer. Hadn’t surfaced…
He held his breath, then plunged below the surface again, searching frantically for her, swimming in a circle to see through the haze. A heartbeat later, he spotted her. Her blond hair floated around her in a wild frenzy, and her body was limp as she sank deeper toward the bottom of the ocean. He dove downward toward her, slid his arms around her waist and dragged her up to the surface. She gasped and choked as they broke through the wave.
“Damn it, hang on, Olivia. I need you.”
A strangled sound erupted from her throat as she collapsed against him.
CRAIG HELD OLIVIA UNTIL the detectives and paramedics arrived, then reluctantly turned her over to the emergency room personnel when they reached the hospital. The EMTs had already started an IV and begun treating her for shock. They’d given her medication for the fever and were trying to make her comfortable.
The day and night bled into another. Hours stretched into eternity, hope dwindling with every agonizing second.
Detectives Black and Fox issued an APB on Milaski, calling for the FBI and NSA to issue a nationwide alert. Security checks at all airports, waterways and borders were put into effect. Detective Black phoned Dr. Carrington, who agreed to confer with Fulton along with another scientist from the CDC, about what was on the diskette.
Over twenty-four hours later, finally as the predawn sky broke with light, Craig clutched Olivia’s hand and bowed his head, muttering a prayer for a miracle.
Dr. Carrington ducked his head in. “Agent Horn, Dr. Fulton’s here. He says it’s important.”
Craig kissed Olivia’s hand, then reluctantly left her and strode to the door. “What is it, Fulton?”
Fulton rubbed at his temple, a harrowed expression contorting his face. “I’ve studied the disk…should have come forward sooner. I was afraid I’d get in trouble, but I have to now.”
“What’s going on?” Craig snapped.
“I’m partially responsible for creating this virus, but I didn’t know it at the time.” He paused, as if it pained him to continue. “Last year, I was asked to study an old virus that was believed to have been used in Germany years ago. I created a mutated strain for biological warfare possibilities and later was contacted by Hal Oberman. He claimed he was workin secret government organization that wanted the virus.”
Craig snapped to alert. “Oberman, the head of the Department of Public Safety?”
“Yes, he said it was a classified government project to fight terrorism. At the time, I checked out the organization and it seemed legit. But when you came to see me, and after reviewing Thornbird’s files and diskette, and after seeing Miss Thornbird on television earlier, I had to wonder.”
“If your virus was the one attacking these people?” Craig asked.
Fulton pulled a hand down his face. “Yes. I…had no idea it was the same one, or that the organization wasn’t doing what Oberman said. You have to believe me.”
“You think Oberman sold the virus to Milaski?” Craig asked.
“I…I have no idea, but from the blood work I’ve studied, along with Thornbird’s notes, it appears to be the same strain.”
“I’ll call Agent Devlin. Have him find Oberman.” He gripped Fulton by the collar. “If you’d told us this sooner, we could have saved lives.”
“I know,” Fulton whimpered. “But I honestly believed Oberman was using it to fight terrorism. I didn’t know that the organization might be bogus or that he might h
ave other motives…”
As much as Craig hated to admit it, he could see how someone with authority might pull off a stunt like that. Information was often dispensed on a need-to-know basis. Security measures high, documents classified. A little tampering with the computer, or a bribe, and anything could be done.
Fulton’s bony body shook beneath Craig’s intense gaze. “But listen. I think I might have an antidote for the virus.”
The breath left Craig in a gush. “What?”
“After you showed up, I started looking back through Thornbird’s notes and my own. I think there’s a chance we can save Miss Thornbird.”
Craig wanted to hope. But could he trust Fulton? “How do I know you’re telling me the truth now?”
“I swear,” Fulton said. “I’ll go to jail afterward if you think I deserve it, but I’d like to at least try this antidote.”
Craig glanced at Dr. Carrington. Olivia was dying. Growing weaker every minute. If they waited too long, there would be irreparable brain damage.
“All right. But Dr. Carrington will be monitoring you,” Craig said. After all, if there was any chance of saving Olivia, they had to take it.
Chapter Eighteen
Olivia drifted in and out of oblivion. First, the pain had been too much, and she’d welcomed the darkness. But Craig’s husky voice had beckoned her back.
“Please, Olivia, it’s been two days. I need you. Don’t leave me.”
She had been the one to beg him not to leave her earlier. Before they’d made love. Then he’d betrayed her.
“Olivia, I don’t know why you didn’t call me before you went to the station, but I don’t care. We can work it out, just stay with me, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart? No man had ever called her a pet name. She had to straighten Craig out. She wasn’t sweet or needy or any of those female things; she was Olivia Thornbird. She stood up for what she thought was right. For what she wanted.
And she wanted to live. To come back to Craig.
But he would hate her for going public.
And she couldn’t let him decimate her father’s name; he’d died to protect her.
She wiggled her fingers and tried to open her eyes, but she felt so groggy it took considerable effort, and three tries. Finally, she looked into his somber gray eyes. Eyes that had once been icy and emotionless now held pain and worry. And some other emotion she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
“Olivia?”
“Yes,” her voice rasped, low, a mere whisper.
“You’re going to be all right. Dr. Fulton created an antidote from your father’s research.” He squeezed her hand between his own, and she was grateful for the warmth.
“I’m sorry…” Her voice broke. “I went on TV. I thought you’d used me, that it was the right thing to do to help the people…”
Her throat was so dry that her voice trailed off into a cough. He lifted a cup of water and slid a straw to her lips, and she drank greedily. “I heard the phone message from your father, that you thought my dad created the virus, that he killed those people. And you had files on me…”
His eyes darkened with emotions. “I was just doing my job, Olivia. I didn’t want to believe your father was guilty. Hell, even when I suspected him, I refrained from telling you because I didn’t want to hurt you.”
Her chest ached. “I…I’m sorry about the TV airing—”
“Shh.” He pressed a finger to her lip. “You were right this time. When Fulton saw your plea, he came forward, confessed that he gave the virus to Oberman, the director of the DPS. Devlin phoned. Oberman’s in custody now.”
“What…what about Milaski and the virus?”
“I spoke with Agent Devlin about an hour ago. Milaski’s chopper went down. He died in the crash, and the virus went up in flames with him.”
“The…man who tried to kill me?”
The image of the man pushing the gun into her back played through her head, making her grip the sheet tighter.
He tensed, as if he were reliving the image himself. “He was a hired assassin—he’s dead, too. We still don’t know who trained him though, but we’ll look into it.”
Olivia tried to sit up, but he gently coaxed her to lie back down. “You have to rest
“I’m fine now. You can go.”
Craig frowned. “But…”
“The case is over, Craig. You thought my father was guilty, you kept things from me. I can’t forget that.” She licked her lips for courage. “Besides, we’ll always look at things differently.”
Ignoring the crushed look in his eyes, she rolled to her side, shutting him out. She might be okay now, but she had no idea what long-term side effects she might suffer from the virus. She couldn’t take the chance of becoming ill later or an invalid. She absolutely wouldn’t ask Craig to take care of her.
The sound of Craig’s footsteps clattering against the floor felt like knives in her chest. Then the door closed behind him, and she covered her eyes. Tears slid through her fingertips and dropped onto the pillowcase.
She loved Craig desperately, but she’d never allow herself to need anyone again, to be left alone as she had been when her mother and father had died.
CRAIG’S HEART CLENCHED at Olivia’s dismissal. He’d thought if she survived they might work things out. That she’d confess her love. But she’d just bid him goodbye.
He sank onto the cold vinyl sofa in the waiting room to compose himself, willing his emotions in check. It was better this way. He didn’t need a woman messing with his mind. He could go back to being the Iceman.
But, damn it, he loved her.
And even if he wanted the Iceman back, he might be gone forever.
Agent Devlin, coffee in hand, stepped up to him. “She’s going to make it?”
He nodded. “Did you question Oberman?”
“He claims he didn’t sell the virus to Milaski, that someone on his staff did. When Oberman found out, he did everything he could to find out the source. He’s named names, and we have a guy named Denasky in custody.”
Not for the first time, Craig wondered about his own father’s involvement. But hadn’t he done the same thing to a degree—tried to keep the investigation quiet to protect citizens from panic? He supposed he, Oberman and his father were more alike than he wanted to admit.
“You told Olivia the virus has been destroyed?”
He balled his hands into fists. “Yes.”
“Then why the long face?”
Craig winced.
“You know, Horn,” Devlin said in a deep voice. “If you love her, you should hold on to her.”
He jerked his head up. The two men had never discussed their personal lives.
“I made a mistake once, lost the woman of my dreams.” Devlin grimaced. “Sometimes I’m not sure the job is worth it.”
He was right. Craig couldn’t give up his job, and he’d never ask Olivia to, but they could have a relationship if they tried hard enough.
That is, if she loved him.
Just as he stood, debating what to do, his father raced into the waiting room. “I came as soon as I heard you took Hal Oberman into custody.”
Jeez, did his father never quit? “Listen, Dad, we had to.” He explained the circumstances. “Oberman should have come to us sooner. His hush operation cost people their lives.”
“He was trying to protect the public—”
“He was trying to protect himself, just like you always do. Just like you did when my sister died.”
His father’s expression hardened. “That was different. I was trying to protect you and your mother. There are things you don’t know.”
Craig glared at him. “Because you chose to keep them quiet.”
“Don’t tell me you don’t do the same thing, Craig. You make deals with known criminals, put them into witness protection programs all the time.” He pinned him with an angry look. “And until you got involved with that reporter, you managed to keep this virus out of the news.”
>
Craig grimaced. “Olivia Thornbird survived, and as I promised her, she’ll write the story.”
His father ran a manicured hand over his chin. “But you have to stop her. Her news report earlier was inexcusable.”
Craig had detested his father the day he’d covered up his sister’s death. He almost hated him more now. “Olivia has a mind of her own, Dad. She’s intelligent, a responsible journalist, and she almost died because too many people wanted to keep things quiet.”
“But she was just using you,” his father said. “Don’t you see that?”
Remembering Olivia’s dismissal a few moments earlier, Craig momentarily wavered. But his father was wrong.
“Use her the same way she used you,” his father said. “Go in there and persuade her to kill the story, or at least soften it.”
Craig squared his shoulders, no longer caring what his father thought. “The only thing I intend to do with Olivia is convince her to marry me.”
Emboldened by the memory of the way she’d given herself to him that night, the way he’d felt when they made love, he pivoted and strode toward Olivia’s room. She hadn’t just been using him…not Olivia.
Besides, normally he didn’t give up so easily when he wanted something. And he wanted Olivia.
Inhaling to calm his raging nerves, he pushed open the door and walked inside.
“Olivia?”
Olivia’s vibrant blue eyes met his, but they were red-rimmed as if she’d been crying. “I…thought you’d left.”
“No.”
He stalked toward her, then stopped beside her bed, his heart pounding. “What in the hell’s going on?” he asked in a gruff whisper. “I thought had something special the night we made love.”
“Craig, please…”
“You blame me for your father’s death?”
“No.”
“You hate the fact that I’m with the FBI?”
She shook her head. “I admire your work, you should know that. I…thought you hated reporters.”