by Alex Kava
“No,” Platt interrupted, stunning the colonel. “You must know by now.”
Platt waited out the silence, staring down the man he had respected and revered for almost two decades.
“You must not share this with anyone,” Hess finally said.
“You asked me to send someone I trusted, only so you could control the investigation and what information is released.”
“I assure you any dangerous pathogens are completely safe. My team is in the process of recovering the lockbox that stores them.”
“How can you be certain it hasn’t already ruptured from the pressure of the landslide? Everyone there could have already been exposed.”
“Because it emits a signal, and we’re still getting that signal.”
Platt shook his head. As an army colonel and director of USAMRIID he knew the fine line they walked keeping civilians safe while trying to find new ways to help soldiers be more effective and keeping them safe, too. His life was filled with classified information. He worked in labs at Fort Detrick with viruses and pathogens that could wipe out a city if accidentally released. And he had, in fact, been at the helm of controlling an Ebola outbreak several years ago that could have killed hundreds if there had been a widespread panic.
“Twenty-four hours,” he told Hess. “I’ll give you twenty-four hours.”
“Are you threatening me, Benjamin?”
“I’m giving you a chance to do the right thing.”
39.
Haywood County, North Carolina
By the time they made it back down the mountain, rain had replaced the drizzle. Ross dropped O’Dell, Jason, and Bolo at the high school. She had already checked the area for available lodging. The nearest hotel or motel was over fifty miles away and certainly not worth the drive with all the detours.
Ross had told them that one of the three community churches was housing and feeding the families whose homes had been destroyed. Since classes had to be canceled, cots had been set up in the school gymnasium for the rescue workers. They could use the locker rooms to store their gear and take a shower. Hot breakfasts and dinner were being served in the cafeteria. Brown-bag lunches would be prepared and ready by eight AM.
“Just get your name on the list,” the guardsman had told them.
He pointed to the back of the long gymnasium. “All three of you will need to go through Decon before you can enter the building.”
“Decon?”
“Sorry. Decontamination. All that mud we’ve been trudging through and digging up is considered contaminated. Landslides tend to produce a toxic cesspool. Most folks here have propane tanks for heating and septic tanks. We don’t know how many have been breached. Not to mention all the insulation, asbestos, and other stuff. Basically they’ll be hosing you off.” Then he shrugged and said, “Not like we aren’t already wet enough, huh?”
O’Dell noticed it was the guardsman’s first attempt at humor. She studied his profile and realized he was much younger than she had initially thought. They were all exhausted.
On the drive down the mountain she had tried to get ahold of Dr. Gunther, leaving two messages and a callback number each time. Ross had told her that the other guardsmen would be delivering the body they’d unearthed along with the hand to the temporary morgue, as per their instructions. She’d been hoping Dr. Gunther would start her examination as soon as possible, but now doubted that would happen.
O’Dell, Jason, and Bolo followed the sidewalk around to the back of the long building. Other crews were pulling up along the curb, filing out and gathering gear. Sunset wasn’t for another hour but the gray skies and rain would accelerate that.
“They served an excellent breakfast this morning,” Jason said, walking alongside her.
She glanced at him and saw that he was straining to maintain a casual tone. Then she noticed he was keeping Bolo tight on his other side, giving the dog a short leash with no alternative but to walk next to Jason, so close she imagined the dog was brushing against Jason’s pant leg. And she could see the reason for the short leash. The line of hair that stood up on Bolo’s back and pointed in the opposite direction—the line that defined him as a ridgeback—was now bristling with the rest of the dog’s back and neck.
She remembered Creed saying that Bolo was overprotective of him. That protection must extend to Jason. The dog eyed the other men climbing out of their trucks. His head pivoted to the sounds they made. He viewed them as a threat. This simple walk was far from his comfort zone. That was back up in the woods, along the floodwaters, where he could concentrate only on the scent he was asked to find.
“I’m parked in the lot just across the street,” O’Dell told him, getting a glimpse of it now. “I need to grab my overnight bag or I won’t have dry clothes.”
“Sure thing.” He nodded. “We’ll catch up to you at Decon.”
His tone was still even and casual, signaling that everything was fine. But she wondered if he realized his tight and strained posture was probably screaming at Bolo that everything was not fine. The dog was strong and muscular. Was Jason worried he wouldn’t be able to control him with only one hand? Her own dog Jake—a huge black German shepherd—could knock her off her feet if he tugged suddenly.
She wanted to ask Jason if he’d be okay, but there wasn’t any way to do that without contributing to Bolo’s tension and making Jason even more self-conscious. Instead, she simply agreed she’d see them later and broke off in the other direction, trying hard not to look back.
O’Dell climbed inside her SUV to get out of the rain and immediately pulled out her cell phone. No messages from Ben. She tamped down her irritation. She didn’t want to talk to him right now, anyway. Instead she called her boss, Assistant Director Kunze, and left him a message. Then she tapped another number in her phone’s memory and waited.
Gwen had been disguising her depression for months now and the surgery had made that more difficult. O’Dell just needed to hear that her friend was okay. She never expected the cheerful and excited voice that answered.
“So have you seen him yet?” Her friend sounded like a teenager.
O’Dell couldn’t help it. The exhaustion from the day caught up with her and she simply smiled.
40.
Through the crowded Decon area, Creed was glad to see Dr. Avelyn. Three large tents had been erected in what otherwise was a back parking lot behind the school’s gymnasium. The line waiting to go through the process snaked around the corner of the building. Rescue workers had started calling it a day. And now they stood, wet and muddy, waiting their turn to be hosed down.
The rain was steady now with no signs of easing up, and nightfall would come soon. Creed felt what most of them were feeling—exhausted, hungry, dead tired, and yet reluctant to stop because they knew there might still be victims out there alive, buried under debris and mud, clinging to their last gasps. People like Mrs. Hamlet, waiting out yet another night.
Creed had left Grace with the old woman while he found his way back up the hill. Before he left them he had entered their location in his handheld GPS’s memory. He hadn’t wanted to waste any time finding them again. When he reached Vance and Mrs. Hamlet’s daughter, he brought up the location and discovered a shortcut.
They were able to carry the woman to her anxious daughter and a waiting ambulance. And through it all, Grace had never left the old woman’s side until they closed the medical van’s doors. The little dog hadn’t even complained about the pieces of glass buried between the pads of her feet.
Now Creed was eager to get Grace taken care of. There were only three search dogs waiting to be examined. He weaved his way through the rescue workers. When Dr. Avelyn saw him, she waved and gestured for him to cut through.
Grace pranced among the booted workers, greeting them with a wagging tail. Some of them smiled and bent down to pet her. Others parted out of Creed’s way when they sa
w Grace. By the time he reached Dr. Avelyn’s tented station, she was finishing her inspection of the last of the three dogs. When Grace recognized her, she could barely contain her excitement.
“Settle down,” Creed told her.
Dr. Avelyn immediately contradicted his command. She squatted down, opened her arms, and called Grace to her. He unsnapped the leash and the dog flew on bruised and bleeding paws.
“I just checked through Jason and Bolo about fifteen minutes ago,” she told him.
“Good. I’m glad they’re back. They okay?”
“Bolo’s a little freaked by all the men.”
“I bet he was glad to see you, then.”
She smiled. “I heard about your adventure today, Grace,” she told the little dog as she massaged her hands over Grace’s body, feeling for signs of distress or wounds. She glanced up at Creed and gave him another smile. “Sounds like you’ve had an interesting couple of days.”
“It’s been crazy.”
“You look like hell,” she said. She pointed to the cut above his eye. “You need to have that covered when you’re working in the field.”
He reached up to finger it and her scold stopped him. “Don’t touch it!”
“I pulled some glass from her paws,” he said, wanting the attention back on Grace. “But I think there’s more.”
He dropped to his knees beside the vet, wanting to get a closer look for himself. Strobe lights hung from the frame of the tent, creating too many shadows. Dr. Avelyn pulled on headgear and flipped on her own light. She grabbed a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and forceps, ready to get to work.
Creed lifted Grace up, cradling her back against his chest, his chin on the top of her head, making it easier for Dr. Avelyn to get at her paws.
“This might sting, Grace.”
“She has a freakishly high tolerance for pain,” he told the vet, watching as she removed small fragments of glass and debris. Every time she dropped one on the stainless steel tray Creed wanted to wince.
“She’s like her master.”
When Creed didn’t respond, Dr. Avelyn said, “I heard you might have a few busted ribs. If you want, I brought the portable X-ray machine. We can take a look.”
“Medics hog-tied me with ACE bandage. Would you do anything different if we found out the ribs were broken?”
“Not for a dog. I’m not sure for a person, but I’ll check. An X-ray could show whether a rib’s poking or threatening to poke something important. How’s your breathing?”
“Okay, I guess.” He nuzzled the top of Grace’s head. She was starting to get impatient with staying still. “Almost done, girl.” Then to Dr. Avelyn he said, “My head hurts. Maybe I broke something up there.”
He smiled but she shot him a concerned look, one that made him regret mentioning it.
“They checked you for a concussion, right?”
“I guess. I don’t know for sure. I don’t really remember much. I was out for quite a while afterwards.”
“Ryder! That’s like one of the top symptoms. Have you felt nauseated? How’s your vision?”
“Vision’s okay.”
“Do you remember what happened?”
“You mean being buried?”
She nodded. She was swabbing Grace’s paws now.
“Not all of it.”
“Did anyone clear you today before you went back out?”
“Nope.”
“How do you feel right now? Any dizziness? Ringing in the ears?”
“Ringing off and on. No more dizziness.”
“No more? That means you had some?”
“A little. Right now the headache feels like someone’s drumming a hammer into my head.”
“Some symptoms of a concussion can be delayed for hours. Even days. Sounds like you definitely had one. You might still have one.”
“Do you have something you can give me for the headache?”
“Yes.” She didn’t hesitate in answering. She finished with Grace, taking one last look. “No more work for you, Grace.” To Creed she said, “She needs to rest for at least twenty-four hours.”
“Absolutely.”
“And so should you,” she told him. Then she looked up over Creed’s shoulder at someone behind him and said, “I hope you don’t have any scorpions this time.”
Creed turned, surprised to find Maggie O’Dell.
41.
No scorpions,” O’Dell told Dr. Avelyn.
The vet was referring to the last time the two had seen each other. O’Dell had fallen into a pit filled with scorpions. The thought of it usually made her shudder, but right now her focus was on Ryder Creed.
She hated that her heart seemed to skip a couple of beats as soon as his eyes met hers. Creed’s clothes looked like he had rolled in the mud. His hair was slicked down. His face bruised and cut, jaw dark with stubble. But eyes bright and clear. The corner of his mouth lifted into a smile. Battered and dirty, the man still managed to look like the poster boy for GQ if they had an outdoorsman edition.
“What brings you down to this mess?” he asked.
“Official request.” And she left it at that. There was time later for business.
Both Dr. Avelyn and Creed stood up. He still had Grace in his arms. When the little dog recognized O’Dell she started to squirm. He tucked her more securely under his arm and took a couple of steps closer for Grace’s sake. Or at least, O’Dell thought it was for Grace’s sake.
She offered the dog her hand to sniff and lick, then she petted Grace’s head, careful so she didn’t brush Creed’s fingers.
Silly. Totally ridiculous. But she’d forgotten how powerful his presence was, and already she was annoyed that her pulse was racing and that she was avoiding his eyes.
“Did you and Grace find the lost woman?”
“Grace did. And we think Mrs. Hamlet will be okay. She’s dehydrated and worn out from being out in the elements for almost two days. Twisted her ankle. Otherwise she seemed okay.”
She felt his eyes run over the length of her. “Looks like you’ve been out all day, too?” he said.
“Yeah, pretty much.”
She glanced down and realized her jeans were muddy at the knees and ankles, her boots caked, and her hair drenched like Creed’s, despite her FBI ball cap. She had her overnight bag slung over her shoulder and even with her windbreaker zipped up she was starting to feel a chill.
“Jason told me about you getting caught in a slide yesterday. Are you okay?”
“You saw Jason?”
Before she could explain, a man coming out the side door of the gymnasium interrupted them.
“Dogman!” he called out to Creed. “I’ve been waiting for you to get back.”
The man was shorter than Creed but lean and muscular. A bit older. White-blond hair, cut military short on the sides with a flap of bangs. He wore a leather bomber jacket, khaki pants, and expensive hiking boots that O’Dell immediately noticed didn’t have a spot of mud on them.
“Peter Logan.” He stuck out his hand for hers, then crushed it in his.
“So you’re Logan,” she said, returning the firm grip and watching his surprise. Actually, she didn’t mind the crusher grip. She’d rather that than the soft, patronizing handshake that most men in authority extended to women colleagues. “I have quite a few questions for you.”
He cocked his head at her and managed to keep his fake smile as he shot a look at Creed.
“I’m Agent Maggie O’Dell.”
Realization came over his face. “Oh, so you’re Ben’s girlfriend.”
O’Dell felt the rush of heat travel up her neck.
42.
Peter Logan was an asshole and Creed wasn’t surprised to see that he hadn’t changed in the seven years since he’d seen him last.
“You two know each
other?” He looked from Creed to O’Dell and back to Creed, eyebrows raised like there was something inappropriate going on.
“We’ve worked a couple of cases,” Maggie told him.
Creed wasn’t sure if he was irritated at Logan because he had embarrassed Maggie or because Logan knew more about the man who had an obvious hold on her heart.
Logan saw Grace. “What’s the deal, dogman? You bring the smallest dog you could possibly find to do a job for me? He doesn’t look like he’s even fifteen pounds soaking wet.”
Grace growled at him. Creed could feel the hair on the back of her neck rise up.
“Her name’s Grace. And no, she’s not working your project.”
“Yeah, I heard you didn’t show up at the site.” Hands on his hips as if he still had a platoon to order around.
“Jason and Bolo did a great job,” Maggie said before Creed could answer.
Only then did Creed realize she was the FBI agent sent to supervise Logan’s secret project.
“Yes, I heard you had a productive afternoon.” He wagged his head at Maggie in what Creed recognized as his familiar gesture of giving praise. That was about all anyone would get for pleasing him.
Grace was still rigid under Creed’s arm, stiff-arming her paw against his arm. He could feel the slight vibration of a low, continuous growl. She was probably feeding off of Creed’s animosity toward Logan.
“Until those floodwaters are reined in we won’t be able to do much more,” Maggie said.
Logan’s eyes darted around. Clearly he wasn’t comfortable discussing it in the open, even though Creed could see no one paying attention to them. Even Dr. Avelyn had gone over to the trailer set up for her and the others.
“We can talk about that later,” Logan told Maggie.
“Yes, that would be good if we could talk. I have some questions.”
“I’m sure you do.” He laughed like there was a private joke between them. “You go get cleaned up. I’ll see you in the morning.”
