by Mary Stone
He gritted his teeth. “And?”
“And I’ve been thinking about the lack of success I’ve had replicating Patient Zero’s particular brain abnormality. Brain structure is a funny thing, but I’m sure you know that. You went to medical school, too, didn’t you, Robert?” She laughed. “More or less.”
Though her query was casual, there was a sinister undertone to each and every word. Then again, wasn’t there always a sinister undertone with Sandra Evans these days?
“I did,” he answered, then snapped his mouth closed.
“Basic brain structure doesn’t vary dramatically from person to person, but when it does, it can cause some significant outcomes. Take schizophrenia, for instance. Schizophrenics have a different brain structure than people without symptoms of schizophrenia. Now, there are many elements that can affect someone’s brain structure after they’re born.”
It grated Ladwig to be lectured like this, but he held his silence, unwilling to stir this woman’s wrath.
“Things like stress, environmental agents, and genetics,” she said, continuing her lecture. “Genetics can predispose someone’s brain to behave a certain way when it encounters a specific type of stressor. Diathesis-stress is what it’s called, right?”
“That’s a simplified version of it, but yes.” He knew where her anatomy lesson was headed, and he felt like a cold hand had clamped down on his stomach.
“In any case, life events and environments are only half of the story.” She sounded even more excited now. “The other half comes from a person’s genetics, and sometimes, I think our little realm of the scientific community forgets just how powerful genes can be.”
“You think there’s something in Patient Zero’s DNA that predisposed them to the abnormalities they experienced after their head trauma?” he surmised.
“I do.” Her laconic response bordered on venomous, and even though he was alone in his office, he wanted to crawl under the desk to hide.
In the agonizing seconds that followed, he considered blurting out Winter’s name. He could let Dr. Evans deal with Winter Black and the fallout that would accompany the disappearance of a federal agent.
Evans was smart, but more than that, she was ruthless. If anyone was fit to contend with the feds, it was her. But if she was caught, the damn woman would drag him down with her. Probably even use him as a scape goat. Push him off a cliff.
But his own personal safety wasn’t the only thing that worried him. For some reason he couldn’t understand, he didn’t want to lead the little dark-haired girl he used to talk to every week to slaughter.
But would it be slaughter?
Surely, Evans wouldn’t kill Winter. Would she? The sadist doctor needed her alive to monitor her brain function, to parse through the inner workings of her mind. But Robert had seen Sandra’s handiwork. If Winter fell into the surgeon’s custody, death would be a kindness. And if Robert didn’t come up with a way to appease Dr. Evans soon, he would be on the receiving end of ire he couldn’t begin to fathom.
For a split-second, Ladwig wished Douglas Kilroy, The Preacher, was still alive so he could punch the killing bastard for ever starting the series of events that led Ladwig to cross paths with Dr. Evans. If the delusional psychopath hadn’t slaughtered Winter’s family, she wouldn’t have suffered the traumatic brain injury that gave rise to her unique abilities.
But Kilroy hadn’t murdered her entire family, had he?
“Patient Zero has a sibling.” Ladwig felt like someone else had made the statement in his voice. Self-preservation was a powerful force.
“Really?” To his relief, curiosity had replaced Sandra’s anger.
“Yes. A brother. His whereabouts are unknown, but I can begin searching for him.”
During her time as Ladwig’s patient, Winter had recalled the last time she had seen her brother in detail, but the FBI had no leads on Justin Black’s fate. Though he kept the notion to himself, Ladwig had his own theory on the younger Black sibling’s disappearance.
The Preacher had wanted Justin.
Alive or dead? That was the question, but Dr. Ladwig thought it was the former.
Sure, Sandra might be able to trace back to Winter through her younger brother, but Ladwig would cross that bridge when he came to it. For now, he needed a way to appease Dr. Evans before she turned her wrath on him.
“All right,” Dr. Sandra Evans finally agreed. “Find the brother.”
Winter had just pulled her car key from the ignition when she felt the faint vibration from the pocket of her black slacks. Narrowing her eyes at the unfamiliar number, she swiped the screen and raised it to her ear.
“Agent Black,” she answered.
“Hello, Winter.” Dr. Robert Ladwig’s voice was as smooth and calm as it had ever been, but the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end at the sound.
“Do you remember what I told you the last time you called me?” Her voice was a lethal hiss. “I mean it, Ladwig. If you don’t leave me the hell alone, I will ruin you, do you understand me?”
“There’s no need for that.” His response was flat, but somehow, the hint of irritability was less unnerving than the soothing tone in which he had greeted her.
“Really?” she bit back. “Because, based on the fact that you’re literally on the phone with me right now, I’d say there is a need for it!”
“This won’t take long. Like it or not, we have a history, my dear. I’m up to date on the news, and I wanted to wish you well now that Douglas Kilroy is dead. I hope that learning more about your brother’s fate will bring you some peace.”
She could feel the rush of her pulse at the offhand mention of Justin. “My brother’s fate?” she echoed. “What in the hell does that mean, Ladwig?”
“Well, there wasn’t anything about it in the news articles I read, but I just assumed you’d found something after The Preacher was killed.” He sounded puzzled, but not puzzled enough for her to dismiss the question as an innocent inquiry.
“I don’t know what in the hell you’re trying to accomplish here, but I’ve about reached the end of my tolerance for your enigmatic bullshit. If you don’t have anything useful to tell me, then this conversation is over. I’ve got work to do, you know, in the FBI building. Want me to tell anyone hello for you while I’m in the office or no?” Her knuckles had turned white from her iron grip on the steering wheel, and the tips of her fingers tingled from the lack of blood flow.
“I guess well-wishing or condolences don’t count as useful, do they? Fine, fair enough, then. Best of luck to you, Agent Black.”
Just as she opened her mouth to tell him where he could cram his condolences, the familiar chime indicated the call had ended. Jaw clenched, she pulled the phone away and glared at the glass screen like it was responsible for the conversation.
Was Ladwig just a creep, or was there more to his call than just an unhealthy obsession with a client he hadn’t seen in almost thirteen years?
With an irritable groan, Winter pocketed her phone and pushed open the driver’s side door of her tried-and-true Civic.
As she glanced at the car, she remembered Autumn’s bout of laughter when Winter and Noah had discussed the little Honda the night before. Noah had asked when Winter finally intended to purchase a “grown-up” vehicle, and Autumn had been quick to side with Winter to defend the Civic’s honor.
At the recollection, she felt the tenseness melt away from her shoulders. Winter had been skeptical when Noah told her that his new friend was a doctoral student in psychology, but as soon as she met Autumn, her unease had been put to rest. Though the woman was a self-proclaimed nerd, she didn’t exhibit the same studious, untouchable demeanor as Aiden Parrish.
If Winter had met Autumn Trent on the street, she wouldn’t have guessed she would be referred to as Dr. Trent before the end of the year. Maybe the title would change Autumn into a mysterious figure like the SSA of the BAU, but somehow, Winter doubted it.
When she rounded a corner t
o the cluster of cubicles that belonged to Violent Crimes, she thought for a fraction of a second that her musings had summoned the tall, well-dressed man who blocked her path. His pale blue eyes flicked up from his phone to her, and that fleeting look was enough to bring on the sudden uptick in her heart rate.
And just like that, the minutes-old conversation with Dr. Ladwig was the farthest thing from her mind.
If Noah had been frustrated enough for a vehement outburst, she could only imagine what might have been running through Aiden’s head as she came to a stop in front of him.
Not only had she ignored his attempts at communication for the past three and a half months, but ADD Ramirez had approved her transfer back to Violent Crimes. After Aiden’s carefully planned effort to move her to the BAU, she was right back where she started.
Right back where she wanted to be.
“Agent Black,” he greeted. His crisp, professional tone bordered on irritable.
“SSA Parrish,” was her robotic response.
“I don’t suppose I could get a few minutes of your time?” With an expectant glance, he pointed to an open doorway at her side.
Winter offered him a stiff nod. “Sure.”
His countenance was unreadable as he followed her into the shadowy conference room. The glass and metal door latched closed with a metallic click, and the golden lights overhead came to life in short order.
Arms crossed over his chest, Aiden shifted his calm, scrutinizing gaze to her as silence descended over the small space.
“Are we just going to stand here and have a staring contest or something?” Winter blurted. “Loser owes the other one a soda, or what? The air in here dries out my eyes pretty fast, so maybe we ought to just skip the contest, and I’ll head to the vending machine to get you a Mountain Dew. Or whatever in the hell you drink, I don’t even know. Is it Mountain Dew?”
“Code Red,” he answered with a slight smirk. “And if you tell anyone, I’ll deny it. It’s a guilty pleasure leftover from when I was in college.”
Winter wrinkled her nose. “That stuff tastes like cough syrup.”
“No, it’s delicious,” Aiden countered, his mouth still a flat line. “But that’s not why I wanted to talk to you.”
“Really, you didn’t want to talk about how you drank straight from a two-liter of Mountain Dew Code Red while you and your college buddies played Call of Duty for sixteen hours straight?” Brows raised, she feigned a look of skepticism. Though his air of professionalism rarely faltered to hint at his sense of humor, Winter had known the man for long enough to understand his distinct brand of sarcasm.
“First of all, it was Halo. Call of Duty didn’t even exist back then. And second of all, we drank beer. It was college.”
He didn’t miss a beat, and Winter felt the smile tug at the corner of her mouth. Just when she thought she had a handle on Aiden Parrish’s persona, he added another layer.
The man was a damned mystery.
As he flashed her a smirk, she could have fooled herself into thinking only three days had passed since she had a conversation with him, not three months. The weight in the air between them vanished like it had never even been there, and all it had taken was a sarcastic conversation about soda.
“But no.” His voice snapped her from the reverie, and she wondered how long she’d been silent. “None of those things are what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“All right, what’s up?”
She tried to make her voice sound casual, but she almost cringed at the sound. To her ears, the query sounded fit for a sorority sister, not an FBI agent who had never even been close to a frat house.
Either Aiden didn’t notice the over-the-top tone, or he didn’t care.
“You and Dalton plan to talk to the Bowling Green principal today, don’t you?”
She nodded. Fortunately, Noah’d had the foresight to call the school in advance so they could have anything else they’d dug up on Justin in order.
“Look, I know what a big deal this is to you.” His expression had turned solemn, but the look in his pale eyes was sincere. “And I want to be clear that I’m not discouraging you when I say this, all right?”
For the second time, she nodded.
“I’m not discouraging you, but I want your expectations to be realistic. The Justin you remember might not be the Justin we find. I don’t doubt that the thought’s crossed your mind already, so don’t take any of this the wrong way.”
From his look of concern, her throat tightened, leaving her to feel like a ball of lead had dropped in her stomach. Glancing down to her shiny flats, she bit down on her tongue to keep the sadness from her face.
“Just be careful, Winter.” The words were hushed, his tone grave.
Clearing her throat, she returned her gaze to his as she nodded for the third time.
“I will,” she managed.
9
As Noah and Winter walked past the series of rectangular tables lining the high school’s cafeteria, he caught the faint whiff of cooking food. Try as he might, he couldn’t discern the type of food. He had never been able to tell the scent of one school lunch apart from the next. Flavorless steamed vegetables, questionable ground-up meats pressed into one of six different shapes, and a blob of gelatinous gunk for dessert. He shivered at the memory.
High school had been an agonizing four years for Noah, and even now, thirteen years later and easily a thousand miles away from the town where he had graduated, the taste in his mouth still soured as he walked through the halls of Bowling Green High.
He made an effort to displace some of the disdain as they passed a lanky girl and her shorter friend. Wide-eyed, the taller of the duo stuffed her phone into the side pocket of her backpack before she feigned nonchalance.
Like we’re the damn phone police.
He had been lucky. Social media hadn’t existed in its present form until shortly after he had graduated and joined the military. By then, he had been too busy getting shot at on the other side of the world to care much about Myspace or Facebook. Some of the men and women with whom he’d served had been thrilled to keep in touch with their loved ones via the online platforms, but the method of communication hadn’t stuck for much longer than a month for him.
All he ever got from perusing his friends and family’s status updates was a healthy dose of homesickness.
If he wanted to connect with someone from back home, he would call, text, or video chat with them. The passivity of scrolling through a Facebook timeline was not conducive to his mental health.
“What was it like?” he wondered as they approached the closed door of the school office.
“Huh?” Winter furrowed her brows as she shot him a quizzical look.
“Being in high school with social media,” he answered. “What was that even like?”
With a shrug, Winter rapped her knuckles against the wooden door. “Hard to say. I don’t have anything to compare it to, really. But I guess social media was just never really my thing. I had an account, but I might have updated it, like, ten times during the entire time I was in high school. People would tag me in stuff sometimes, I guess, but I never paid attention to it. I closed my Facebook account a few years ago.”
“I guess that explains why we aren’t Facebook friends.” For the first time since they had pulled into the battered parking lot, he grinned.
“Have you added my grandpa yet?” Her eyes lit up as she returned the wide smile, almost like she had stumbled across the answer to an age-old mystery.
“Your grandpa?” he echoed. “Jack’s on Facebook?”
“He is.” She laughed at the look on Noah’s face, which probably closely resembled her own. “Gramma said he used to play those farm games, and he’d bombard her with requests for crops and stuff.”
Just as he was about to join in her mirth, a shadow passed behind the closed blinds, and the door swung inward.
“I’m so sorry about that,” the woman in the doorway started, brushi
ng off her short-sleeved blouse as she offered them a strained smile. “Sometimes running this place during summer classes can be even more work than it is during the regular school year. Please, come on in. I’m Principal Amanda Williamson. You must be the agent I spoke to yesterday.”
“That’s me. Agent Dalton.” With a smile, Noah stepped into the sunny office to extend a hand.
As Principal Williamson brushed a piece of dark hair from her eyes, some of the trepidation left her face as she accepted the handshake. When she turned to clasp Winter’s outstretched hand, the rest of the worry dissipated.
“Agent Black,” Winter offered.
“Pleasure to meet you both.” Beckoning for them to follow, the shorter woman made her way past the receptionist and into a modest office. She paused at the edge of her wooden desk, and as she moved to sit in a black office chair, the scent of hand sanitizer wafted past him.
“Sorry. No offense,” the principal offered, rubbing her hands together. “When you work in a high school, you get used to sanitizing your hands after just about everything you touch. I never realized before I had my own kids how gross teenagers could be. Or maybe it’s just my teenagers, I’m not sure.”
“Oh, I don’t think it’s just you.” Noah chuckled as he eased the door closed behind himself. “I’ve got a couple cousins who graduated high school not too long ago, and my aunt used to say the same thing.”
“Well, thank you. That makes me feel a little bit better,” she replied as she sat. “Please, have a seat.”
With an appreciative smile, he dropped down to one of two squat, armless chairs.
“I think my partner here has given you a pretty good idea of why we’re here,” Winter started. Though her expression was laser-focused, her voice was calm and non-accusatory.
His partner was learning, he mused.
“Yes.” Principal Williamson slid a manila envelope across the polished surface of the desk. “This is everything we’ve got on Jaime Peterson. I made photocopies of all the documents we had so you can take them with you.”
