by C. J. Cross
This was the closest Dana had ever been to uncovering another key element of her parents’ murder. When they were found dead in a hotel room, bloody pentagram on the floor, empty vials in their hands, their death was ruled a suicide. But Dana knew in her heart they never would have left her by choice, and now that she was a part of Agent Shepard’s nearly identical case, she was that much closer to proving it.
They’d moved to her research lab where the computers and modern electronics were housed. It was Dana’s least favorite room on her floor of the library. The harsh fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, disrupting her concentration. She knew sometimes technology was a necessary evil, but she didn’t enjoy it.
Shepard was hunched over a laptop, scrolling through the FBI’s database he’d accessed. They were cross referencing crimes with known poisons. So far, they had no hits for nightshade, which was discouraging. But she couldn’t deny this part of the investigation felt symbiotic—both of their worlds joining in such a scientific way.
“Well, I don’t know what to tell you,” Shepard said, staring at the ‘no search results found’ screen again.
Dana stared at the blinking cursor in the white box. “Did you spell it correctly?”
“I may not have a PhD, but I did pass English 101.”
“Knock, knock,” Claire called, interrupting their debate. “Have you been down here all day?”
“Mostly,” Dana replied.
“I paged you.”
Shepard snorted a laugh. “Did you say paged? You mean that thing is actually functional?”
Dana ignored him and pulled the green pager from her belt. Damn. It was dead again. She muttered her apologies to Claire. “Sorry. It’s not holding a charge like it used to.”
“You’ve heard of cell phones, right?” Shepard teased.
“It holds sentimental value,” Dana snapped, tenderly tucking the pager into her blazer pocket.
Shepard held up his hands, and Dana turned back to Claire. “Did you need me for something?”
“No, I just assumed you forgot to eat again,” Claire said, moving fully into the lab. “So I just ordered your usual.”
She plopped her clunky black backpack onto an empty table, the metal spikes clanking loudly against the white resin tabletop. Claire pulled out a large brown paper bag with bright red lettering that Dana knew all too well. Thaiphoon made her favorite vegan kung pao dish. Just thinking about the perfect mix of savory spices was making her stomach rumble.
As usual, Claire was right. The hours had gotten away from Dana. She was too well practiced at ignoring her grumbling stomach these days. If it wasn’t for Claire, Dana would probably end up living on coffee and waffles, her only daily ritual before leaving the house. Thankfully, her intern’s stomach was more reliable than any alarm clock.
Dana’s mouth watered as the sweet scent of jasmine rice and spicy stir fry filled the lab. She glanced at Shepard. From the way he eyed the bag, Dana wasn’t the only one who’d skipped a meal.
“I’m not sure what secret agents like,” Claire said, her cheeks pinking as she continued to unpack the brown bag, “so I just got you my favorite.”
Agent Shepard straightened, stretching his arms over his head as he sniffed the air. “Whatever it is, I’m grateful. I’m starving.”
Claire settled in her usual spot, crossing her legs in the white overstuffed chair in the corner of the lab. The place might appear white and sterile, but to Dana, it was home. She and Claire ate all their meals in this room since Dana didn’t allow food in her office with so many priceless books and artifacts around. After Claire had been hired, they’d added a cafe table and chairs, along with the overstuffed wingback where Claire liked to curl up and read.
“So, did you crack the case yet?” Claire asked, stabbing a shrimp with her chopsticks.
Dana moved to the small dining table and unwrapped her dish. “I think we may have found the source of the poison.”
“Doc, we don’t talk about on-going investigations,” Shepard warned, taking up the empty chair across from her.
Claire paused, a chopstick hovering near her lips, and exchanged a questioning look with Dana.
Dana cleared her throat. “Claire is my research assistant, Agent Shepard. If you want me at my best, she’s part of the deal.” She could tell he was going to object, so she continued singing her assistant’s praises. “Claire has a near eidetic memory and is better than any online resource when it comes to reciting facts or definitions. She’ll be an asset to our investigation.”
“Very well. I’ll work on getting her clearance.” Shepard’s stern glance fell on Claire. “It goes without saying that everything discussed here doesn’t leave this room, understood?”
Claire’s already rounded shoulders slumped further, but she agreed, her voice suddenly mousy. “I can keep a secret.”
Dana caught her assistant’s eye, giving her an encouraging nod, to which Claire frowned. She clearly didn’t approve of this new addition to their dynamic.
Claire had come to Dana two years ago. She was a Georgetown grad student getting her PhD in Egyptology. She reminded Dana of herself—an ambitious outcast in the modern world. But under Dana’s guidance, the awkward twenty-something had blossomed, finding a home at the Smithsonian, just as Dana had.
It was sad to admit that the intern was the closest thing Dana had to a best friend. They ate all their meals together and could discuss theories over their fields of study—not something she could do with outsiders.
A quick glance at Agent Shepard as he dug into his sesame ginger dumplings had Dana feeling a strange twinge of excitement. There was no doubt the government man was out of his element, but he was making an effort, and that was more than any other man had ever done. But Dana didn’t have time to get her feelings involved. She was already too invested in this case to put her heart on the line more than it already was.
Besides, she’d made a decision a long time ago that love was not a ritual she wanted to explore.
12
Jake held the door to the forensics lab open for Dr. Gray. He followed her inside, trying to ignore the floral scent of perfume that trailed behind her.
After spending all night in the bowels of the Smithsonian, Jake was no closer to catching the killer than he’d been before he signed on to work with the occult specialist. There was no denying they’d made progress with their partnership, but Jake still wasn’t convinced he wasn’t better off going it alone.
That’s why they were here. Felix Raynard was the best in the Bureau. If he couldn’t connect nightshade to the case, no one could. And they finally had the toxicology report to reference.
Jake led the way to Raynard’s office. He may have a more socially acceptable job than Dr. Gray, but his office was even more disturbing. Averting his eyes from the jars that held pickled remains, Jake made introductions.
“Witch Doctor, meet the Alchemist.”
Raynard stood, extending a pale, boney hand. “Dr. Felix Raynard,” he amended, cutting his eyes at Jake. “And you are?”
“Dr. Dana Gray.”
Shepard stood by for as long as he could bear, letting the two scientists compare credentials and accolades.
“Yeah, yeah. You both have big brains, I get it. Let’s get to the case.”
Raynard nodded. Taking his seat, he spun his chair back toward his wall of monitors. “So, Shepard tells me you think atropa belladonna is the culprit?”
Dr. Gray nodded. “I do. But we searched the FBI database last night without any success.”
Raynard grinned. “And I wouldn’t expect you to.”
“What do you mean?” Jake asked.
“Nightshade isn’t something we’d ever test for unless it was of specific interest. And even if we did, naturally occurring toxins like nightshade are notorious for not showing up on tox screens because they have such a short half-life, something your unsub probably knows,” Raynard added. “If you ask me, you’re looking for someone with a background
in forensic toxicology or police procedures.”
Dr. Gray beamed. “Exactly what I said.”
Jake was doing his best to overlook her smug grin, but it wasn’t easy. Not only had she been right about the poison, but her gloating smile was sexy as hell.
“So what do we do now?” she asked.
“Now we put in a request to the coroner’s office for specific labs to identify the drug.”
“It’s a long shot,” Raynard warned. “Your vics have been cold for over 48 hours, and nightshade can leave the system without a trace in as little as three hours depending on the dose.”
“We at least have to request the labs.”
“Even if they’re useless?” Dr. Gray asked.
Jake nodded. “Chain of evidence. We have to follow procedure. There’s no way I’m letting this monster off on a technicality. While we wait for labs, we can go back to my office and take a look at the archives to see if we can link any other cases using this kind of drug.”
“Actually, my department at the Smithsonian has an entire section dedicated to ancient harvesting techniques of plants like nightshade. We might have more luck tracking the lab and greenhouse equipment required to procure enough nightshade for this many poisonings.”
Raynard nodded his approval. “That’s where I’d start.” His gaze flickered to Jake. “You finally got yourself a worthy partner. Hold on to this one.”
The comment hurt more than Raynard had meant it to, but Jake was grateful for the reminder to keep Dr. Gray at arm’s length. The last thing he needed was to get too close. His line of work was dangerous and no place for emotional attachment. Emotions caused distractions and distractions could be deadly. It was something he’d learned the hard way.
“Want me to drop you at the Smithsonian?” Jake asked once they were back in his SUV.
Dr. Gray slipped her seatbelt into place. “You’re not coming?”
“Do you really need me to carry more dusty books around for you?”
“I thought we were partners?”
“We are, but sometimes divide and conquer is the best tactic. I need to file the lab request.”
“All right. I’ll look to see if anyone was researching nightshade at the library.”
“I can do you one better. One call and I can have a whole team of data analysts sorting through the browsing history of everyone in the DC area.”
“Yes, but if we find someone who’s checked out a book about how to grow and harvest it in the date range of the crimes, we’ll narrow down our suspect pool even more.”
Jake couldn’t deny she had a point, but it was doubtful it would be that easy. “I’ll drop you at the bat cave. You can send out a signal if you find any leads.”
13
Unhappy that Agent Shepard had brushed off her ideas so easily, Dana did what she did best. She went to work, throwing herself into research mode.
It wasn’t easy to push her anger away. Just when she thought she and Shepard were on the same page and finally getting somewhere, the moody FBI agent was pushing her out. But he had another thing coming if he thought she was going to be edged out of this case when she was getting so close to the answers she’d spent a lifetime searching for.
The case had to reveal something about what happened to her parents all those years ago. She would accept no other alternative. Doing so would feel too much like giving up. And that was something Dana didn’t do.
“If it wasn’t for you, he wouldn’t even have a lead to chase down,” Claire quipped, helping Dana look through the library database once she’d tracked down the relevant titles.
Dana looked up, regretting sharing her frustrations about Agent Shepard with Claire. From the spots of color dotting the girl’s pale cheeks, she was even more upset about the snub than Dana was.
She had a feeling Claire knew all too well what it felt like to be excluded. The black clothes, dark nail polish and heavy eyeliner made the awkward girl a target for prolonged stares and whispers. Pairing that look with cardigans and combat boots only exacerbated the situation. Not that Dana held her unique fashion statement against her. In her own way, Dana had been an outcast, too.
After her parents died, she was sent to live with her grandparents. They were sweet and meant well, but they did nothing to help Dana fit in at her fancy new school. In DC the hand-me-down treasures that she and her mother enjoyed hunting for at thrift stores didn’t have the same appeal. Without the designer jeans and preppy blazers of her classmates, she was quickly exiled.
A long-forgotten memory prickled in some dark corner of her mind. A flash of an emerald green sweater, her mom’s laughter, kids teasing her for wearing it too many days in a row. Tension squeezed her chest. Dana hadn’t thought about things like that in years. She didn’t let herself. It was hard to move forward when dwelling upon the past. But it was always there, tapping her on the shoulder, begging her to remember.
Dana looked down at the emerald green blouse she wore. It was her color. At least that’s what her mother had told her years ago. Her stubborn memories resurfaced, pulling her back … back … back …
Dana remembered the day vividly. It was her thirteenth birthday and her mother took her shopping at their favorite Salvation Army thrift store. A few minutes into hunting through racks of treasures, Dana’s mother called her over. She positioned Dana in front of the mirror and held a deep green sweater to her chest. “Oh sweetie, it’s perfect. Look, it brings out the tiny flecks of green in your brown eyes.” Her mother pressed her cheek to Dana’s, her eyes wrinkling in the corners as she grinned.
“You have the same green flecks in your eyes, Mom.”
Her mother winked. “Then I guess green can be our color.”
That sweater had become Dana’s favorite. It was the last thing her mother bought her. After she lost her, Dana clung to the sweater like it still somehow held a piece of her mother in the threadbare fibers. She wore it almost daily. Something the kids at her new school teased her about. But Dana didn’t care. The sweater was special to her because her mother had picked it out. It was one of the few things she had left that made her feel close to her.
Her mother had been wearing the same color blouse the night she died. Dana knew this thanks to the news article she’d read that leaked two photos from the crime scene. They were the only two photos Dana had ever seen. She’d tried for years to access the files without luck. She kept a photo of her parents on her desk. It was a reminder to Dana to never stop searching for the truth.
Chasing the stinging memories away, Dana focused back on the task at hand. She scrolled through page after page of the report she’d run, cross referencing books on her list checked out during the timeline that fit the crimes. So far, only one name came up. But it was on three books, all referencing nightshade.
That had to mean something. “I think I found a suspect,” she whispered.
“Who?” Claire leaned over her shoulder, blinking those wide, clear blue eyes of hers at the screen.
“Anson Barnes. He checked out, Cultivating a Sinister Species. The Poison Gardener’s Handbook. Betrayed by Botanicals: a guide to growing and harvesting deadly plants.”
“That can’t be a coincidence.”
Dana grinned. “You know how I feel about coincidences.”
“There are no coincidences in science,” Claire recited, making Dana feel like a proud professor.
14
“How are things going?”
Jake lifted his head from his desk with a jolt, surprised when a paperclip fell from his cheek. He must’ve dozed off while looking through reports.
Chuckling softly, Cramer walked into Jake’s office. “That good, huh?”
“Actually, I think we’re making progress.”
Cramer’s brows arched. “Oh really? So the witch doctor wasn’t a waste of time?”
Jake shrugged. “She’s a lot more helpful when you don’t call her that.”
Cramer huffed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“She may have identified the poison, but it’s a waiting game now. I spoke to the coroner and ordered more tests, this time searching for a specific toxin. It’s a long shot though. Apparently, it doesn’t stay in the system very long. In the meantime, I have the nerd herd looking for any suspicious browser history since there’s nothing to go on in CODIS.”
“You got a warrant for the browser history I’m assuming?”
Jake nodded as he leaned back in his chair and yawned. “It’s not easy to track down a judge at this time of night.”
Cramer laughed. “It’s morning, Shep. Which probably explains why you look like you’ve been on a base leave bender.” Cramer grinned, his hand moving to his own flawless jawline. “Speaking of, keep it tight, soldier.”
Jake didn’t need to look at his reflection to know he needed a shower and shave, but not more than he needed some actual sleep—desk naps didn’t count. He stood, saluted the old Army captain and grabbed his jacket and keys, ready to head home.
“Why don’t you get some shut-eye?” Cramer suggested.
“That’s the plan.”
“Good. I need you to see this case through.”
Jake felt his jaw tighten. “Don’t I always?”
Cramer’s steel gray gaze met Jake’s. “I’m not talking about Ramirez. Everyone knows that wasn’t your fault.”
The mention of his old teammate’s name hit Jake like a bolt of lightning. For a moment he heard nothing beyond the pounding of his heart and the ringing in his ears. It brought him right back there to that moment when all hell had broken loose, and he’d lost his best friend.
Cramer was wrong about one thing.It was Jake’s fault, and that was precisely why he would see this case through, and all the rest that came his way. Ramirez was the better of them and for that, Jake would endlessly be repaying a life debt to the man who’d given his own to save Jake.
“Jake …” The sound of Cramer’s voice brought Jake back to the present. The concern on his boss’s face was too much to bear. It was the exact reason he didn’t call his family back home. They all looked at him the same way—full of pity.
