Deadly Contact

by Lara Lacombe

  His phone rang, stalling his response. He pulled it from his pocket. “Agent Reynolds.”

  Kelly wrapped her arms around her waist while he took the call and she looked around George’s office. Hopefully she would notice something that would help them.

  “That was my team,” he informed her, pocketing the phone. “They’re here. I’m going to meet them at the elevator bank. Do you want to come with me or stay here?”

  “Actually, I was hoping to go back to the lab, if that’s okay. I do have some work to get done today.”

  He admired that she was trying to carry on with her plans, but that wasn’t going to happen. “I’m afraid that after the team takes possession of the scene, you’re going to need to come with me back to the office.” Her brows came down in a scowl, and her mouth tightened into a line. He held up a hand to block her inevitable protest. “We need to debrief you, and you need to work with a sketch artist so we can get a good image of this guy.”

  She sighed, but he held her gaze, refusing to back down on this. “Fine,” she said quietly. “Let me go turn off my computer and get my bag.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” he said, happy to have avoided an argument. “I’ll meet you in the lab in a few minutes.”

  He turned to go, but her hand on his arm stopped him. He looked down to find her staring up at him, gratitude shining in her eyes.

  “Thank you,” she said. “For everything.”

  He swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat, determined not to draw her into his arms again. “You don’t have to thank me,” he replied. “It’s my job.”

  Her face shuttered, and she snatched her hand away as if burned. “Of course,” she said flatly, brushing past him to walk down to her lab.

  He let out his own sigh. Great. Now she thought he didn’t care about her. Nothing could be further from the truth, but maybe this was for the best. If she thought he was aloof, she might stay away from him, and he might be able to keep his tenuous grip on his self-control.

  It wasn’t the best solution, but he’d take it.

  * * *

  The meeting with the sketch artist took a lot longer than Kelly had anticipated. She wasn’t used to describing faces in such detail and didn’t really have a sense of how to talk about his features. Handsome but cold-eyed wasn’t too informative. She quickly grew frustrated with her descriptive shortcomings, but the sketch artist was a study in patience, guiding her through the process with professional ease. Kelly had to admit that the final product was a close rendering of the man who had chased her.

  “This is basically him,” she said slowly, studying the image. The eyes weren’t quite right, but she didn’t think the coldness in them could be adequately captured on the page. Everything else was pretty close.

  “How on earth did you get this based on my crappy descriptions?” she asked the artist, thoroughly impressed with the woman’s skill.

  A quick smile prefaced her reply. “I’ve been doing this awhile,” she said, packing up her supplies. “You did a great job.”

  Kelly snorted and shook her head. “Not really, but that’s kind of you to say.”

  “Hey, we have a good likeness, so that’s all that matters.” With a final smile, the woman left the room, handing the page to Agent Carmichael as she walked through the office.

  He glanced down at the image in an offhanded way, but then he froze and Kelly noticed his eyes widen as he took in the drawing. He masked his reaction quickly, but he held the paper closer to presumably get a better look at the sketch. Interesting. It seemed Agent Carmichael recognized her attacker.

  She wasn’t the only one to notice this development. James walked over and spoke quietly to the older man, and they conferred with each other for a moment, heads down, both faces absorbed by the image on the paper. What was going on here?

  She couldn’t hear their conversation, but their urgent gesturing and facial expressions fed her growing sense of unease. She shifted in her chair, trying to get comfortable, wanting to be anywhere else at the moment. If both James and Agent Carmichael recognized this man, then it was quite likely that she had landed in the middle of something big, and she did not want to get mixed up in trouble.

  She sighed, and as if they had heard her, both men looked up to stare at her at the same time. Oh, no. Those intense, thoughtful expressions did not bode well for her. By unspoken consent, they started forward, marching in step until they reached the conference room. Carmichael entered first, taking his customary seat at the head of the table, and James trailed behind, quietly shutting the door before sitting down across from her.

  There was a beat of silence, and then James spoke. “This is the man who chased you today?”

  “Yes.”

  More silence. “Are you sure?” Carmichael asked.

  She turned to meet his eyes, not appreciating his skeptical tone or expression. “Yes,” she repeated, an edge to her voice.

  James and Carmichael exchanged a loaded look, stretching Kelly’s patience to the breaking point. Enough of this cloak-and-dagger routine—she had a right to know what was happening, especially since it involved her.

  “What is going on?”

  Carmichael refused to meet her eyes, while James looked down and sighed. Fed up with being kept in the dark, Kelly slammed her palm down on the conference table; the loud thwack caused both men to look at her in alarm.

  “Last chance, gentlemen. I’m tired of being kept in the dark. Either you tell me what’s going on, or I walk out of here and I’m not coming back.”

  “You said his name is Caleb?” Carmichael asked, holding up the sketch and waving the paper slightly.

  “Yes. That’s what he told me, anyway.”

  “We’ve been tracking him for a while but never had a name until now,” James said, his gaze sliding to Carmichael as if silently asking how much to share.

  “How can that be?” Kelly asked. “If you don’t know his name, how are you tracking him?”

  “We have a grainy image taken from another suspected bio-event,” Carmichael said, apparently deciding to share.

  Kelly felt her jaw drop. “There was another bio-event? When? Where?”

  “Nine months ago,” Carmichael informed her. “In Richmond.”

  “Was it the same organism?”

  James shook his head. “Different bacteria, but the same M.O.”

  “So you think the two events are related.” It wasn’t a question. Similar methodology and the same guy shows up again? She didn’t have to be an FBI agent to know this was probably not a coincidence. The only question was, did George have something to do with the first event, too?

  She swallowed, dreading the answer but needing to know just the same. “Do you think George played a role in the first event?”

  “Not at this time,” said Carmichael.

  Her shoulders slumped, and the tension in her muscles eased with this news. It was bad enough that George was involved in the most recent event, but at least he hadn’t been a part of it from the beginning.

  “We think Caleb is the go-to guy for this organization, the one the higher-ups use for their dirty work,” James said, tapping the sketch with his forefinger as he spoke.

  “What organization?” Kelly said. “You know who’s responsible for these attacks?” Her voice rose at the end, and James held up a placating hand.

  “We have our suspicions but no proof,” he said, his tone soothing.

  “You can bet if we had solid evidence, we’d have already moved on it,” Carmichael interjected, his face a mottled red. “I don’t appreciate the implication that we aren’t doing our job.”

  She met his gaze, refusing to be rattled by his angry expression. “You know what I don’t appreciate, Agent Carmichael?” She held up her fingers as she spoke, ticking off her statements. “Being hauled in for questioning and treated like a suspect, being chased by a psychopath and being kept in the dark about matters concerning my safety!”

  “You’re perfectly s
afe!” Carmichael fired back. “There’s no reason to suspect that you are a target.”

  “No?” she asked with a brittle laugh. “This man knows my name! Don’t you think it will be the work of a moment for him to find out where I live or the fact that I live alone? Do you honestly think I’m safe at home when he’s out there?”

  “She’s right, Kevin,” James said quietly. “We need to put her into protective custody until we nab this guy.”

  “She’s not in any danger,” Carmichael insisted. “There is no indication that Caleb or his group wants her for anything.”

  “Aside from the fact that he chased me?” Kelly asked, unable to keep the incredulity out of her voice. Was this man kidding?

  Carmichael turned to glare at her again, and James held up his hand, shooting her an imploring look. Let me handle this, please.

  She lifted a shoulder in a shrug. Be my guest.

  James returned his attention to Carmichael, holding the other man’s gaze. “Think about it, Kevin. With Dr. Collins gone, the group needs someone who can provide them with the bacteria or manipulate the stuff they already have. She’s the only one in Collins’s lab with those skills, so it stands to reason she’d be a target.”

  “I’m not convinced the group hasn’t moved on, like they did last time. I think they’re still refining their techniques, and this was another practice run.”

  James nodded agreeably. “Could be. Doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t be careful, on the off chance they’re still here.”

  Carmichael set his jaw, clearly not convinced. James laid a hand on the man’s shoulder, and the pair stood and moved a few steps away. He lowered his voice, but Kelly could still hear his next words. “If we put her in a safe house, we can watch her. If she is involved, they’ll come for her, and we can scoop them up.”

  Kelly tried not to react to his statement, pasting a bland expression onto her face and pretending she hadn’t heard. Inside, she was reeling. James’s words were like a physical blow, a punch to the gut that made her stomach drop. Did he really not trust her, or was he just putting on a show for his boss? She reviewed their interactions, searching for clues as to his real feelings. Her chest felt hollow as she realized she didn’t know if James believed she was innocent.

  After a moment of thoughtful silence, Carmichael sat with a loud sigh. “Fine. She gets put into protective custody.” His eyes cut to Kelly, then back to James. “I want her to stay in the safe house 24/7. No walks, no trips to the grocery story, no phone calls to friends. Nothing. Got it?”

  Kelly nodded woodenly, not trusting her voice. All this time, she’d thought James was on her side. Despite their past, he had seemed to believe her, trust her side of the story. And now? Now she wasn’t so sure. Was he lying to his boss or to her? She’d always known he was smart, but she’d had no idea he was capable of such duplicity.

  “Good call,” James said, in a tone that suggested Carmichael had done something amazing. She seized on this bit of flattery the way a drowning man might cling to a life preserver. Surely James was just trying to get his boss to cooperate?

  “I’ll go start the paperwork,” Carmichael muttered. “I’m only going to authorize this for three days, though,” he warned, glancing at Kelly as he walked to the door. “I’m still not convinced she’s in danger, and I’m not going to waste man-hours and departmental resources for no good reason.” He paused in the doorway, giving James a meaningful look. “Unless something happens to change my mind, she goes back home at the end of the week.”

  James nodded, managing to get out a “Yes, sir” before Carmichael left the room, slamming the door behind him.

  He turned back to face Kelly with a loud exhale, and she saw the lines of strain on his face as he briefly dropped the pleasant expression he’d held while talking to Carmichael.

  “This is bad, isn’t it?” she said quietly, unable to ask the real question weighing on her mind: Do you trust me?

  His eyes were serious as he met her gaze. “Truth?” he asked. She almost laughed at the irony of his response, but she settled for a nod.

  “It’s not great,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “Despite what Carmichael says, I think you are in danger, and I’m glad he agreed to put you in the safe house.”

  “Thanks for that.” She placed her hands in her lap, linking her fingers together like a schoolgirl.

  He didn’t respond, making her wonder if he’d heard her. She could tell by his unfocused gaze that he was lost in thought. Gathering her courage around her like a cloak, she said his name. He didn’t reply, so she tried again, louder this time.

  “James?”

  “Hmm?” He raised his eyes to meet hers, his gaze clearing as he focused on her.

  “What you said before, to Carmichael.” She paused, sucked in a breath. “Do you really believe I’m somehow involved in this?”

  His expression changed then, becoming guarded as his professional mask dropped into place. “Truth?” he asked again, raising a brow as if daring her to respond.

  She nodded, holding her breath as she twisted her hands together in nervous agitation.

  “I honestly don’t know.”

  Chapter 5

  The warm orange glow of the setting sun peeked through a crack in the drawn curtains. George could see a sliver of the parking lot through the gap, which meant others could potentially see into the room. It was a risk he wasn’t willing to take.

  He set his book on the bedside table, got to his feet and walked over to adjust the curtains. A tug here, a pull there and the gap was closed. He absently smoothed his hands over the rough fabric, pushing it down as the vent from the wall unit sent out a gust of air that caused the drapes to billow slightly.

  After a moment, he turned back to face the room. Ruth sat in the chair by the desk, over in the corner of the room. She was ignoring him, as usual; while she was physically present, it was clear that mentally she was very far away. She had become so removed that there were times he forgot she was there at all.

  He cleared his throat to break the heavy silence between them. Nothing. She didn’t respond in any way—not a flicker of the eyes, a tilt of the head or a purse of the lips. It was as if he was in a vacuum, for all the attention she paid him.

  He tried again. “Are you hungry?”

  “No.”

  Ah, so she had heard him. It was a start.

  “It’s almost dinnertime.”

  Silence.

  “It’s important you eat. The doctor said you need to keep your weight up.”

  Gray eyes lifted, met his. Then dropped back to the book on her lap.

  “Does anything sound good to you?”

  She turned the page, leaned forward to see better.

  “I was thinking maybe I’d get us some takeout from that Indian place around the corner. I thought the food was pretty good, didn’t you?”

  When she still didn’t respond, he stepped forward. She tensed, but didn’t otherwise acknowledge him. Oh, Ruth. How can I fix this?

  He reached out, his hand hovering just above her shoulder. It had been almost two weeks since he had touched her, since he had uprooted her life and yanked her out of their home. She should be sitting in her favorite chair by their bedroom window, not hunched over the desk of this second-rate motel.

  She’d been quiet and withdrawn ever since he’d checked them in. Her silences had gotten longer and longer with each passing day, making George feel more and more alone. Nothing he said or did seemed to draw her out of her cocoon, and he was beginning to worry she would never emerge again.

  But she’s still alive. It was a thought he’d had on more than one occasion, but it no longer brought him comfort. Sure, she was breathing, functioning, eating, sleeping—all the things living people did. But she wasn’t talking to him, didn’t try to interact with him at all. She was slipping away, and he didn’t know how to hold on to her.

  At first, he’d assumed her silent treatment was due to anger. Ruth had
never been one to hold a grudge, but then again, he’d never made such a colossal mistake before. He’d become defensive and had wasted a lot of breath trying to justify his actions. I did it to save you, he’d told her, half pleading for understanding, half being self-righteous about the risks he’d taken. And I’d do it again, too!

  Ruth hadn’t responded to this declaration. She’d merely flipped off the light and rolled over in bed, giving him her back.

  As the silences stretched on and the days added up, George had realized that she wasn’t angry, but rather disappointed in him.

  “You know,” he said, striving to keep his tone light, “at some point you’re going to have to talk to me again. We can’t spend the rest of our lives in silence.”

  She sighed then, a long-suffering sound that suggested she might be all too happy to forgo conversation with him.

  “Ruth.” It came out sharper than he’d meant, but his frustration was growing. “Ruth,” he repeated, even more forcefully. She looked up at him, her expression flat and disinterested.

  “How long are you going to punish me?” George knelt down next to her chair and grabbed one of her hands. If he could just make her understand... He hadn’t meant to hurt anyone; he’d only wanted to save her.

  “I’m not punishing you,” she said quietly, her voice so low he had to lean forward to hear the words. “But I have nothing to say to you. I don’t know you anymore.”

  His heartbeat picked up and he squeezed her hand, as if the force of his touch could convince her he hadn’t changed. “Yes, you do. I’m still the same man I always was. I’m still your George!”

  She stared at him for a moment, her gray eyes scanning his face. The heaviness in his chest grew as he watched sadness creep into her gaze. She extracted her hand from his and turned back to her book. The loss of her touch left him feeling cold and empty.

  “Ruth?” he whispered, her name a shaky plea for understanding, for contact. For their marriage.

  She didn’t bother to look at him again. “Go get your dinner.”

  * * *

  The drive to her apartment was quiet. James seemed lost in thought, and Kelly wasn’t interested in making conversation. His earlier admission had left her feeling shaken and alone, and she didn’t trust herself to speak to him.