“Me or the criminals?” The amused gleam in his eyes made her wonder what it might have been like to meet him under different circumstances, but she thrust the thought away. He’d still hate a reporter.
“Ms. Wilton.” He nodded to Sally-Anne before turning back to Pip. “Remember what I told you.”
Which bit? The don’t interfere with an FBI investigation, or the if you come up with anything more solid than blind belief, call me? Before she could ask, he was walking away.
She realized they were both standing there admiring the rear view when Sally-Anne fanned herself dramatically. “Do all FBI agents look like that?”
“I doubt it,” Pip said honestly.
Sally-Anne smiled and sniffed. “Cindy would have thought he was hot, too.”
“Just because he’s good looking doesn’t make him hot,” Pip argued.
“With those eyes and that ass? Give me a break.” Sally-Anne gave her a sideways glance and grinned. “Plus, I saw the way you were looking at him. Same way he was looking at you. If you weren’t all cut up about Cindy’s death I’d have told you to get a room.”
Pip ignored the comment.
“Cindy would have liked the idea of something good coming out of her death. She worried about you. Thought you worked too hard and played too little.”
Pip hugged herself around the waist. “She worked harder than anyone I knew. You probably do, too.”
Sally-Anne shrugged and sat down, waving over a waiter. “We all work too hard. And that’s why sometimes we need to let our hair down. I want a bottle of champagne, please. Two glasses.” She told the man when he came over.
Pip slumped heavily into her seat. “Champagne?”
“Yep.” Sally-Anne handed Pip her laptop off the table. “Put that thing away. We’re going to raise a couple of glasses to our girl and not bawl our eyes out. She wouldn’t have wanted that. Cindy would never have wanted that.”
A few minutes later, Pip forced her hand to remain steady as she raised a toast. “To Cindy. The best friend in the universe.”
“To Cindy. And to hot FBI agents who can handcuff me to the bed anytime.” Sally-Anne clinked her glass hard.
Pip felt her cheeks heat. “To Cindy,” she repeated. No matter how “hot” she thought Kincaid was she wasn’t going to toast him or think about handcuffs in any way.
“Why are the FBI involved, anyway?” Sally-Anne asked, already refilling her glass.
That was the million-dollar question. “He said it’s SOP for suspicious deaths of anyone working on certain bio-agents.”
Sally-Anne’s eyes went wide. “I wonder if Hanta virus is on the list.”
That was what Sally-Anne worked on, Pip recalled now.
“I have no idea but let me know if you find out.” Pip put her glass down.
“How did Cindy die?” The whites of Sally-Anne’s eyes were streaked with red, and her lip wobbled.
“They’re saying drowned, but she had coke in her system.”
Sally-Anne stuffed a napkin against her pale lips and then blew her nose. “I never saw her take anything but you never really know if someone is using.”
And just like that Sally-Anne believed Cindy was a cokehead.
Pip had learned to compartmentalize her emotions in order to be able to separate herself from painful stories in the past. If she hoped to figure out this mystery she was going to have to do it again with Cindy’s death. She needed information from the other grad students. The people who’d seen her on a daily basis. She couldn’t afford to scream at the world at the unfairness of it all.
“Cindy told me your parties got pretty wild?”
Sally-Anne laughed and scratched her throat before finishing her second glass of champagne. “This is true.”
“Do you think that’s where she might have gotten the drugs?”
Sally-Anne frowned. “I don’t remember. I get pretty wasted at most parties and my memory gets really fuzzy. Sometimes a few of us bring something besides booze. It isn’t a big deal. I mean everyone tries it once, right?”
Pip didn’t judge the woman. As a teen she’d tried weed and Ecstasy before getting framed with her boyfriend’s cocaine. She’d never touched anything after that and had avoided people who did. She’d seen what happened to some of those less fortunate than she’d been. One girl she’d met in foster care had progressed from weed to heroin to meth within two months and was dead by three. The kid had been searching for something that might make her feel better and had lost herself in the process.
“I can’t believe she’s gone.” Sally-Anne refilled their glasses though Pip had barely drunk out of hers. “I keep expecting her to walk in here laughing at this massive joke she’s played on us all.”
If Pip hadn’t seen her friend with her own eyes she probably wouldn’t have believed it, either. But the feelings of desolation and loneliness were very real—feelings she remembered well from her early teenage years. “She wasn’t depressed, was she?”
It was an option she hadn’t wanted to consider, but if she truly wanted to discover the truth she needed to be objective, to face every possibility, not just the ones that suited her.
The idea she’d missed the signs of depression and that Cindy might have purposely ended her life…
You don’t know everything.
What was it Pip hadn’t known?
“No. Not that I could see, anyway.” Sally-Anne drank the whole glass and poured herself another. She wiped her nose on a napkin. “She was excited and happy to be almost done. We were planning a surprise party for her when she submitted. Obviously, she didn’t know about it.” She laughed, tears suddenly streaming down her face.
Pip was emotionally wrung out. There were no tears left inside her anymore. “Do you know who might have supplied the drugs to her?”
Sally-Anne shook her head. “I’m not getting my friends in trouble with the FBI.”
“I’m not going to tell the FBI.” Pip pulled a face and played it cool. “I doubt the FBI cares if a bunch of grad students get high. But the coke Cindy took was laced with fentanyl. I don’t want anyone else taking that stuff.”
Sally-Anne’s bottom lip wobbled. “She didn’t get that from anyone we buy from. Hanzo prides himself on the purity of his product and one grad student even ran a sample through the HPLC. High grade stuff.”
Hanzo.
Sally-Anne downed another glass of bubbly and checked her watch and gathered her purse. “Sorry. I need to head. I have to TA at nine tomorrow morning and I left my notes back at the lab.” She stood and leaned over for another hug. Her fingers dug into Pip’s back. “It wasn’t your fault, you know. She was probably exhausted and not thinking straight.”
Emotion wedged in Pip’s throat. What if Kincaid was right and Pip was in denial because they’d argued and she could never make amends?
“I’ll call you when I’ve finalized the funeral arrangements.” Pip squeezed Sally-Anne’s icy hands. “Thanks for talking with me. Just, be careful, okay?”
Sally-Anne shouldered her bag. “I will.”
The woman was a frickin’ virologist. She didn’t need Pip to spell it out for her.
“Ciao, Pip.” Sally-Anne leaned down and kissed Pip’s cheek. “Keep your chin up. Remember Cindy loved you—that’s all that really matters.”
She wiggled her fingers in goodbye and disappeared out the door, and Pip was left alone in a crowd of strangers.
Chapter Nine
Hunt sat at his desk going through the full autopsy report on Cindy Resnick, wishing he could get Pip West’s grief-stricken face out of his mind.
The results from all the samples they’d tested at CDC were also in. No anthrax had been found in Cindy Resnick’s body or in her house in the city or at the cottage where she’d died. The second autopsy Pip West had requested could now go ahead in a standard mortuary. Hunt didn’t think Pip would like the results.
On top of the coke and alcohol, the first autopsy revealed Cindy had traces of s
permicide inside her, suggesting she’d had sex with someone wearing a condom the night she died. Evidence teams had also found male DNA on the sheets of her bed. Pip hadn’t thought her friend was involved with anyone, but obviously she was wrong.
Maybe Cindy had other secrets… Maybe she’d killed herself rather than face the consequences of some of them.
“Hey, what happened to you?”
Hunt jolted out of his thoughts.
Will Griffin appeared beside him, dressed in running gear.
“I got sent on a lead for headquarters.” Technically it wasn’t a lie. “How’d it go yesterday? Anyone give you trouble?”
“Nah.” Will grinned. “You should have seen Crowley’s face when we walked in and Mandy read him his rights. I think he pissed his tighty-whities.”
“Wish I’d been there.” Crowley had been in his crosshairs for over a year and he’d missed the big takedown. But he’d barely thought about the case since this anthrax thing had come up. Nothing like the lives of thousands of people to put white-collar crime into perspective.
“Kincaid.” Will clicked his fingers in front of Hunt’s face.
Hunt rubbed the back of his neck and yawned. “Sorry. Didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.” Or the night before that come to think of it.
Will looked at him critically. “And not because you got lucky.”
Hunt grunted. “I wish.” Pip West’s face flashed through his mind. No doubt about it, she was a beautiful woman. And totally unsuitable despite the spark of attraction that flared between them.
Will tossed an apple in the air, then caught it and started eating. “Most of the City Hall arrestees are out on bail. Except Crowley. I heard another woman came forward with a complaint he sexually assaulted her. Now his wife refuses to pay bail.”
Crowley’s wife controlled the purse strings and, as far as they’d been able to ascertain, wasn’t involved in the corruption scandal. “The guy is slime.”
“No kidding. Every day Mandy worked with him made me crazy.”
“She can look after herself. Plus, she had backup.” Hunt, to be precise.
“Yeah, but it wasn’t me.” Will crunched his apple. “And I can’t say anything about it without her getting pissed. Damn prickly woman.”
“That’s why you love her,” Hunt needled him.
“That’s not why I love her, but she keeps me on my toes.” Will caught sight of the autopsy report on Hunt’s desk and leaned closer. “You’re looking at a drowning vic? That’s your lead? How does it relate to white-collar crime?”
Hunt closed the file. “I’m off the white-collar squad for now.” He accepted a high five from his buddy. “I’m liaising on this investigation with HQ as part of my WMD coordinator role.” It was as much as he could say without overstepping security clearances. “The drowning vic is probably a coincidence.”
“What’s the investigation?” Will asked, interest lighting his eyes.
“Can’t say.”
“Why not?”
Hunt laughed. “Can’t say.”
Will was eyeing him funny. Hunt thought of Cindy Resnick being told the same thing by her university. How much strain had that put on the grad student and her relationships?
Will gave up grilling him. “Got your application ready?”
They were waiting for HRT to announce they were open for submissions to the next selection program. It should be soon.
Hunt’s application had been ready for months. “Yup. You?”
Will nodded. “We should up our physical training. Wanna go for a run?”
“Now?” Hunt would rather stick needles in his eyes.
Will nodded again.
Hunt looked at the folders of paperwork associated with various different scientists sitting on his desk. He still had a lot to do. “Pretty busy with this. Maybe tomorrow?” Until they figured out whether or not this bioterrorism threat was coming from the Atlanta region Hunt didn’t think he’d be getting much time for ten mile runs.
A smile curled the side of Will’s mouth. “No point applying if you’re not one hundred percent committed. I’ll send you a postcard from Quantico.”
Smug fuck.
“I’m committed.” But it was after seven and Hunt was wasting his time on a woman who’d probably snorted too much toxic coke and then gone for a swim—alone—at night. It probably had nothing to do with the illegal sale of weaponized anthrax. The scientists were all tucked up at home. The analysts at SIOC were doing their thing. Hunt had another group of researchers he’d lined up to speak to tomorrow morning at Georgia State. “Fine. Give me five minutes to get changed.”
“Hurry up. Some of us have plans for later, bro. Let’s do this before our bodies atrophy and we both start looking like Reinhold.”
Bob Reinhold was bald and fat, but Hunt was pretty sure he’d been born that way.
“Whoever wins buys beer.” Hunt shut down his computer and locked his files away.
“I have time for you to buy me a quick beer.” Will smirked.
Hunt shook his head as he went to the locker room. Will was athletic but built for sprinting. Fourteen months ago, Hunt had consistently beaten the guy over longer distances, but then he’d broken his leg in a motorbike accident—that’s when he’d been transferred from the enhanced SWAT team to white-collar crime. Now Will mostly had the edge on him. A weakness he couldn’t afford if he hoped to make it through selection. Hunt threw off his clothes, stored his creds, wallet and gun in a locker and pulled on running shorts and an old gray tee.
Guilt that he wasn’t working on the case started eating at him, but HRT had been his dream since he’d been seven years old. He needed to do his job, but it didn’t mean he had to sacrifice his long-term aspirations. Time to figure out how to do both.
He flashed to the image of Cindy Resnick’s dead body on the banks of the lake. You never knew when your time was gonna be up.
* * *
Pip stared at the empty bottle of bubbly now floating in a sea of melted ice. The celebration had felt good in the moment and Pip knew Cindy would have approved, but now that Sally-Anne was gone Pip was once again left with that gaping hole in her life. A shotgun wound where her heart used to be.
A man came and stood opposite her and held out a small tray of coffees. “Sorry I’m late. Wasn’t sure how you took it so I opted for black.” He eyed the champagne bottle. “But maybe you’d rather something stronger?”
Adrian Lightfoot wore a moss-green sports coat over a white shirt and tan pants.
“No, this is perfect.” She took a coffee and placed it on the table in front of her. “Thank you, Mr. Lightfoot.”
“Call me Adrian.” He sat opposite and Pip got a blast of blond-haired, green-eyed good looks, although there were dark shadows under his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept.
She nodded to the bubbly. “One of Cindy’s friends from the lab came over to commiserate. Insisted on raising a toast to Cindy.” It probably looked awful to him, she realized. Like she was celebrating the cold hard cash of her inheritance.
He gave her a soft smile. “Cindy did love champagne.”
“Yes. Yes, she did.” A bittersweet ache shot through her chest. She was so grateful he knew that about Cindy. It made dealing with him easier.
He put a briefcase on the table and flicked open the latch. “I’m sorry for everything that’s happened.” His fingers were shaking. “The fact you found her. Well, it must have been awful…”
Pip looked away. Yup. It sucked. And it was not how she wanted to remember her friend. She wanted to remember the pajama days, the hard runs, the good nights out. The bottles of Moët shared in happiness rather than sorrow.
“Have the FBI indicated how she died?” he asked.
Pip went to take a sip of coffee.
“Careful,” Adrian warned. “It’s hot.”
She blew on it and took the tiniest sip. He was right. It was scalding so she put it back down.
“I spoke to an FBI agent wh
o said the ME indicated she drowned. They also found fentanyl-laced coke in her bloodstream,” she said.
His eyes widened. “She’d taken drugs?”
Pip gritted her teeth. Why was everyone so quick to believe the worst? “I want a second autopsy.”
“What?” He looked non-plussed. Tension infused his body as he slowly sat up straighter and his voice rose. “Were there signs she was assaulted?”
“No,” Pip said, frowning.
Adrian sank back into his seat. “I can probably request a second postmortem on your behalf. They aren’t implicating you in this, are they?”
Was he suspicious of her? Did he think she’d murdered Cindy for financial gain?
“My alibi has been verified. I’m thankfully on surveillance cameras hundreds of miles away when she died.” Sadness welled up but she fought it. It was hard to swallow back the tears and she was sick of crying.
She tried to be kinder to herself. Cindy died yesterday. Pip was allowed to grieve, she just wasn’t allowed to wallow.
“They searched my car—”
“They what?” Adrian sounded alarmed.
“For drugs. Yesterday at Allatoona.”
“You agreed to that?”
Pip nodded. “I found the body. They naturally suspected I might have supplied the cocaine.” She smiled slightly at his outraged expression. “Anyway, there was nothing to find so it worked in my favor. Although if I had supplied the drugs that killed Cindy and was too chickenshit to admit it, I’d have poured them into the lake or buried them in the woods. I wouldn’t have stashed them in my car.”
“You better not let the FBI hear you say that.”
“They aren’t stupid. They know. Anyway, like I say, I was nowhere near the cottage when Cindy died.” Her breath caught and her voice cracked. “I wish I had been.”
He reached across the table and squeezed her hand, just like Kincaid had at breakfast that morning. It seemed like a thousand years ago now.
“I was very f-f-fond of Cindy.” He cleared his throat. “I’m so sorry she’s gone. I’m so very sorry you had to find her that way.” His touch was warm and comforting. “But I’d like to understand. Why exactly do you want a second autopsy?”
Cold Blooded Page 11
