Cold Blooded

by Toni Anderson

  He gave her a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He obviously wasn’t going to tell her.

  Her journalistic instincts were twitching. The smell of coffee was making her brain slowly inch awake, but not fast enough to figure this out.

  “Why are you here, Agent Kincaid?”

  He was watching her carefully. It was hard to read the expression in his eyes in the dim light. “Did Sally-Anne tell you anything useful yesterday?” He kept his voice low.

  Noise traveled through these walls and she liked the fact he was considerate to other guests, but she wasn’t sure why he was here asking her about Sally-Anne.

  “Not a lot. She said that some of the students did occasionally do recreational drugs at parties. She’d never seen Cindy take drugs but was quick to believe she had.” If Pip sounded bitter she couldn’t help it. Did she tell him the dealer’s name or not? What was more important, finding out the truth about Cindy or getting fentanyl off the streets? “She let slip the fact one of the other students had tested a sample and it came back pure so they trusted the dealer.” Pip took a breath.

  “She say which student?”

  Pip shook her head. “She was spooked because the FBI are involved. I’ll ask her again next time I see her, but I don’t think she’s gonna tell me. I’ll probably have better luck with one of Cindy’s other friends—”

  “Don’t,” Kincaid said sharply. “Let the experts handle it.”

  She jerked at his tone and resented the fact he thought she was an idiot. “Sally-Anne also let slip a name for the dealer. Hanzo. I never heard Cindy mention him.”

  His eyes widened slightly at that. “She told you all this downstairs in the lobby, yesterday?”

  She nodded. Why she wanted to impress him she didn’t know.

  “What time did she leave?”

  “Six forty-five. She said she was picking up something from the lab before heading home. I stayed in the lobby until Cindy’s lawyer arrived.”

  “Your lawyer now.”

  She shrugged. What difference did that make?

  “What did you do for the rest of the evening?”

  It sounded almost like he was checking an alibi. What did he think she’d done this time? “After Adrian left I ordered room service, switched rooms, and then took a shower. That’s when I decided to drive out to Cindy’s house about ten thirty.”

  “You didn’t go anywhere on the way?”

  She thought about her drive through the bluffs but wasn’t stupid enough to admit to it. She shook her head.

  “And you came straight back here last night?”

  “Yeah. You’re literally the last person I spoke to between then and now. Mind telling me why you’re interrogating me?”

  He was watching her again, his unwavering gaze making her nervous. “Sally-Anne Wilton was found dead in her apartment last night. Apparent drug overdose.”

  Pip sank onto the bed beside him. “Th-that’s impossible.”

  “Trust me. It’s not.”

  Silence loomed between them, filled only with the gurgle of the coffee pot. Whatever he’d seen had left a mark.

  “You have a link to both victims,” he said slowly.

  Gooseflesh raised on her arms. Did he really believe she was capable of murder?

  She swallowed her hurt and stared numbly at the hotel wall. “So does everyone who works at Blake.”

  Otherwise she might be in serious trouble. The idea made her nauseous.

  The coffee finished brewing and he walked over to the machine. “You take it black or with milk?”

  “Milk. No sugar,” she said quietly.

  He brought it to her and wrapped her fingers carefully around the white, ceramic mug. Then he went and loaded the coffee machine again. He winced when he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. She didn’t tell him he didn’t need to worry. He still looked hot. Sally-Anne had thought so, too.

  Pip couldn’t believe the girl was dead. Not after just having commiserated with her over Cindy.

  Cold stole over Pip. She had told Sally-Anne about the fentanyl, right? She had. She knew she had. But the woman hadn’t believed she was at risk, or believed the risk was worth it.

  Kincaid squatted at her feet, brushed her hair out of her eyes. “For what it’s worth, I never really thought you murdered your friend. But law enforcement always looks hard at the person who reports the body. They’re often involved with the crime. You know that from your work as a reporter.”

  Her brain felt numb. “Good thing I didn’t stumble on Sally-Anne then.”

  “Yes,” he agreed firmly.

  “You know,” her voice came out scratchy, “if I had given Cindy the drugs I could have dumped any leftovers into the lake. Or down the toilet.”

  The mattress sank when he sat next to her on the bed. “Did you?”

  She sipped her coffee, hands trembling. “I’m just saying.” Damn. The idea Sally-Anne was dead was unreal. Two bright, beautiful women dead. “How could this happen?”

  Kincaid shook his head. He looked angry, too. “Whoever sold them the drugs—and I will pass on the name to the detective in charge of the case—has a lot of questions to answer. Ultimately the women chose to take cocaine. They knew the risks associated. Or maybe they were already addicted and at the mercy of the disease.”

  Could Pip have missed that?

  You don’t know everything.

  Was that what she hadn’t known about Cindy? Had it been a cry for help?

  The coffeemaker buzzed again and the fresh smell of coffee filled the air. Kincaid stood and poured milk into his mug and took a slug even though it had to be scalding.

  Pip held his gaze across the room. “I know you think I’m crazy but I still don’t believe Cindy took those drugs.”

  He glanced away. She caught the pity in his eyes. At her unwillingness to accept facts. Maybe she was delusional.

  “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but as you’ve requested your own autopsy you’ll find out soon enough anyway. The ME found traces of spermicide inside Cindy’s vagina and also some unknown male DNA on the coffee table. It’s likely she had sex the day she died.”

  Pip sat there frozen. “But—”

  “They also found a second male DNA profile on the bed sheets.”

  “What?” Her shoulders sagged. Cindy had been involved with two guys she hadn’t told Pip about? “Could she have been raped?”

  “No sign of sexual assault. She might have been having a series of one-nighters.”

  “Cindy wasn’t like that—”

  “Maybe she was, Pip. And maybe she hid that side of herself so you didn’t judge her for it.”

  Pip recoiled. You work too hard. You don’t eat properly. You hook up with guys you barely know.

  “We all have things we don’t want people we care about to find out.”

  Hot tears burned the back of her eyeballs but she would not let them fall. “Like what?”

  “You tell me.”

  Her lip curled. “I suspect you know everything there is to know about me. How about you reveal something personal about yourself for a change?”

  He sucked back another gulp of coffee and put down the mug.

  Her jaw dropped when his hand went to his belt and he lowered his suit pants.

  “Not that personal,” she croaked.

  His shirt covered his boxers. He pointed to a massive scar and a red slice that went from the top of one muscular thigh, curled down the side of his knee and then around the back of his calf.

  Holy crap.

  “Motorcycle accident fourteen months ago. Semi jackknifed on I-85 and I had to put the bike down doing about sixty and slide right under the rig to avoid plowing into the side of it. It probably would have looked good in a movie but in reality, it hurt like a bitch. Thankfully I was wearing full leathers. It was a miracle I survived, but I fucked up my leg. At first, they thought they’d have to take it off, then they said I might never walk again.” His voice deepened. �
�I was back at work six weeks later.” He pulled his pants back up.

  She stared at him, horrified at what he’d gone through. Not just the pain of the accident or recovery, but the fear that he’d lose his leg, his ability to walk, his career. Things that clearly defined him, made him the man he was today.

  “I’m sorry you went through that.”

  He shrugged as if he hadn’t revealed something important, but she knew he had. That wound was more than skin deep.

  “I’m just saying maybe Cindy had her own scars she didn’t want anyone to see.”

  Maybe she had. The thought put another crack in Pip’s already fractured heart. She finished her coffee and walked over to the blinds and looked out onto the downtown streets. It was still dark outside. The city lazily waking from slumber.

  “Are you investigating Sally-Anne’s death?” she asked.

  He moved up behind her, a quiet shadow that she was achingly and increasingly aware of. “No, Atlanta PD is. I shouldn’t even be here…”

  And yet he was. She turned her head. Knowledge flashed between them that their relationship had somehow shifted and they both looked away again.

  He cleared his throat. “Expect a Detective White to contact you with questions at some point.”

  “I thought it was SOP for the FBI to investigate unexplained deaths of people who worked on dangerous substances?”

  “Only Category A substances.” He moved away. Picked up his mug again. “Hanta virus isn’t on the list.”

  She watched him in the reflection of the window. But he wasn’t giving anything away.

  “Will you contact me when you hear back from the ME regarding the second autopsy?” he asked. “I’d like to see the report. Make sure we didn’t miss anything.”

  She nodded and clenched her fingers into a fist. “I’ll get him to send you a copy.”

  Would Cindy have told Pip if she was sleeping with more than one guy, or had started doing drugs? Suddenly Pip wasn’t so sure. It was out of character, but she hadn’t seen Cindy in person since Christmas. Pip would have tried to get Cindy to straighten up her act. And Cindy would have done the same if the situation had been reversed. Was that being judgmental, or being a good friend?

  “I’d like to attend the funeral. If you’re okay with that?” Kincaid said softly.

  Law enforcement attended funerals of victims all the time, but he seemed insistent about the idea Cindy had died from an overdose. So why would he want to be there?

  She didn’t get it, but she liked the idea of him being there, of seeing him again. Fool. “I’ll let you know when I’ve finished organizing it.”

  He drained his coffee and went into the bathroom and she heard him run the mug under the tap. He brought the clean mug back out and put it on the console.

  House trained.

  He was obviously ready to leave. She walked him to the door. He turned just before he got there and suddenly they were standing much too close. She looked up at him, her breath catching, pulse fluttering unsteadily through her veins.

  His gaze rested on her bottom lip and his nostrils flared, but he made no move to close the gap. The air between them was charged with vibrant uncertainty.

  She held herself very still. Emotionally she wasn’t in a good place to start anything, especially with a federal law enforcement officer and she was a little worried she might throw herself at him if he stared at her like that for much longer.

  “If the person who supplied Cindy and Sally-Anne with coke finds out you’ve been asking questions they might not be happy.”

  She blinked. That’s not what she’d expected him to say. “But the cops have already linked the two deaths. Why would anyone come after me?”

  “No one ever said drug dealers were smart. Be careful, okay?” He reached up and cupped her cheek, brushed his thumb across her bottom lip. Electricity sizzled through all her layers—pajamas, skin, flesh, bone—pinging off atoms along the way.

  She held her breath and thought for a moment he was going to kiss her. But he didn’t. He dropped his hand and stepped away.

  She locked the door behind FBI Special Agent Kincaid and tried to untangle all the emotions that churned inside her. She didn’t have time for the complications he posed. She didn’t have the desire for a broken heart.

  Two women were dead, and Pip still didn’t have any of the answers she needed.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Officially, ASAC McKenzie ordered Hunt to leave the death investigations of the two grad students to local police and concentrate on speaking to scientists working on anthrax. Use the two deaths as an excuse to search for abnormalities in the Microbiology Department at Blake while analysts at SIOC continued to monitor the situation and search for suspicious activity. Unofficially, the FBI were also conducting their own deeper examination of these drug deaths just in case there were connections to BLACKCLOUD.

  No red flags yet. Whoever had done this was obviously a pro at anonymous communication and surfing the dark web.

  The lack of progress was making Hunt tense. The idea some bastard was out there refining an already deadly disease into an unstoppable killing machine pissed him off. But he’d stopped being surprised back in elementary school by the depth of some people’s evil.

  “We’ve sent out an email to all the grad students and undergraduates to keep them informed and to warn them about the dangers of taking drugs,” the departmental secretary, Lenore Daniels, told him. She reminded Hunt of his mom. Tough but maternal. Someone who’d kick your ass for screwing up and then give you a hug because you were upset. “And we arranged counselors to be available for anyone who needs to talk.”

  Good call.

  “Did you ask them to contact the cops with any information they might have about anyone who sold drugs to students…?”

  Lenore pulled a face. “I put it in the draft of the email…the administration took it out.”

  He held back a curse. “Can I ask why?”

  “I don’t know. They said it wasn’t the university’s place and they didn’t want to put anyone in a dangerous position or create an atmosphere where students felt they couldn’t trust one another.”

  “That’s—”

  “Horseshit. I know.” She glowered at him in mutual irritation. Her phone rang and she held up her hand. “Let me just get this.”

  Hunt had spoken to the people at the Intellectual Property office before coming here and they’d presented a professional unified front, but had been more concerned with protecting the university’s assets than worrying about how their students had died. The more he’d pushed about Cindy’s work the more they’d pushed back with threats to bring in the lawyers. They said they’d given him all the documentation they had on file but it hadn’t amounted to much. A thesis proposal and a well-written introduction. Hunt didn’t believe they’d lodged a patent based on that alone.

  He hadn’t mentioned he already had a copy of what was probably the final version of Cindy Resnick’s dissertation. What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. The university wanted Cindy’s laptop but it was stuck in the FBI’s evidence laboratory. After that it would be turned over to Pip. The university lawyers could fight it out with Cindy’s estate. In the meantime, he’d keep his lips firmly sealed.

  He’d spoken to McKenzie about the piranhas in the IP office at Blake. McKenzie decided the best bet was to play it cool. Chances were the terrorists selling weaponized anthrax to international arms dealers were not two stick-up-their-ass suits in IP. Even so, their attitude pissed Hunt off. They didn’t seem to care about the young woman who’d died. Just what she was worth to them. A lot, apparently.

  Could Pip have been conning him about not knowing she was Cindy’s beneficiary or about the fact she wasn’t thrilled at the idea of all that money? His inherent cynicism seemed to have been won over—although perhaps he was kidding himself. Perhaps he’d been disarmed by her curvy figure and lush mouth in that incredibly dumb moment before he’d left her hotel room
at dawn when he’d wanted to kiss her.

  Thankfully self-preservation had kicked in.

  But guilty people did not, in his experience, order second autopsies when the first one had cleared them of wrong-doing.

  Hunt had a conference call in a couple of hours in his boss’s office with SIOC to see what they’d discovered so far. It suggested to Hunt they still thought Georgia was prime territory for the bio-terrorist location.

  The two dead girls had taken up most of his time. Hell of a coincidence to die now…and he hated coincidences.

  He’d told Pip about the DNA evidence that suggested Cindy had been involved with at least two men to try and distract her and prove she didn’t know her friend as well as she thought. He didn’t want her in danger and couldn’t afford for her to start digging around in his investigation. Hopefully she’d accept the autopsy findings and back off.

  The secretary finished her phone call and turned back to him.

  “Were you able to get those logs of lab use for me, Lenore?”

  She passed him a brown nondescript folder. “If you tell anyone I’ll deny it under oath.”

  He grinned and thanked her and set off down the corridor. He went up to Professor Everson’s office but the door was locked and no one was in. What he really wanted to do was get into all the labs and search for a flask full of deadly spores, but there were simply too many places someone with the right knowledge and a basic setup could do the work. Plus, he didn’t have a fucking clue what he was looking for and would probably get himself and others killed.

  Jez Place from the CDC had assured him that once they figured out the DNA sequence of the specific parent strains it would narrow the suspects and shouldn’t take long to figure out who might have had access to it.

  Hunt had learned patience while recovering from his broken leg. It didn’t mean he was good at it. Christ, he couldn’t believe he’d dropped his pants and told Pip about his accident. It was a wonder she hadn’t run screaming from the room, but Hunt had never been bashful about his body. He’d only considered the possible accusations of sexual harassment later.

  Hopefully she wouldn’t figure out he didn’t discuss the accident on a casual basis. He usually kept his weaknesses on the down low.