by Julie Rowe
A new group of people entered the brewery dressed in suits, but all of them carried a sidearm. “You’re all fucked!” Mike Creek shouted at them.
Looked like Homeland Security and FBI.
Great, instead of actual work, they’d probably be explaining things to the suits for a week.
“Hail, hail, the gang’s all here,” Gunner said softly.
Chapter Thirteen
Monday 3:06 p.m.
If Mike Creek didn’t stop with the maniacal laughter, Gunner was going to gut punch him again. He’d started cackling as soon as Homeland and FBI showed up and couldn’t seem to stop. Or didn’t want to. Whatever.
“There is something seriously wrong with that guy,” Joy said quietly to him.
“He might be on something.”
“Do you want to deal with Homeland and FBI, or should I?” she asked him. Despite the mask she wore, he could see from the deep furrows etched between her eyes and across her forehead she was worried. Maybe she was right to be.
Right now he felt numb, but earlier… Nope, he wasn’t going to succumb to the rage and fear that seemed to take up more and more of the space inside his soul.
“Feel free to give whoever is in charge a report,” he told her. “We don’t have time for both of us to stop taking samples.”
“Okay.”
But she didn’t move. Her eyes were unfocused, the worry she’d displayed earlier wiped out by strain and pain.
Asshole. She had demons, too.
“Joy, are you okay?”
“Depends on how you define it.” With that, she put what she was working with away, stepped back, and began taking off her protective mask and gloves. “Are you?”
He wasn’t going to lie to her. “I’m good for now.”
“Same.” She took in a deep breath then let it out slowly. “I’ve got this.”
She turned to meet the assortment of law enforcement officers and agents coming toward them.
He ignored the conversation going on between Joy and the approximately six men who’d surrounded her. She could hold her own with all of them, but it still made him uneasy to see them all so close to her. Leaving her with no avenue of escape.
His gut told him he needed to get her out of there. His head told him to get his shit together and get back to work.
Gunner focused on the kegs in front of him and the lineup of field tests he’d set up. If he continued to let his focus wander, thought too much about Joy and her safety, he was going to go ballistic right here.
He’d told her he was okay to work, and he wasn’t going to let his emotions turn him into a liar.
Blocking out the sound of voices, he completed the tests on this series of kegs.
Positive. All of them.
Fuck.
Gunner wanted to hurt the idiot responsible, but Mike Creek could not have done this with just the dead man’s help alone. In order to find the supplier of the bacteria, he was going to have to dot every i and cross every t. He carefully entered the tests and their results into his tablet, so the lab would have them immediately.
Okay, now he could get up and let everyone here know the bad news.
He approached Joy, who was still talking to the same group of men. “I have results.”
Everyone turned their attention on him.
“Every one of those kegs have tested positive for E. coli.” He gave the suits a measuring glance. “Don’t touch anything without gloves on. It would be better if you wore coveralls, too. You really don’t want to carry this stuff out of here.”
“This means,” Joy said into the unhappy silence, “the entire building will need to be sanitized.”
“Shit,” someone mumbled.
“The CDC will handle that,” Gunner told them waving away the size of the job. “In the interest of protecting the public, there are two pieces of information we need to discover. And we need your help for that.”
“What would those be?” one of the Homeland agents asked. He looked familiar, someone he’d seen in Rodrigues’s office more than once. Agent…Dozer. Hopefully, he’d know how to do his job without getting in their way.
Gunner held up one finger. “Where have all the kegs of their craft brand of beer gone? We need them located and confiscated.” He held up a second finger. “Where did Mike Creek get the E. coli in the first place? That source needs to be shut down.”
Dozer smiled at him with a predatory edge, sharp enough to cut to the bone without the victim knowing until it was much too late. “I think the way you think, Doc. You need to call in more of your people to deal with the brewery?”
“Yes, quite a few more.”
“Go ahead and do that,” the agent said. “I’ll get started on your honey-do list.”
“You’ll need this,” Joy said. “Mike Creek’s phone is in evidence, but it’s not his, the company owns it. Frank Creek gave us permission to search the phone.” She handed the agent Frank Creek’s business card. “The password’s on the back.” She paused. “Make sure you handle the phone with gloves on and sanitize it before doing anything with it.”
Dozer’s smile brightened, and he looked from Joy to Gunner. “I’m liking the two of you a lot.”
“Sorry,” Gunner said dryly. “Thanks for asking, but we’re not interested in a three-way.”
Several jaws dropped. Not Joy’s, no, she gave him a disgusted look before shaking her head and leaving the officers and agents where they were. She walked without hurrying back to the set of kegs she’d been about to test.
The Homeland agent watched her for a moment then looked at Gunner again, his smile tugging his mouth up. “For a minute there, I thought Rodrigues had pegged you wrong. Good to know her personality meter isn’t out of whack.”
“I’ll bite,” Gunner said. “How has she pegged me?”
“As an asshole. Brilliant, work-obsessed, and doesn’t play well with others. She told me I’d likely have to fight to get you to let me or anyone else in.”
“She’s right on all counts, but I’m also not stupid. You guys are good at finding information. Me, not so much.”
Dozer’s smile dissolved. “How bad will this get?”
“That’s going to depend on how many more contaminated kegs there are out there, and where they went. He’s had two, maybe three weeks to fool around with the E. coli. That’s plenty of time to fuck up a bunch of stuff.”
“Do you think it was just him and that guy?” the agent asked, nodding at the body.
Gunner glanced at the body, the kegs, and the rest of the building. “FAFO has claimed responsibility, and this is already too big to believe there were only two people involved.” The fucking fuckers. “If a lot of kegs have already been shipped, we could be looking at a large number of sick, scared, and spooked people.”
“Are we going to be vaccinating people or trying to hand out antibiotics?” he asked.
“I wish it were that easy,” Gunner told him. “There’s no vaccine, and antibiotics don’t help. E. coli is normally found in human intestines, just not these two strains. Antibiotics wipe out the good kind and seem to leave victims worse off.”
“There’s no treatment?” Dozer asked incredulously.
“Oh, there’s a treatment. It’s not widely practiced yet, since it’s a pretty new idea, but it’s gaining ground.”
“It’s something disgusting, isn’t it?”
Gunner gave the other man a grim smile. “Yup. It’s—”
“Don’t explain,” Dozer interrupted, looking a little green. “I’m sure I don’t want to know.”
For some reason, the agent’s reaction made Gunner feel better. Maybe it was that his response was so human. Or because Gunner was an asshole. “Want to check out Mike Creek’s phone?”
The agent nodded and walked toward the office.
Gunner returned to where he’d left his equipment. It was time to call Dr. Rodrigues and fill her in.
It took twenty minutes for Rodrigues to stop asking questions.
Neither of them were happy with the lack of answers.
“Agent Dozer is following the paper trail, trying to track down all the kegs,” Gunner told her. “But I think we need to rush on that recall of the Frank Creek beer.”
“The press releases have gone out. Pray we don’t end up with a public panic.”
“Unavoidable at this point.”
“Once the beer is purchased by a consumer, we lose the ability to track it. More people are going to get sick.”
“Also unavoidable.”
After a moment, Rodrigues said in a determined tone, “Okay, I’m sending a team to go over every inch of that building. Once they get there, I want you and Joy to work with Dozer to find every drop of that beer that’s left the brewery in the last three weeks. Find it and destroy it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Were either you or Joy injured during the takedown of the dead man?”
“No.” He hesitated, thinking back, reviewing his memories. “I don’t think so.”
“Get checked out by medical,” she ordered.
Damn, he’d hesitated too long.
“We’re fine,” Gunner insisted. “We don’t have time to get checked out every time someone yells at us.”
“You’re no good to the investigation if your physical or mental health is compromised,” Rodrigues said, her tone firm. “I need you focused and healthy. You will get checked out by medical, and you and Joy will get a reasonable amount of sleep tonight and every night that follows.”
“Allowing us to work overtime isn’t going to hurt the investigation. It might, in fact, help us to get to the answers faster.”
“Working an outbreak start to finish is not a sprint. This is a long-distance race we have to win. We have enough people available to allow for twenty-four hour coverage. You’re not in Syria isolated and without resources, Gunner. You’re not doing this alone. You have a team. Use them.”
He didn’t like it. He wanted to know what was happening and who was doing it every step of the way. But she was right. If he kept working without sleep, he’d be useless in thirty-six to forty-eight hours.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said grudgingly.
She sighed. “I’ll allow you to work twelve-hour shifts, but no more than that.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m going to find a hotel you can stay in closer to the brewery. Getting enough sleep is one thing, losing an hour or more to traffic is something else.”
He hung up and found Joy waiting for him.
“All my tests are coming back positive, too,” she said. “I think that asshole contaminated everything he could get his hands on.”
Gunner would like to have expressed how irritated he was with Mike Creek and the whole situation, but there were too many people around who might overhear.
So he nodded. “We’re on a twelve-hour shift schedule until further notice, and we have to be checked by medical before we can continue working.”
Joy’s jaw dropped. “You don’t seem upset.”
“Dr. Rodrigues was both precise and firm.” He glanced around. “It might be a while before this case is over.”
Joy crossed her arms over her chest. “There’s that, I guess.”
“We’re not letting Homeland take over completely.”
A snort came out of Joy at that. “Right, sure.”
Agent Dozer came into sight, putting away his phone as he hustled toward them. “Looks like I’m getting that three-way I wanted,” he said with a cheeky grin.
Gunner leaned over and whispered to Joy, “Maybe I don’t want a clean bill of health.”
She elbowed him in the side and hissed, “You’re not leaving me to work with a bunch of suits all by myself.”
“Ow, of course not.”
Dozer’s grin didn’t lose a bit of its snark. “Medics are waiting to look you two over.”
He and Joy grabbed their equipment and went out through the front entrance.
They were each assigned a medic. Gunner’s didn’t say much, the minimum, actually.
As soon as the medic was done, a woman approached and smiled. “Dr. Anderson, I’m Sally Barker, psychologist.”
What the hell was a psychologist doing here? “Are you lost?” he asked.
Her smile turned apologetic. “No. I’d like to talk to you for a few minutes, if you don’t mind.”
He minded. A lot.
“I’m sorry, I don’t have time right now.” He considered what he said then added, “I’m not going to have time for several days, at least.”
Sally winced. “I’m sorry, too, because until I clear you, you can’t return to work.”
“What?”
“During the events of the past couple of hours, you exhibited a strong emotional reaction to the conflict that took place. It was noted and reported to Dr. Rodrigues.”
“A strong emotional reaction?” Gunner asked carefully, hanging onto his temper by the slimmest of margins. Son of a bitch. Who reported him? One of the cops? Or maybe it had been Frank Creek? Didn’t matter.
Unless it had been Joy. That would matter.
He waved the woman off when she would have spoken again.
“I was angry,” he said without preamble. “Because I had to watch while a spoiled brat sociopath ordered his security guards to stun some flunky wearing a fake suicide vest until he was dead. Then he all but gloated about how he poisoned all of his brother’s beer.” Gunner leaned toward her. “It was disgusting to watch. Any normal person would be angry after that, wouldn’t you say?”
“You don’t think your reaction was extreme?”
“No. I punched the guy in the gut. Extreme would have been if I beat him to death.”
She stared at him, her expression frozen, but her eyes reflected sympathy. “Did you consider doing that?”
Of all the ways he’d been looked at since he left Doctors Without Borders, pity was the worst. “No.” He smiled with his teeth. “Too many witnesses.”
Sally the psychologist flinched.
“Gunner,” someone hissed.
He turned as Joy joined them.
“Are you trying to scare people?” she asked him, her tone sharp. She might have said people, but she meant the psychologist.
God, he hoped so. “I’m annoyed. Someone told Rodrigues I lost my shit, so she sent Sally here to ask me if I was feeling the urge to murder Mike Creek. And probably if I’m still feeling those urges.”
Joy took her laser-eyed gaze and turned it on the psychologist. “Is that true?”
Sally pinched her lips together before saying, “I wouldn’t have put it quite that way, but essentially, yes.”
“Gunner is a jerk most days,” Joy said to the other woman. “He’s blunt and has no patience for bullshit or posturing, but he’s not out of control.”
“Gunner?” Sally asked. “Just Gunner? I was told you’re a doctor.” She looked at him like he’d lied or something.
“I am a doctor, but I’m also a field investigator and I don’t work in a fu…frigging clinic. People call me doctor and I look around for the guy. First name is good enough.”
Sally cocked her head like he’d said something interesting. “Do you prefer to work alone or in a team?”
“I prefer to work with competent people,” he replied. “Idiots and assholes aren’t welcome.”
“You’re his partner?” she asked Joy.
“Yes.” Joy bit her lip. “I think it’s important to point out that I’m armed. He isn’t.”
Both eyebrows on Sally’s forehead rose. “Why don’t you carry a gun?” she asked him.
“Have you read my personnel file?”
“Yes.”
“Then you already know why I don’t carry a gun.” He stood. “I’d like to get back to work before our shift is over.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Any objections?”
The psychologist studied him for a moment then said quietly, “No objections.”
He strode away. Went farther
than was strictly necessary so neither she nor Joy would see what he’d barely been able to hold in check: shaking hands and knees, and lungs that didn’t want to work.
He fought his body’s response, made himself choose another pile of kegs, and began the testing process.
Joy claimed he was in control, so he was damn well going to stay that way.
Chapter Fourteen
Monday 5:32 p.m.
Joy didn’t watch Gunner walk away, but Sally the psychologist did, and she didn’t look happy.
“Have you read his file?” Sally asked after she turned her concerned gaze on Joy.
“I didn’t have to,” Joy said. “He told me himself. Just like I’ve told him about some of the crap I’ve seen. Who reported what to Rodrigues?”
“I don’t know.”
Joy snorted at the woman’s cautious tone. “Gunner doesn’t hide who he is, and he doesn’t hide how he feels. If he thinks you’re asking a stupid question, he’ll tell you it’s a stupid question.”
“As long as he tells someone,” Sally said. “The events of today could trigger problems for him in the coming hours and days.”
“I’m familiar with how trauma and PTSD works.”
“Are you?” Sally studied Joy’s face but didn’t seem reassured. “I’ll check in with both of you tomorrow.”
Joy shrugged. “Okay.”
Sally gave her a tight smile and left.
The whole encounter felt odd.
What the hell had whoever called Rodrigues said?
Joy found Gunner testing another pyramid of kegs. “More positive results?”
He glanced up at her. “Yes.” He shook his head. “I’m not sure every keg has been contaminated with enough E. coli to make people sick.”
Joy looked around at the brewery, at all the vats, pipes, and kegs. “It’s going to take weeks to separate the positives due to simple casual contact from those to with pathogenic contamination.”
“What really matters now is finding the contaminated beer that’s left this building.” Gunner looked like a man about to begin running a marathon—contained, calm, and composed. But anger simmered in his gaze. “Do you know who called Rodrigues?”
She shook her head but said, “My money’s on Frank Creek.”
