She’d spouted the same words he’d heard time and again—words that added to the guilt he bore.
“You’re lucky you only lost your toes. You were just a kid, and an incredibly brave one to go back and try to get help alone like that. You can’t blame yourself. Neither your father nor your brother would want that.”
Why had she made him out to be some kind of hero? Hell, she’d said it again that day in July. How could any man live up to expectations like those?
Slamming his fist on the windowsill, Trevor ignored the bite of pain. He wasn’t brave. He was a goddamn liar and a coward.
Everyone accepted what he’d told them had happened. Nick blamed himself for not being there to help, and Mom was in her own version of hell since she’d left them, and condemned herself for doing so. But the truth was clear. The only one to blame was him. Ashamed of his cowardly behavior, he’d retreated into himself.
After he’d arrived in Tacoma, it worsened. He’d kept to his room, using one excuse after another to skip school and stay inside. He’d refused to ride again—still hadn’t gotten back on a horse. Mom had been the one to recognize the signs of PTSD, see that he was suffering from far more than lost toes. The shrink had diagnosed survivor’s guilt. Eventually, after weeks of repeating the same lie, he’d joined the living, not only to spare Mom and Nick more pain, but to avoid the doctor’s knowing eyes. Mom and Nick never talked about that day. Not talking about things that hurt him became his preferred coping mechanism. It just hadn’t worked with Julie.
Maybe if it had been summer, with her beside him, he could’ve done it, gone back to Carson Creek, but not in February. Never in February.
Why hadn’t he told the truth? He’d been a kid, barely fourteen. He hadn’t meant for it to happen. Even the law wouldn’t have found him guilty. Mom would’ve forgiven him, and while Nick might have been angry with him, eventually he’d have understood. Julie might’ve, too, but he’d been afraid she’d see him for the coward he was in spite of the work he did and the lives he saved.
Too ashamed to face her, he’d opted for the lesser of two evils: the cold winter weather in Quantico. He accepted another promotion to Special Crimes. He’d left Atlanta before she’d returned. Like his mother, he’d run away from the best thing life had ever given him. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree. Quantico sent him to Boston, where he’d expected to stay for a handful of months, and here he was … facing his second winter. Karma was a bitch.
In the mood to rub salt in his wounds, Trevor sat down and reached for the phone again, swiping the screen and opening his camera. He called up the album of pictures he’d taken in Atlanta three years ago.
In the first picture, Julie smiled at him, her face radiant, showing off the sapphire and diamond ring he’d placed on her finger just minutes before. He opened his bottom drawer and took out the bottle of bourbon he kept there. Cracking it open, he poured an inch into the bottom of his empty coffee mug, took a drink, and like some damn voyeur spying on another person’s life, he scrolled through photographs he should’ve deleted. About to do just that, he stopped at a snapshot of four people taken at a popular downtown Atlanta restaurant. He and Julie smiled for the camera, as did the other couple.
The man, Miles somebody or other, had moved to Carson Creek just after his own family had left. He and Julie had been pretty tight in high school, so close that the jealousy bug bit Trevor each time she’d mentioned Miles’s name. Once he met the man, he realized they were more like brother and sister than anything else. Miles had eyes for no one but his wife and their nine-year-old daughter. That girl would be twelve now, the same age as Annie, one of the settlers who’d grown up believing the only thing she was good for was being some man’s brood mare. He’d bet Ariel—it was hard to forget that name—had her eyes on a very different future.
But if he screwed up again and the Prophet unleashed his Great Burning, that kid might be lucky to see her thirteenth birthday. Hell, none of them might get to be a year older.
Keith believed someone might be after Julie. Why? Grabbing a sheet of paper from the desk, Trevor searched the Internet for Dr. Elizabeth Julie Swift.
Several hits filled the screen, and when he opened the first one, his heart skipped a beat at the more recent picture of her, and his ulcer roared to life once more. Popping another antacid into his mouth, he stared at the information outlining Julie’s responsibilities at the CDC.
It was all right there. Julie had exactly the background needed to bioengineer a killer virus, but more importantly, she designed vaccines for them. If the Prophet wanted to prevent anyone from stopping the Great Burning, he’d have to stop people like Julie from finding a cure—and nothing would stop her faster than killing her.
Maybe Ellie’s accident wasn’t as simple as it seemed. He keyed in the information he needed to find the newspaper account of the crash. The image of a mangled limousine, a transport truck embedded in the center of it, filled the screen. The caption read: “Four killed in midday crash in Atlanta.” When he finished reading the article, he fired off an e-mail to the police department requesting all the information they had on the case. He wanted Amos to have a look at the ME’s report.
• • •
After a superb dinner consisting of fresh salmon, quinoa and spinach salad, and wild rice, followed by chocolate cake, Julie headed to bed, ostensibly offering Miles and Cassie some privacy before they called it a night, but knowing that if she didn’t move, she’d fall asleep where she sat, and one night in a chair was more than enough for anybody. Never had she felt as tired, old, and worn out as she did now. She’d just finished undressing when the house phone rang. She glanced at her watch. Ten-thirty. That was it? After her night at the airport and what felt like an incredibly long day, her body ached in places she didn’t even know it could.
She yawned, pulled down the covers, and was about to get into bed when Miles knocked on her door.
“Julie, are you still awake?”
“Yes, I am.” She grabbed her robe, put it on, and opened the door. He sounded concerned—maybe one of the men in isolation had developed symptoms. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good news. Unease and late phone calls never boded well. “What’s up?”
“Didn’t you say you and Trevor had called it quits?”
She frowned. “Yes, two years ago, why?”
“Well, he’s on the phone asking for you, and he says it’s important. The guy sounds desperate.”
“Desperate?” She sneered. “I doubt that. I’ve been giving the FBI some information on his latest case. He’s probably annoyed that I didn’t get back to him today about something like I said I would.”
She frowned. How the hell did Trevor know she was here? Even Lenore, the only one who knew she’d left the city, didn’t know where she was. Anyone following a paper trail should’ve been stopped cold in Seattle. How on earth had Trevor tracked her here? Sure, he was the FBI, but she’d left all her electronics behind, hadn’t she? Was her watch GPS-enabled, too? God, she’d known he was obsessed by his work, but this was ridiculous. Damn him. He was like a dog with a bone.
Julie’s hand trembled as she reached for the handset. She was tired, and that would make it harder to keep her emotions in check. After the last couple of days, the last thing she needed was grief from him. Miles and Cassie moved back into the living room to give her some privacy, but instead of going back into her room—memories of his quick kiss made talking with her ex while sitting on her bed seem too intimate—she leaned against the wall.
“Hello, Trevor,” she said, her voice unsteady, as anger, annoyance, and anxiety warred inside her. Anger won. “I’m sorry I didn’t call about the oleander and the sarin. I meant to, but something important came up. I’ll look into it tomorrow, I promise, so you can relax.”
“Julie,” Trevor said, the relief in his voice surprising her. “You have no idea how happy I am I found you. If Miles hadn’t known where you were…”
He paused, and she heard
the catch in his voice. Seriously? He’d spoken to her last night and he acted as if it had been years—in fact, he sounded the way she’d hoped he would’ve two years ago, as if speaking to her was important to him.
“Don’t worry about the oleander or the sarin,” he continued, but in his emotional state, his voice had taken on an unexpected huskiness. “Get to it when you can, but I’m not sure that’s what he has in mind after all.”
That huskiness reminded her how much she loved listening to him speak, the way he could make the simplest facts sound romantic, but he didn’t sound romantic now, nor did he sound businesslike, the way he had on Saturday. He sounded relieved. Something had happened, and she didn’t need her Spidey senses to know that whatever it was, was bad. Despite the effort he was making to hide it, he was afraid, and that made no sense to her. She was pretty damn sure nothing and no one ever scared Trevor.
What time was it in Boston? It had to be after two in the morning. Why was he still up? What the hell could be so important that he’d call around until he found her the way a parent would call looking for a kid late for dinner? Her annoyance grew. What had he done? Phoned all the friends they had in common? If he could find her so easily, so would the people looking for her.
Thanks, Trevor. You’ve probably just painted a bull’s-eye on my forehead.
What the hell was she going to do now? She’d have to figure out what killed John Doe and get out of Dodge before her enemies found her, but where could she go? She had some money, but on the run it wouldn’t last long. She should just hang up on Trevor, but that would be childish. He didn’t know he might’ve signed her death warrant. Besides, she didn’t usually run away from her problems—he did.
“Whatever you do, don’t hang up,” he said, as if he could read her mind. “You have every right to be annoyed with me for calling at this time of night, but I can’t tell you how happy I am to hear your voice. I thought…” He paused again, as if he needed to pull himself together before continuing.
“I’m not annoyed, Trevor, but it’s late and I’m tired.”
“I’m sorry. I realize this call is an unexpected and unpleasant surprise, but I have bad news I need to give you before you hear it from someone else.”
Did he know about the missing viruses? Was someone going to accuse her of taking them? Fear filled her.
“I can’t imagine what that would be,” she answered, forcefully denying her own suspicions.
“There’s been a murder in Atlanta. I hate to break it to you this way, but your friend Lenore Singer was killed early this morning.”
“Oh my God,” she said loudly, slipping down the wall to the floor, bringing Cassie and Miles back into the hallway. Her chest clenched. “What happened? Was she mugged? I told her not to use the bus…”
“No. She wasn’t attacked outside. She was killed in your apartment. I got a call from Keith Grant because of our history. No one in Atlanta knows where you are, and he called me thinking I might. The police are looking for you.”
They aren’t the only ones.
“They think I killed her?” she asked, suddenly realizing what he’d said. Why else would the police be after her? She was in danger of hyperventilating. Cassie must’ve noticed it, because she handed her the inhaler she’d left on her bedside table.
“No. Of course not. Your place was trashed. Keith thinks whoever murdered her was looking for something. He believes they were trying to kill you and may have killed Lenore thinking she was you. This has something to do with the men you saw on Saturday, doesn’t it?”
Panic welled up inside her. Keith Grant was one of Atlanta’s premier detectives. If Keith thought she’d been the target, then chances were he was correct.
She should’ve warned Lenore, sent her to a hotel when she’d left the city. Tears slipped down her cheeks. She’d been in such a hurry to save her own ass, she hadn’t realized she would put her friend in danger. How long had she known someone was watching her? Weeks, but as scared as she’d been, she’d refused to believe the evidence before her own eyes.
But why kill her now? What had changed? This had changed. The call from Miles, the trip to Alaska, and John Doe. She had to be right. The missing viruses. Someone was willing to kill to shut her up. Lenore’s death was on her the same way Ellie’s was.
Chapter Ten
Julie struggled to breathe. Cassie reached for the phone in her hand, pressed the hands-free button, and indicated she should use her inhaler. She reached for Julie’s wrist to take her pulse.
“Hi, Trevor. It’s Cassie. I’ve got you on speaker right now. I don’t know what you told our girl, but she needs a few minutes here.”
“I can wait.” He didn’t volunteer anything else, and the way Cassie screwed up her face in annoyance was almost funny—almost.
Taking as deep a breath as she could, Julie spoke haltingly. “Trevor, repeat what you’ve just told me. They have a right to know. I may have put them in danger.”
Somewhat calmer, as the Ventolin did its job and her breathing eased, Julie stood when Trevor finished repeating the information, adding a few details she’d never forget. Poor Lenore. She hadn’t deserved to be murdered like that. No one did.
“My God,” Cassie said. “If Julie hadn’t decided to come early…” Miles pulled his distraught wife into his arms.
“I don’t know if the men we saw are involved, but someone’s been following me ever since the accident,” Julie said quietly, pacing the hallway, knowing he’d hear her. “Maybe even before that. At first, I thought it was my imagination, but now…”
“Do you think Ellie’s accident could’ve been an attempt on your life?”
“Possibly. I’ve certainly blamed myself for her death. All three of us were supposed to be in that limo, going to the monthly university luncheon. The authorities claimed it was an accident, but now with Lenore killed in my apartment…”
“I did some research before calling, and after reading about the accident, I’ve requested the case files,” he stated, his voice filled with concern, a distress that matched her own. “I hate to admit this, but what happened to Ellie and Lenore may be linked to this case. I’m doing my best to find this bastard, but the bodies just keep piling up. At the rate he’s going, he won’t need the Great Burning to achieve his objective.”
“You’re talking about the Prophet?” she asked. “You think he’s after me specifically? That he’s had Ellie and Lenore killed trying to get to me?”
“Yes, he’s targeted you, I’m sure of it.”
She swallowed, the conviction in his voice undeniable. “That makes no sense. I’d never even heard of him until you brought him up in July. Why would he want me dead?”
“Unfortunately, I don’t have anything tangible, but I don’t want to wait until you’re in the morgue to act on my hunch. What happened tonight was too close for comfort. The Prophet hasn’t struck here again, but I’m sure this was his work. Keith said it looked like a robbery, but my gut says no. I’m not worried about the Prophet right now, I’m worried about you.”
“Don’t be. I’m fine here, perfectly safe,” she lied. “Poor Lenore. She had no idea I was being followed. I should’ve told her. She should’ve gone to stay elsewhere. By inviting her into my home, I got her killed.” Tears choked her.
“Julie, don’t talk nonsense. Break it down the way you normally do. You’re not responsible for her death. We’ll catch the one who is. I promise you.”
“Maybe this has nothing to do with the Prophet,” she said, grasping at straws. “Maybe it was just a random home invasion. Are my television and computer gone? I left my cell phone there, and I had some jewelry in the lockbox in my closet…”
“I’ll mention those items to Keith, but as far as I’m concerned, if they were taken, it was to cover up the murder. I know you don’t want to believe that, but your skills and abilities may have put you on his hit list. Do you remember when I asked you what ways he might use other than the dirty bomb?”
“You’re scaring my hosts here.”
Cassie paled even more, and Julie felt terrible. The last thing a woman in her condition needed was to worry about doomsday scenarios.
“It’s all conjecture at this point, but he’s already had a test run with a pipe bomb and a nerve agent. One of my team members with a history with the Prophet is convinced it’ll be some kind of biological weapon. My gut tells me he’s right, and if the Prophet can bioengineer some kind of superbug, you can design a vaccine for it—and that’s why he wants you dead.”
Julie burst out laughing. “Then he’s putting a lot more faith in my abilities than I am. It isn’t as if I have some magic elixir in my sock drawer I can pull out and turn into an effective vaccine. Do you have any idea how hard it is to prepare a viable, effective serum with minimal side effects? And creating one for an unknown pathogen—that is, unless you know what he’s planning to use…” Maybe Trevor knew about the disappearing and reappearing viruses.
“No. We’ve checked with all the labs and pharmaceutical companies, but no one’s reported any thefts of viruses, nerve agents, or poisons.”
“What about any irregularities, maybe vials missing and then found elsewhere? Anything out of the ordinary?”
“Nada, not unless you know something I don’t.”
She swallowed. He didn’t know. Why wouldn’t the president have told the FBI? That made no sense. Before she could speak, he continued.
The White Iris Page 13
