Outbreak: A Nightshades Novel

by Melissa F. Olson

  “So why show me now?” he demanded, not ready to let it go. “Because I slept with you and you feel guilty?”

  Lindy flinched. “Okay, I probably deserve that,” she allowed. “But no. Bartell said something to me last night, about how trust and loyalty need to go hand in hand.” Hesitantly, she reached up and laid her hand on his cheek. “You’ve got my back, and I’ve got yours. But we’re not going to get any further if I don’t trust you.”

  Alex felt the anger dissolve. Lindy was a shade; she’d been hiding from law enforcement for hundreds of years. Of course her perspective on working as a team would be different. “I could have told you that,” he grumbled, but he reached over and squeezed her hand. His eyes traveled over all the new possibilities, the new data. It was an investigator’s dream, and Alex felt real hope rising inside him.

  “First thing in the morning,” he said at last, “we’re taking this to the office.” The next day was Saturday, but Alex would be working anyway, filing endless reports from the day’s many events and checking in with the team transporting captured shades to Camp Vamp. “No more secrets.”

  “Agreed.”

  He turned to face her. “I didn’t know you could draw.”

  A tiny, infectious smile bloomed on her face, and she tugged on his hand, leading him back toward the bed. “I have many hidden talents.”

  Chapter 2

  Lindy’s brownstone

  Saturday morning

  ALEX STARTED AWAKE, smelling Lindy’s lavender and vanilla shampoo on the pillow next to him. Lindy herself was hurrying out of the bedroom, and it was only as he squinted at her departing figure that his brain processed what had woken them up: a banging on the front door. He checked his watch: 8:15 a.m. Shit. He had wanted to be at the office by now.

  Out in the other room, he heard a familiar voice talking to Lindy: Chase Eddy, his best friend and second in command, was asking for Alex in a panicked tone.

  Alex located his pants where they’d been discarded next to the bed and tried to hop into them while stumbling out of the bedroom—definitely not a great plan, especially before coffee. As he lurched into the entryway, Chase and Lindy both looked at him.

  “Hey, Chase,” Alex said, wincing. He glanced down at his own bare chest and just-buttoned pants. “This . . . well, this is exactly what it looks like.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Chase began pacing, his hair sticking out at all angles and his unbuttoned dress shirt flapping over his jeans and a T-shirt. “Why aren’t you answering your phone?”

  “I didn’t hear it. And I thought we had things under control for the night.”

  Chase seemed to deflate, and he sank down into one end of Lindy’s sofa. “Yeah. About that.”

  Then, as Alex and Lindy listened, Chase laid out the story: he’d realized the week before that he was missing time, and felt compelled to keep it from everyone.

  For a second, Alex didn’t understand what his friend was trying to tell him, but then he got it: Chase had been mesmerized.

  Before the implications could even sink in, Chase added, “I got this idea that by keeping my missing time a secret, I would help protect you from her.”

  Alex stared blankly for a moment, until Lindy touched his arm. “The easiest way to mesmerize a human is to play on an emotion that’s already there.”

  Alex nodded, feeling suddenly weary. “Protecting me is pretty much part of your genetic code at this point, dude.”

  Chase let out a broken laugh. “Except I didn’t. Or I thought I was, but it was all fuzzy, and someone kept sort of erasing their tracks, and I couldn’t keep anything in my head . . .”

  Oh, God. “That sounds pretty sophisticated,” Alex said, looking at Lindy. She stared back at him in horror, and he could read the thought on her face even before it echoed in his mind.

  Hector.

  Chase knew everything about the BPI, about Alex, about their work with Lindy. He was a perfect target. Why hadn’t Alex seen that? Why hadn’t he anticipated this, goddammit?

  But he knew his best friend well enough to know that there was more. “Chase, what happened?” Alex asked, trying to stay calm.

  “Gil called me this morning, when he couldn’t reach you,” Chase whispered. “The van left at six a.m. Forty-five minutes ago, they were attacked. Harvey Bartell is dead, and so is the kid that Gil sent with him. The shades are gone.”

  Alex sagged. Bartell. One of his team was dead. Because of Alex’s orders.

  “Oh, God.” Lindy looked as stunned as Alex felt. “Alex, you need to call—”

  But his cell phone was already beginning to buzz in his pocket. He looked at the screen: the deputy director of the Bureau, Marcia Harding. Alex’s heart sank. “Hang on, I’ve got to take this.” He touched a button. “Hello, Deputy Director. I just heard about the van.”

  There was an exhalation, then the deputy director’s voice said, “I’m sorry to say it, but we have bigger problems than that right now, Alex. Camp Vamp was just attacked. All the inmates have escaped.”

  Alex was momentarily stunned into silence. Lindy, who was close enough to overhear, clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes widening. Then she leaned over and whispered an explanation in Chase’s ear. Alex forced himself to sound calm. “Casualties?”

  “Six, including Lucien Tymer. We need you here.”

  Tymer had been part of the old guard, one of the few current agents who had served under Alex’s mother, the first female director of the FBI. “Me?” He couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice. Chase, who looked like he might throw up, stepped closer to Alex, putting his ear near the cell phone. Alex increased the volume so he could hear too.

  “What about Ellen Dawson?” Alex asked Harding. The senior agent in charge of the New York BPI pod was hours closer than he was.

  “Alex . . .” Harding’s voice was heavy. Alex had known her since he was a little kid. He hadn’t heard her sound so disconcerted since his mother’s funeral. “We think there was a leak out of your office.”

  Alex’s eyes flicked over to Chase, who had gone even paler. “Oh?”

  “I’m sorry. I’m suspending the Chicago pod until we can sort out this mess,” she said. “I want you to come to DC and help with this thing.”

  “Why?” Alex began, but then he understood. Alex was the most famous agent in the BPI. He wasn’t just an FBI legacy; his team had also solved the two biggest shade cases to date. “Never mind, I get it. Optics.” It had come out more sour than he intended.

  “Like it or not, you’ve become the face of the BPI,” Harding said sternly. “We’ll talk about it more when you get here. Call your people, inform them that the pod is suspended, and then call my assistant. I’ll have her book you a flight. And, of course,” she added, like it was an afterthought, “I’m sending Gil and his SWAT team to pick up Rosalind Frederick.”

  Next to him, Lindy recoiled. “Wait, what?” Alex sputtered. He was about to ask why, but then it was all too obvious: until a few hours ago, Lindy was the only known free vampire in America. She had access to BPI agents, and she could control humans with her saliva. Of course they would assume she was involved in the jailbreak.

  Beside him, Lindy must have reached the same conclusion, because the look of surprise on her face quickly settled into irritation.

  “Her involvement in this is a disaster waiting to happen,” Harding was saying. “But if we can keep it quiet and feed her to the press as a suspect, it will help temper public reaction to the prison break.”

  “With respect, Deputy Director, I’m not sure that’s the right call,” Alex tried. “I trust Lindy. And she’s still our best hope of catching Hector.”

  “According to her,” Harding countered. “Remember, Ambrose fed you Frederick’s name. By her own admission, Hector is her brother. What’s to say she wasn’t playing you this whole time?”

  Lindy shrank back from him, looking like she’d been slapped. When she turned her gaze to Alex he could tell she was worried tha
t he was going to believe Harding’s new theory.

  It hadn’t even occurred to him.

  He pointed to her bedroom and mouthed the words, “Get the paper.” She gave him a questioning look, but then she nodded and rushed toward the bedroom. To Harding, Alex said, “I understand what you’re saying, Deputy Director. When is Gil picking her up?” He looked around for his shoes and keys.

  “Any minute now.” Chase, who had heard most of the conversation, ran to the front door and began peering through the window blinds. In Alex’s ear, Harding added, “Our research from Ambrose suggests shades are at their weakest shortly after sunrise, but Agent Palmer isn’t taking any chances. He’s bringing a full team.” There was a pause, and when she spoke again her voice was severe. “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you not to call and warn her.”

  “No, no, I won’t do that,” Alex said, truthfully. He definitely didn’t need to call Lindy.

  “Good. Come find me the moment you arrive in DC.”

  “Yes, Deputy Director.”

  Alex hung up the phone and looked at Chase, who was peering sideways through the glass. “Three SUVs just parked on the next block,” he reported before Alex could ask. “Two minutes, tops.”

  Lindy appeared at his side, dressed in a simple sundress and flats, with a leather purse crisscrossing her body, a denim jacket strung through the straps. There was an expensive-looking sunhat on her head, making her look like a rich college kid about to hit the farmers’ market. Her arms were filled with bundled-up brown paper.

  “They’ll have both exits covered,” Alex stated. “Is there another way out of here?”

  She gave him a duh look. “There are four more. The roof is our best bet.”

  He nodded. “Give me your arm.” Understanding, she shifted the bundle of papers to one arm and held out the wrist with her bracelet: the unbreakable metal bracelet that served as her own personal federal monitor.

  “You sure about this?” Chase murmured. Lindy and Alex both looked at him, and the other agent reddened. “I mean, no offense. But you’re throwing away your career here.”

  Alex met Lindy’s eyes. She was weaker with the daylight: less physically alluring, slower, more vulnerable. But her eyes blazed with fierce intelligence, and he could see her running the calculations, her expression softening. “Alex, maybe—”

  “No,” he interrupted her. “You’ve got my back and I’ve got yours.” He turned her wrist over and pulled it close to his face so he could make out the tiny, sophisticated lock. The bracelet may have looked like expensive jewelry, but the actual locking mechanism wasn’t that different from the kind of combination lock used for bicycles. His brow furrowed, Alex slid in the code: 0918. The bracelet fell to the wood floor with a heavy thunk. Lindy immediately rubbed her wrist, the papers in her arm making little crumpling noises.

  “Alex! Out of time!” Chase yelled from the window.

  “Let’s go.” He started to move her toward the stairwell, but paused when he realized Chase wasn’t following. “Chase?”

  “You guys go,” he said. “Turning myself in will buy you time.”

  “Chase—” Alex started, but his friend cut him off.

  “I did this. Just go.”

  Alex hesitated, but Lindy grabbed his hand, yanking him toward the staircase. He reluctantly stumbled after her. Over his shoulder, Lindy said to Chase, “Look after my cat. And don’t turn yourself in. We might still be able to use you.”

  Chase waved them away. “No promises, but if I get loose I’ll meet you at the White House at four.”

  Alex nodded. “Good luck, brother,” he said quietly, and then he raced up the stairs after Lindy.

  Chapter 3

  LINDY RAN UP THE two flights of stairs to the top floor of the brownstone without speaking. She was too busy berating herself. Of course this was happening. Of course it was. What had she expected? She’d agreed to work for the Bureau of Preternatural Investigations. And now they wanted her to take the fall for Hector’s actions.

  Maybe she deserved it.

  Lindy pushed the thought away before she could fall into it. The brownstone had three stories, but she had a contractor renovating the top two floors. She rarely went up here. They ran up the creaky wooden steps, past wads of industrial-strength plastic and discarded plywood, to the third floor. Lindy led Alex down the hall to a spare bedroom with an access hatch in the ceiling. The building had a small attic for insulation, but it ended before this bedroom. “This isn’t on the city’s blueprints,” she said breathlessly. This soon after dawn, she was at more or less human strength. “I had it installed along with the construction”—Lindy grabbed an old-fashioned wooden ladder that was propped horizontally against the wall—“but I haven’t gotten around to installing a lock. Can you open it?” Alex, who had a good six inches of height on her, jumped up, smacking the hatch so it flopped open, filling the room with daylight. Lindy was ready with the ladder, maneuvering it in place. It was redwood—lightweight, but strong—and it was four feet longer than the eight needed to reach the ceiling. She’d had it specially made for this.

  Below them, they heard raised voices. Lindy instinctively froze. “That’s Gil’s team,” Alex said urgently. “Go!”

  Lindy scrambled up the ladder and onto the roof. Heavy gray rain clouds hung ominously over the Chicago skyline, which was one small mercy. The sun could eventually burn Lindy’s skin even through the cloud cover, but it would take hours longer than direct sunlight. Alex popped out right behind her, and helped her lift the ladder up behind him. He closed the hatch, looking around frantically. “Something we can set on it?”

  She shook her head, adjusting the wad of brown paper so it was easier to carry in one hand. Her long-term plans had included putting a marble bench on the roof, but she hadn’t gotten that far yet. “There’s nothing up here. It’ll take them a while to find the hatch, though, and by then we’ll be gone.”

  “How?” Alex asked, looking at the deserted roof. Her brownstone was one of four that were connected to each other, side to side, with their entrances facing west. “They’ll be watching the fire escape. And Palmer’s smart enough to expect us to run across the connected roofs to the neighboring buildings.”

  “Trust me.” Lindy had chosen her house’s location very carefully. With her free hand, she picked up one end of the ladder, and Alex followed her lead and took the other. They jogged south to the roof of the connecting brownstone, which formed the end of the group of four. Just east of her cluster of brownstones, there was another cluster that faced a street over, so the two clusters stood back to back. Alex realized what she was doing and peeked over the edge and sideways, toward the back door of Lindy’s brownstone.

  “Four agents posted by the door,” he reported in a low voice. “I don’t think they saw us, but what if they look up over here?”

  “No shadows today. No reason to.” And we don’t have a lot of other options, she added in his head.

  Slowly, they stretched the ladder across the short divide between the back of the brownstone next to hers and the back of the next building, making a bridge. It fit perfectly, as it was supposed to. Lindy pushed out a breath and stepped to the edge of the ladder, papers still in hand. It was a forty-foot drop below, and she didn’t know if she could heal from that, at least not this soon after dawn. She’d probably survive, but in agony—and in police custody. “We better go fast, though.”

  With that, she got a firm grip on the bundle of papers and ran nimbly across the wooden ladder. When she turned around, Alex was gaping at her. She waved impatiently for him to follow and spoke into his mind. Come on. He moved up to the edge, and she thought, No, don’t look down. Look at me.

  He met her eyes, looking a little exasperated, but he stepped out onto the ladder bridge, just taking quick glances to make sure his feet hit the rungs. Haltingly, he made it most of the way across before he started to wobble. Lindy reached out and grabbed his hand, helping him across.

  The roof
of this brownstone had a small ledge around it, forming a sort of fenced-in patio area. Lindy pulled the ladder quietly over to their side and tipped the redwood ladder up against the inside of the ledge, where it blended perfectly with the reddish brown painted stucco.

  “You rehearsed this,” Alex said in amazement.

  “Of course I did.” You don’t get to be my age without having backup plans.

  With Alex at her heels, she ran across the garden patio to the wrought-iron fire escape on the south side, close to the east wall. Lindy thought of this route like moving a knight in chess: two brownstones south, one brownstone east.

  Once they reached the street, North Wells, it was a short walk to North Avenue, which was bustling with pedestrians on their way to the farmers’ market. Alex put his arm around her and they disappeared into the crowds.

  Chapter 4

  Lindy’s neighborhood

  Saturday morning

  AT ALEX’S REQUEST, she led him to the nearest drugstore, a few blocks away. Alex grabbed three cheap disposable phones. “Do you have cash?” she asked as they approached the register.

  “Only a little,” he admitted. “I wasn’t really planning to go on the lam today.”

  “It’s really more of a weekday thing,” she said agreeably, reaching into her small purse. Glancing around, she handed Alex a thick wad of folded bills.

  “Jesus.” He shoved the money in his pocket.

  Lindy grinned at him. “I, on the other hand, plan to go on the lam every day.”

  They went out to the parking lot, where Alex insisted they get underground and Lindy pointed in the direction of the nearest subway entrance. He looked a little surprised that she wasn’t arguing with him, but Lindy was already feeling fatigued from the escape across the rooftops. She had nothing to prove by hanging out in daylight.