by Paige Tyler
Tanner could have pointed out he never promised not to get the cops involved, just the feds. But the distinction would likely be lost on the man. Besides, none of that mattered now.
“Yeah, well, they are involved, so you need to get the hell over it,” Tanner said. In the background, his inner hybrid was pacing back and forth in its cage restlessly. It wanted out—bad. “While you’re standing here worrying about the authorities rousing your people, someone is out there right now picking you off one or two at a time. This is bigger than your damn paranoia, Chad. There are some sickos out there tranquilizing and murdering your friends. The Seattle ME has five bodies in their morgue, and two of them are preppers. Someone beat them to death, then dumped their bodies.”
Chad’s shoulders sagged, the color draining from his face as he sank down onto the closest bench. “Why the hell is this happening? Why would someone do something like this?”
Tanner sighed. “I have no idea.” He moved closer to Chad while keeping one eye on Zarina. She was staying put, but likely only until the vehicles full of injured arrived from the other camp. “Is there any chance you or anyone else pissed someone off?”
Chad shook his head. All around the building, everyone else did the same. Tanner thought as much.
Outside, the trucks started arriving from the other camp. When Zarina headed for the door, Tanner immediately followed.
“I need to talk to you,” he said as he fell into step beside her.
She kept walking. “I don’t have time to talk right now. There are injured people coming in, and I have to get ready for surgery.”
“I know, and I’m not stopping you,” he said. “I just want you to know I’m taking you back to Seattle and putting you on the first plane to DC.”
Zarina stopped outside Lorraine’s cabin to glare at him. “You’ll only be wasting your time, because I’m not going.”
With that, she spun on her heel and walked into the cabin. A moment later, Spencer ran up carrying the wounded girl from the other camp and disappeared inside as well, leaving Tanner standing there alone with the memory of Zarina’s words for company.
Seeing the injured woman with hair the same color as Zarina’s only firmed his resolve. He didn’t care what he had to do; he was putting her on a plane tomorrow.
* * *
“So you think Mahsood somehow heard about Joanne Harvey getting attacked and decided to bail in case she gave up this address to somebody?” Chase asked, flipping the light on as they walked down the narrow stairs to the basement of Bell’s home.
The basement was the only part of the house they hadn’t gone through yet, and Tate hoped they’d find something useful down here. Because the rest of the house had been a bust. Beyond the two toothbrushes in the bathroom, a closet full of clothes that wouldn’t have fit Bell, and several dozen banking documents with Mahsood’s name on them confirming he’d indeed lived here, they hadn’t discovered anything worthwhile. From the clothes hangers lying on the bedroom floor and dresser drawers half open, it looked like Mahsood had recently packed a bag and left in a hurry.
“It’s as good a guess as any,” Tate said. “Ultimately, it doesn’t matter. While I’m fairly confident we’re right about Mahsood being the real target here, nothing we’ve found tonight gets us any closer to him or Bell’s killer. For all we know, Mahsood may have already left the country. He has a history of doing that. Plus, with Bell gone, I can’t imagine where else a man like Mahsood could be hiding. He’s a doctor, not a spy. He doesn’t have the training to stay off the radar and survive for long.”
“Any chance he’s getting help from Rebecca?” Chase asked. “You said Mahsood has been on her payroll for a while.”
“Maybe.” Tate said. “He’s being hunted for damn sure, so it would make sense that he’d turn to the woman who’s been paying the bills for all these years. Hell, if it wasn’t for his relationship with Bell, I would have said that’s why Mahsood came back to Maine. Something doesn’t feel right about this.”
Tate did a double take when he reached the basement. The place wasn’t some kind of dank hole in the ground used for storing Christmas decorations and old magazines nobody had the heart to get rid of. Disappointingly, it also wasn’t any kind of hybrid lab either. There wasn’t a holding cell, hospital gurney, or tray of evil gleaming medical equipment in sight. Instead, Bell’s basement was a tidy office space. The walls were lined with metal shelving units filled with file boxes while an expensive desk and computer occupied the center of the room alongside a long table.
“What do you mean, doesn’t feel right?” Chase asked, glancing around.
Tate shrugged. “I don’t know. It just seems to me if Rebecca was interested in taking care of him, what the hell was he doing hiding in his boyfriend’s house, living off leftovers?”
Chase seemed to consider that for a moment before nodding. “I see your point. We’re missing something here.”
“Obviously.” Tate walked over to the shelving unit nearest the computer desk and chose a heavy cardboard box at random. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and something in one of these boxes will help us figure out what we’re missing.”
“Wouldn’t it be a better idea to check out the computer first?”
Tate set the box on the desk and took off the lid. “Probably, but I don’t have the first clue how to hack a computer. How about you?”
Chase lifted a brow. “You’re kidding, right? I don’t even have a password on my computer at home because I can never remember it.”
“That’s why I always write mine down,” Tate agreed, pulling out his phone. “I’ll have the intel people back in DC hack into it from their end while we dig through these boxes.”
The cop walked over and selected a box. “If we open up the first few of these boxes and find nothing but old tax records, I’m going home, and you can find your own way back to the hotel.”
But they didn’t find old tax records. Instead, they discovered a good portion of Mahsood’s adult life chronicled in photos, newspaper articles, awards, personal letters, and lab journals. The stuff led them on a convoluted journey as a man with a promising medical career decided to create monsters for money for no other reason than because he could. Tate understood Bell and Mahsood had been involved, but he couldn’t understand why Bell would keep crap like this in his basement. If anyone had ever seen it, somebody would be going to jail. Or losing their medical license at least.
“Damn. You have to look at this,” Chase said from where he sat on the other end of the table, folders scattered everywhere. “I did not see this coming.”
Tate pushed his chair back and walked over to Chase’s side of the table. While he’d focused his attention on the past ten years of Mahsood’s life, the deputy had been sorting through the stuff from his college days.
Chase held up a picture that stopped Tate in his tracks. At first, he thought he was looking at Ashley, but then he realized it was a very young Rebecca Brannon cuddled in the arms of an equally young Mahsood. The doctor’s jet-black hair was longer than it was now, and he had his shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest to show off several gold necklaces.
“Yup, Mahsood and Rebecca used to be a thing,” Chase said with a laugh. “Pretty serious based on the number of photos in here.”
Tate took the picture, looking more closely at it. Rebecca and Mahsood were leaning against the railing of an outdoor deck. The fancy house it was connected to was just visible to one side while the blue-green water of a sun-dappled lake comprised the rest of the background.
“Any idea how long they were an item?” he asked Chase.
The cop motioned at the folders on the table. “Maybe four or five years, most of it while they were in college. There are lots of pictures of them at that house, wherever that might be. It seems the relationship ended when they were both in their midtwenties.”
Tate thought abou
t that for a moment. “If I remember right, that’d be about the time Rebecca went into politics.”
“Hmm. So Mahsood was good enough for a college fling but a liability when it came to a political career?”
“Probably,” Tate agreed. “Twenty-five years ago, I don’t think people would be so accepting of their differences.”
Chase grunted and jerked his chin at the medical journals Tate had been reading. “Anything good on your side of the table?”
“Depends on your definition of good.” Tate reached across and picked up the journal he’d been skimming. “On the bright side, Mahsood kept meticulous notes. Unfortunately, that means I’ve been reading page after page of exactly how he experimented on Ashley and everyone else he managed to get his hands on.”
Chase’s face twisted. “When did it start? On Ashley, I mean.”
“When she was fourteen.”
Tate leaned back on the table and flipped through a few pages. He couldn’t believe someone would write all this depraved shit down. It was like Mahsood thought it was completely normal.
“Rebecca ran off to Europe when she got pregnant with Ashley, and Mahsood never mentioned a father in here, so I have no idea who he is,” Tate said, forcing down the sour taste in his throat. “She hid Ashley with some loyal family servants, and for a while, that was the end of it. But when Ashley turned fourteen, the couple made the mistake of mentioning she was special. Rebecca took her away from the couple and had her thrown into the mental institution. Let’s just say Mahsood was excited to have the opportunity to study something so completely new and different. According to this journal, he was also thrilled to be back in Rebecca’s life and have her unlimited financial backing to do anything he wanted. And he definitely did anything he wanted.”
Chase shook his head. “Did Rebecca have any idea what he was doing?”
Tate flipped a few more pages until he got to a photo of Mahsood and Rebecca at the institution. “If what Mahsood wrote in here is true, they had frequent meetings to discuss his progress, especially in the past few years when he was developing his hybrid serum.”
“Good to see she overcame her concerns about their ethnic differences so they could work together again,” Chase said sarcastically.
Tate snorted. He wouldn’t be surprised if the two of them sat on the deck of the lake house in the photo Chase had shown him sipping wine and discussing how to experiment on Ashley next.
“So, what now?” Chase asked.
Tate had been thinking about that himself. Maybe he could figure out how to get this data to Kendra and the other DCO analysts they trusted while at the same time keeping it away from Rebecca. He opened his mouth to say as much to Chase—without mentioning the DCO of course—when a creak on the stairs stopped him cold. He and Chase both pulled their weapons just as Ashley appeared on the steps, eyes glowing yellow-green and small fangs partially extended.
Tate held up his free hand in a placating gesture and holstered his weapon. Beside him, Chase lowered his gun but didn’t put it away.
Tate didn’t know Ashley well, but she was looking a little rough around the edges. Her long, curly dark hair fell wildly around her shoulders. The jeans and sweater she wore were scuffed and ragged in places, and her tennis shoes looked like they were about to fall apart. She seemed tired, too, like she’d been on the go for a while. It took a lot to wear out a shifter, so if she truly was exhausted, that meant she’d been pushing for a while. Maybe since escaping the mental institution.
On the bright side, she wasn’t soaked in Bell’s blood. She could have washed it off, he guessed. Then again, washing blood off her clothes didn’t seem like something Ashley would care about.
“It’s okay, Ashley,” he said softly. He needed to calm the coyote shifter before things went bad. “No one is going to hurt you.”
She tilted her head to the side and regarded him thoughtfully. “Where’s the doctor?”
“Bell or Mahsood?” Chase asked.
Ashley turned her gaze on the deputy, eyeing him like something she scraped off her shoe before letting out a low growl. Flashing fangs in public wasn’t something most shifters did very often, but apparently, she hadn’t gotten the memo.
“Mahsood,” she sneered. “Where is he?”
“We think he left a couple of hours ago,” Tate said. “We’re not sure where he is. Any chance he’s running from you?”
Tate wanted to keep her talking long enough in the hope that she’d retract her fangs. Then maybe they could think about capturing her somehow. But the moment he said they didn’t know where Mahsood was, Ashley’s interest in both of them flipped off like a light switch. One moment, she was standing tense and ready on the steps; the next, she was up the stairs and through the door that led to the kitchen.
Even though Tate knew there was no way in hell they could catch her, he raced after Ashley anyway, Chase at his heels.
“Holy crap,” Chase said breathlessly when they both pulled up after sprinting a few hundred yards through the trees, watching as Ashley bounded off silently into the darkness like a ghost on nitrous oxide. “How fast can these damn shifters run?”
Tate leaned over with his hands on his thighs, catching his breath. “Faster than we can, obviously. Makes me wish I still had my shifter partner. You’re worthless.”
Chase grunted, falling into step beside Tate as he started back toward the house. “I can definitely see how a shifter partner might come in handy. Makes me wonder what the hell you added to the team.”
Tate chuckled. “Me? I was the brains of the operation.”
The deputy shook his head. “I’m not doing anything with that one. It would be too easy. So, what’s the plan now that our best suspect left us staring at her butt as she ran us into the dirt?”
Tate let out another laugh. He seriously needed to get Landon to recruit Chase for the DCO, because he definitely wouldn’t mind working with the guy again. Considering the fact that the deputy was almost certainly going to get fired from the sheriff’s department, Chase would need it.
“First, we need to get all those photos we found scanned and sent out to an intel analyst back at my office,” Tate said. He considered taking pictures with his phone and emailing them, but there were way too damn many for that. “You know where there’s a FedEx or UPS store around here?”
Chase looked at him like he was crazy. “At this time of night? Are you kidding me? Nothing is going to be open.”
Tate scowled and climbed over a fallen tree. “I didn’t ask if they were open. I asked if you know where one is.”
Chase muttered something about losing his job for sure after tonight.
“Come on,” Tate cajoled. “How hard can it be? You’re wearing a uniform.”
“Yeah, I am,” Chase said. “Which will make it much easier to ID me in the lineup tomorrow.”
Chapter 11
Zarina was exhausted—mentally and physically—by the time she finished surgery on the three preppers a few hours later, but as she slowly walked toward the cabin she and Tanner shared, she knew the night wasn’t over. He would almost certainly be waiting for her, and when she walked in, the argument would start up all over again. She had only a vague idea what he’d been upset about, since he hadn’t bothered to tell her before announcing he was sending her home. She didn’t know whether it was the attack on the other camp, or the gun she’d been carrying, or the fact that one of the preppers who’d been injured was a woman. If she knew him, it was a combination of all three.
Fortunately, Zarina had been able to put thoughts of arguing with Tanner out of her mind long enough to deal with her patients. The two men who’d been shot would be on their feet in a matter of days, while the ones who’d been darted with tranquilizers would be up and moving by morning. The girl, on the other hand, was probably going to be flat on her back for at least a month. She’d nearly bled out
from a small nick on the right thoracoacromial artery in her shoulder. If it wasn’t for the fact that there were three people in camp with O negative blood, which was compatible with all other blood types, the woman would have died.
Zarina stopped outside the door of the cabin, wondering if maybe she should sleep somewhere else for what was left of the night. While that was tempting, it was also pointless. She and Tanner needed to talk. Before he tried to bundle her up in a sleeping bag and drag her off to the airport.
Opening the door, she stepped inside, then quietly closed it behind her. Tanner was sitting on the floor on the far side of the cabin, his head back against the wall, his eyes closed. The lamp above him cast long shadows across the angular planes of his handsome face, and she wondered if he was asleep.
She was just trying to figure out whether she could climb in bed without waking him up when he opened his eyes.
“Did the girl make it?” he asked.
“Yes. It was close, but she’s out of danger for the moment.”
Tanner sighed. “That’s good.”
Zarina waited for him to say something else, but instead, he closed his eyes and rested his head again. Hoping that meant he was too tired to argue—she knew she certainly was—she crossed the small cabin and sat on the corner of the bed. She would have preferred sitting on the floor next to Tanner, but she wasn’t sure that was a good idea. Being so near him made it difficult to think straight, and she needed a clear head right now.
As much as she’d rather not bring up the subject, it looked like she was going to have to be the one to do it. Taking a deep breath, she opened her mouth to tell him she wouldn’t be leaving in the morning no matter how much he yelled and threatened, but Tanner spoke before she could say anything.
“I’m sorry for berating you about having a gun earlier,” he said without opening his eyes. “And for suggesting you don’t have the same right to fight for the people you care about that I do. And while I’m busy apologizing, I guess I might as well say I’m sorry for being such an ass about constantly trying to send you home to DC.”
