by Vicki Hinze
Chapter Ten
Carnel Cove, Florida Sunday, August 4
“Conlee sent you to kill me?”
So much for blindsiding her. Hovering against the wall just outside her bedroom door, Max stifled a curse with a frown, and walked inside.
His footfalls echoed on the hardwood floor and he was still dripping water. It had taken almost twenty-four hours to get here, and thanks to Hurricane Darla, he’d spent most of that time out in the rain, fighting squalls in destruction that resembled a war zone.
Stopping just inside the door, he opened his senses to impressions. Spartan, slick dresser tops, bare walls. Unadorned and hollow. Empty. Everything about the room shouted to stay out and not to bother to look for clues on its owner; everything except the bed. It dared him to look away. So did the woman in it.
Gabby lay pale and nearly lost in its rumpled middle, bathed in the shimmering light from a slender candle in a copper holder on the nightstand. The bronze coverlet and a half-dozen pillows had been tossed aside, but she rested against a mountain more of them. Some were square, some round, and they were all deep jewel-toned, rich fabrics. Even the sheets were a shiny bronze silk—no Egyptian cotton for her—and she had pulled the top sheet up over her chest. Still, a scrap of ivory lace from her gown peeked out from under the sheet’s scalloped edge, and seeing her, looking sultry and sexy, had him attracted tenfold.
“I asked you a question, Max. Did Conlee send you to kill me?”
Her hair was damp and the sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead, but it wasn’t sleep that glazed her green eyes.
She had been waiting for him.
And not for the first time, Max hated his job and just maybe himself. But for the luck of the draw, he would be lying in her bed and she would be standing at the foot of it with a .38 tucked into her shoulder holster that held a bullet bearing his name. “Yes, Gabby. Conlee activated me and ordered me to kill you.”
She blinked hard. Once. Swallowed. “Well, then. I guess that’s that.” Her questioning look faded.
“I’m—sorry.” Lame. Totally lame.
“I know, Max.” The empathy in her eyes proved she did. “I felt sure Conlee would refuse to activate you and send someone else—a non-friend, you know? But to tell you the truth, I’m glad he didn’t. I would have missed this chance to say good-bye.” She patted the covers smooth beside her hip. “Sit for a moment and talk with me.”
Did she think he had the emotions of a stone? They were partners and friends. How could she expect him to sit down, converse with her, and then put a bullet through her skull?
Swallowing what felt like an elephant parked in his throat, he reminded himself that Gabby was the consummate professional who slid in and out of identities with the ease snakes shed skins. Canceling her was part of the job. She didn’t expect Max to be made of stone. It wouldn’t occur to her that he wasn’t. “I don’t think a chat is a good idea. Maybe you’re reconciled to this, but I haven’t had much time to adjust.”
“Sorry.” Her tone turned matter-of-fact. “Your adjustment is low priority. I’m going to be dead and, comparatively speaking, a few minutes of your time isn’t asking for too much.”
A cold chill sank into his bones. On the surface, her calm and courage seemed unnatural—and it would have been for other women. But Gabby was nothing like other women. He checked his watch for emotional distance. The numerals looked an eerie green. Eleven P.M.
Gabby picked up on the obvious stall. “If you’re going to be a smart-ass about this, I could pull rank on you, or remind you that you wanted me to activate you. I could even play on your emotions by reminding you that we’re friends.” She shut an open book beside her, and set it on the nightstand next to her gun.
Wuthering Heights and a .38 Smith & Wesson. Uniquely Gabby. Her comments had the intended impact. Killing her would haunt him either way, and she was making the ultimate sacrifice. He should try to make it easier for her. She would appreciate the effort and maybe later he’d find some solace in it. “Underhanded tactics aren’t your style.”
“No one knows my style, Max. Not even you.” She looked up. “Maybe not even me.”
Max knew more about her than most. From her dossier, he knew Conlee had recruited her six years ago from Air Force Special Operations, where she had already earned a chest full of medals for distinguished service and an impressive array of covert ops successes. No one doubted she had guts and grit; Gabby was focused, deliberately distant, and determined to succeed on all fronts, at all times, and at any costs. She could convincingly be anyone she chose to be—a doctor, a mercenary, and now, a judge—which was vital in covert operations. From five years’ firsthand experience, Max knew that she was independent, sharp-tongued, abrupt, critical, less than diplomatic within the unit, and that she conducted even the never-discussed, dark-underbelly parts of her job without qualm.
Because on occasions like this one Max did have qualms, he hated and admired her for that. Nerves of steel rated as an asset only when they didn’t get you killed. So what was this “chat with me” business about? “What are you doing, Gabby?”
“Thinking about my life.” She blinked slowly, held his gaze. “Do you think I don’t know what they say about me in the unit, Max? I’ve always known. Half of them think I suffer from multiple-personality disorder. What else could explain how easily I juggle identities and diverse roles? And because I’m disciplined, the other half is convinced I’m some kind of freaky secret weapon—the result of some advanced robotics experiment, and not human at all.” She let out a self-depreciating grunt. “I’m dying alone, misunderstood, and it pisses me off.”
That confession tugged at his heart. “Well, to be honest, honey, you’ve never exactly tried to disabuse anyone of those ideas.” He congratulated himself for that bit of diplomacy. At every opportunity, Gabby had deliberately fed the rumors.
“I couldn’t. Not and do my job.” She rolled her gaze toward the ceiling. “I’m getting maudlin. It’s disgusting.” She grabbed a long-neck bottle of beer from the bedside, kicked back a long draw, and shed her resentment. “Come on. Sit,” she said, reclaiming a flicker of sass. “I know you’re soaking wet and you don’t want to, but I’m the one who’ll die tonight.” She scooted over on the bed to make room. “Indulge me.”
How could he refuse? Resigned, Max sat down on the edge of the bed, hitched his slacks on his thighs, and then braced the flats of his arms on his knees. “What do you want?”
“Oh, baby. What a loaded question.” She sighed, slumped back against the pillows and headboard, and closed her eyes. “What I want has been the million-dollar question all my life.”
Regret had stolen into her voice. He pretended not to notice, stared at the candle’s flame, and wished Hurricane Darla hadn’t knocked out the power. Gabby’s windows were all closed—no doubt to prevent anyone from sneaking in on her—and it was hotter than hell in her house.
But more than the steamy heat, she troubled him. This woman wasn’t acting like Gabby. In the soft candlelight, she didn’t look like Gabby, either. She had Gabby’s exquisite looks, her deep and sultry voice, but where was her arrogance, her razor-sharp tongue? She was always at her bitchiest under pressure—bitchy and flirtatious. But both were absent now, and while he wouldn’t venture so far as to say this woman looked vulnerable, she looked … soft.
Even at her most relaxed Gabby had never looked soft. It fascinated him.
“When push comes to shove—and I’d say we’re there, Max—what I want doesn’t matter anymore.” She swept at her damp hair. It sprang right back down onto her forehead. “So, it’s on to business. There are a few things I didn’t report.”
An understatement if ever he’d heard one. “Things like the dead man in your garage?”
“That would be one of them, yes,” she said. “I couldn’t get him out because of the hurricane, but I left the body where you couldn’t possibly miss it.” She shrugged. “There was no sense in Housekeeping making two t
rips. One for him and one for me.”
“Is he why you activated me?”
“He could be,” she admitted, clearly uncertain. “His three passports and two visas are all valid but issued under bogus names.”
“Who is he?” Identifying him in the dark had been impossible, and Max hadn’t dared to use a flashlight while operating under Commander Conlee’s “blindside her” order.
“Jaris Adahan.”
A Global Warrior on the SDU watch list. Oh, this was definitely not good.
“The problem is …” Gabby reclaimed his attention. “I’m not sure if he came after me because I’m SDU or because I’m a judge here investigating the judicial corruption cases.”
That complicated the issue. “So your cover might or might not be compromised.”
“Exactly.” She smiled. “And that’s why I activated you, Max.”
And why she had insisted he be able to extricate or eliminate her. He walked to the foot of the bed. “Do you have a reasonable explanation for Candace Burke giving you lab access?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
He stuffed a hand into his slacks pocket. “Would you care to share it?”
“It’s complex,” she warned him, the candlelight flickering in her eyes. “Didn’t Commander Conlee tell you about the ladies of Carnel Cove?”
“Only that they were safe.”
She digested that with a slow nod. “Then let’s leave it there.”
“Let’s not.” Droplets of water dripped from his hair down his face.
“Like I said, Max. It’s complicated.”
He pointed toward the adjoining bath. “Mind if I grab a towel? I’m more than a little wet. Doing a number on your sheets.” He was soaked to the skin and had been most of the twenty-four hours it had taken him to get here.
“Just be sure to take it with you when you leave. Evidence, you know?”
“I know.” She was insulting his competence. He knew his job. “Go ahead with your complicated explanation. I’ll do my best to keep up.”
If she caught his sarcasm, she ignored it. “Mayor Faulkner has a zero-tolerance policy against crime that no one questions, including Sheriff Jackson Coulter. Most Carnel Covers moved here to get away from crime. In practical terms, that’s significant. You can’t report suspicions of criminal activity to any local authority without everyone in the Cove knowing it—including, unfortunately, those who might be involved in the criminal activity.”
“Candace suspects some of the local authorities are involved in criminal activity.” Max rubbed the water out of his hair.
“Yes. And she’s confided them to me.”
Max slung the towel around his neck. “Because you’re an outsider.”
“Because Judge Powell vouched for me. Candace’s best friend is Elizabeth Powell.”
Judge Powell’s widow. “Did EEE really kill him within forty-eight hours?”
“He died within forty-eight hours, but that’s not the most interesting fact in the incident.” Gabby sat up, cross-legged. “According to Candace, William was in New York in February. He was at the Grand Hotel when the elevator incident happened.”
Max suddenly stopped mopping at his face with the towel. “Conlee doesn’t know this?”
“There’s no evidence Powell was infected there,” Gabby said. “But Elizabeth told Candace that if William hadn’t forgotten his wallet and gone back to his room to get it, he would have been on that elevator. He was sure the incident had been a terrorist attack, so he bugged out and returned to the Cove. Then he went up to Judge Abernathy’s fishing camp.”
“The same judge you’re investigating for Global Warrior corruption?”
“We’re investigating, Max,” she corrected him. “And, yes, he’s the same man. Twenty-four hours after this visit to the fishing camp with Abernathy, Judge Powell died.”
Something tingled low in Max’s gut. “You think the eight people on the elevator were collateral damage. That Powell was the target.”
Again she nodded. “He went up there for a meeting, but even Elizabeth doesn’t know with whom or for what purpose.”
“So Judge Powell didn’t contract EEE in Carnel Cove.”
“Apparently, he did,” Gabby disputed him. “Candace photographed three mosquito bites on the back of his neck. She pulled blood, hair, and skin scrapings on him, too.”
“Without him knowing it?”
“He told her to do it, and to bring them all to me. That’s why Candace gave me access to the lab. To run preliminary tests on the samples.”
So Judge Powell had been Gabby’s in-house contact on the corruption investigation. He knew she had been planted to investigate, though Max felt sure Powell had thought she worked for the Justice Department and not SDU. “I assume you’ve done that.”
“Some of them. I only recently got the samples.”
“Conlee told me. Candace and Elizabeth wanted to be sure they could trust you.”
“They’re not paranoid. Caution is a necessary evil here.” Gabby stiffened and forced herself to look at Max. “William Powell did die from EEE, Max.” Worry flooded her eyes. “But it was EEE laced with the same accelerant we found in the New York elevator cases.”
Max’s blood ran cold. “You’re positive it’s Z-4027?”
She nodded. “I checked twice.”
A pit dropped open in Max’s stomach. The superbug was definitely on the loose in the U.S. “Son of a bitch.”
“Yeah.”
Max tossed the towel toward the bath. “So Powell was murdered.” A secondary thought hit hard. “And whoever killed him knew you were running lab tests to prove it. That’s why the Warriors targeted you.”
“Maybe, maybe not. But I have no choice except to make that assumption.”
“So SDU and your judge cover could be intact.”
“Too high-risk to consider that probable—especially with a dead Warrior in my garage.”
Commander Conlee would agree, which left Max with no choice but to cancel her. Her resigned expression proved she’d drawn the same conclusion. “Anything else unreported?”
“My evidence brings the Global Warriors center stage, Max. They’ve murdered before, and they’re about to do it again. This time, on a larger scale.”
“Who hired them?”
“That’s another million-dollar question.”
She didn’t know. Bad news all around. He turned to her. “You’re sure about this?”
“I’m not sure about the nature of the attack, but I know there’s going to be one.”
“Have you identified specific Warriors?”
“Only the one on the garage floor. But there were two here. I suspect the next attack will be in Carnel Cove or they wouldn’t have been here.”
Not two Warriors to hit one judge, or one SDU operative. “Here, where?” Carnel Cove wasn’t exactly a metropolitan area. It was a small tourist town. If not for Logan Industries and a couple of nearby military bases, it would be totally dependent on tourists.
“I don’t have a specific target, but I have a window for when.” She passed him a slip of paper, licked at her lips, and motioned for a glass of water. “According to Jaris Adahan, you’ve got five days, Max.”
The paper was an airline ticket from Atlanta to London for next Friday. The attack would be before his departure. Max had five days to fill in the blanks. Not much time to discover, much less to protect and prevent an attack. He filled the glass on the nightstand, and then passed the water to her. “Individuals or mass?” he asked, seeking her best guess on the number of intended victims. Gabby’s best guess often had proven more accurate than Intel’s, even with all their high-tech gear and inside sources.
“According to my anonymous tipster, mass.” Pity filled her eyes. “Hundreds. Maybe more.” She tugged at the strap of her gown. “I can’t peg the nature of the attack. I’m sorry. I tried. They’ve used Z-4027 in New York and on Powell. I can’t imagine why they’d need to use it again here.
”
“New York, Powell, and only God knows on how many were misdiagnosed as EEE.”
A frown creased the skin between her brows. “They’ve most likely black marketed it already, Max. You do realize that.”
“Yeah. The worst of it, aside from what they’re going to do next, is that—”
“Makes tracking the evidence on the Independence Day attacks next to impossible.”
“Anyone could have bought the bug and used it by now. Maybe even multiple parties.”
She agreed. “Dr. Richardson still hasn’t determined definitively that those were attacks and not natural occurrences.”
That remark was a test. Max knew it, and responded to it. “They were attacks, Gabby. Proving it is one thing, but we know it.”
“Yes, we do.” She looked relieved that he hadn’t disappointed her.
“So do you think they’re testing something else now, or broadening sales of Z-4027?”
“I have no idea,” she said. “It could be either—especially considering the nature of the Independence Day attacks. They did as much crop destruction as harm to human beings.”
She had no idea, and he’d be left to try to untangle this mess without her insights and stop an attack scheduled for sometime during the next five days.
The news kept getting worse and worse. The country was still struggling to heal from the World Trade Center and Pentagon attacks. For that reason, SDU overt affiliates hadn’t disclosed the dozens of subsequent attempted attacks it had thwarted. Another attack now, even on a smaller scale, was the last thing Americans needed. “Where’s the evidence?”
“Tucked away.” She drank thirstily, then handed the glass back to him.
So she had succumbed, conceding her personal superiority and joining the rest of the mere mortal operatives. The legendary Gabby Kincaid would bargain the evidence for her life.
“You can stop looking so worried, Max. You won’t have to torture me to get it.” An almost amused lilt lifted her voice. “God, you look guilty. You thought I wanted to cut a deal.”
