by Vicki Hinze
He dragged a frustrated hand across his jaw. The stubble ruffled under his fingertips. “All I know is the fight is worth fighting, so I fight it. That’s all I know, Gabby. It’s worth fighting, and that’s enough.”
“Don’t you dare be logical,” she snarled. “I’m pissed to the gills. I don’t want logic.”
He finger-brushed her hair off her face. “Then what you do want?”
“A little righteous indignation. A little outrage that we’re the good guys and we’re getting our asses kicked—again. I want you to fight back, Max, so I can unload.”
“Thanks, but I’ll pass. Yelling at you won’t help. We’re stuck with reacting to others’ actions when they get out of line. That’s the way it is. Want anything else?”
She laid a frown on him that would scare Gibson out of his skin. “I don’t like you when you won’t fight with me. It ticks me off.”
“Honey, that’s when you like me best.”
She jutted out her jaw but didn’t deny it. The anger drained from her eyes and despair replaced it. “I—I think I want to be held. I want you to just be there beside me and hold me, Max.” Her voice thinned to a faint whisper, sounding more vulnerable than he would have believed possible. “Candace has been good to me. I don’t want her to die. I don’t want Keith to go through the hell of failing to save her. I—I don’t want to lose anymore, Max.” Pain riddled her eyes. “I’m already losing everything—Sybil, you, Westford, my life. I should have some kind of immunity from anything else bad happening that hurts me.”
A thump in his chest felt like a hammer swing. He circled her slender shoulder and pulled her close. “It doesn’t work that way, honey.” He kissed her crown. “If I could force it to, I would.” Was that like harnessing the universe for her? Probably not. But it was the truth.
“Thank you, Max.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, leaned into the hug. “I’m tired. So tired and frustrated, and I hurt from the bone out. Candace trusted me, and I failed to protect her. My best wasn’t good enough. When it most mattered, I failed. It’s almost a blessing that I won’t have to live long knowing that.”
She actually believed that tripe. Angry, he pulled back, stared down into Gabby’s upturned face. “Oh, so you threw the rocks that broke the tanks and set the mosquitoes loose?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Well, that’s the only way you could be responsible for what’s happened.”
“You know what I mean, Max.” Gabby lifted a hand. “Candace called me for help and I didn’t protect her. Now, she’s almost certainly going to die.”
He did know what she meant, and he admired her sense of duty and responsibility. But this was too far over the line. He curled her neck, pulled her head back against his chest. “You can’t protect the entire world, honey. I know now how hard you try, but that’s beyond the stomping grounds of mere mortals.”
“I’m a mere mortal. Got it.” She swung an arm across his stomach, let it fall limp, her hand on his ribs. “I’ll try to remember.”
He sighed, lifting her with him. “You could stop trying to pick a fight and lay off the sarcasm. That would suit me just fine. We’ve got enough to deal with without your attitude.”
That had her pausing. “Okay.” She snuggled closer to him, parked her head on his chest, over his heart. “I guess we do.”
Keith walked out of the bedroom. Gabby caught a sharp breath, pulled away and straightened. “Is she—?”
“She’s alive,” he said quickly. “It’s been thirty minutes. If she were going to die from the injection, it would have happened by now.”
“Does that mean it works?” Max asked, worried for Candace and Gabby.
“No, it just means it didn’t kill her.”
That revelation clearly took a load off Keith’s shoulders, though strain and worry still shone on his face.
“Did you mean what you said in there?” Gabby asked Keith. “That you’d be here with her until she didn’t need you anymore?”
“Yes, of course.” He stepped closer, leaned a hip against the bar. “I’ve called for some medical equipment I might need. She doesn’t want to go to the hospital.”
“Either way?”
“Either way, Gabby. If it can be done for her, I’ll do it here.”
He had just enough resolve in his eyes to prove he’d harness the universe for her, just like Westford would for Sybil. Max wondered what that kind of love would be like. He stole a sideward glance at Gabby. From the hunger in her expression, she wondered, too.
Keith moved to Gabby, and dread filled his eyes. “You’re infected, too.” When she said she was fine, he shifted to Max. “What about you?”
“I had protection.” He nodded toward the gear he had worn during his trek to Carnel Cove that now sat in a folded stack on the opposite sofa.
Working with the Department of Defense, Keith obviously recognized the gear for what it was, but he also knew enough not to ask questions. “Good.”
Relieved, Max intervened. “Would you take a look at Gabby anyway, Doc?” Max ignored her killer glare.
“I said I’m fine,” she insisted. “And I’m quite capable of talking for myself.”
“Yes, dear.” Max gave her an indulgent look, and then turned a you-know-women look on Keith.
He smiled at Gabby. “Since I’m here, would it be okay? In the interest of science,” he added. “The trial studies on the vaccine haven’t been done on humans.”
Her nose out of joint, she shrugged. “All right. In the interest of science.”
He examined her, and his expression grew dark, then darker. Finally, he draped the stethoscope around the back of his neck. “Your respiration is off.”
“I’ve got all the symptoms.” She lifted her chin. “You don’t have to soft-pedal it, Keith. I know I’ve got the Z-4027 infection.”
“But your condition isn’t as critical as Candace’s. I’m not seeing the usual fatal warnings.” He checked her respiration rate again. “Were you bitten a long time after she was?”
“Minutes at most.” Gabby shrugged. “But I don’t have anywhere near as many bites.”
“I don’t want to give you the injection unless we have no choice,” he said. “It’s too risky. I do want you to go home and rest. Drink lots of fluids and watch your temperature. If you see a sudden spike, or your head starts aching—Max, you come get me.”
“You’ll be here with Candace the whole time?” Gabby asked again.
She’d just asked him that. Perplexed, Max looked at her. By her expression, Gabby honestly didn’t realize she was repeating herself.
Keith, however, did. He shot Max a warning, then pivoted his gaze to Gabby. “I’m not leaving her.” Nodding toward the bedroom, he offered Gabby a hand to get up. “Why don’t you go tell Candace good night and then get some rest? With luck, this infection won’t knock you to your knees. It doesn’t everyone.”
“It has a seventy-eight percent mortality rate and in multiple doses, a hundred percent. I told you not to soft-pedal to me.”
He frowned. “How do you know about this?”
“Does it really matter? Soon, I’ll be dead.”
Torn between letting it go and pushing, he glanced at the stack of Max’s gear, and understanding dawned in his eyes. Max and Gabby were a team.
Without another word, Gabby went into the bedroom. When Max could no longer see her, he claimed Keith’s attention. “Don’t ask anything. Nothing.”
Keith grasped Max’s message. Ask, and you admit knowledge. Admit knowledge and you’re a threat to national security. And threats to national security must be dispensed. He didn’t respond or even nod.
Satisfied, Max returned to Gabby’s health. “She repeated herself. Did you notice?”
This time, Keith did nod. “Memory lapses are consistent with the symptoms of infection, Max.” He let Max see his empathy. “She’s right about her odds. You need to prepare yourself.”
“Can’t you give her t
he vaccine before she gets worse?”
“Not without risking killing her. I don’t want that on my head, do you?”
Max didn’t. He pushed past his personal reaction to his professional one. He needed her memories—her briefing—before he could do what he had been ordered to do. Otherwise, he would be fighting an undeclared war in Carnel Cove without her knowledge and insights, or her evidence. He couldn’t win that war, and a lot of innocent people would die. “No, I don’t. But her memory is vital.”
“Her life is more vital.”
To Max, yes. But he seriously doubted Commander Conlee would agree.
Gabby’s home was nothing like the woman she had shown him. It had been decorated by a pro, but seemed sparse, clean-lined, and totally at odds with the warmth of her bedroom. The living room lacked any personal touches other than a gold gavel that was clearly a prop for her cover. No magazines littered the table. The library, adjoining the living room, was stacked to the rafters with law books. All looked well used, and that too, Max knew, was a prop. Just as his clothes in the bedroom closet had been placed there with no expectation of ever being worn. They at least had proven useful. Gabby had been here for seven months, but there were no insights to the woman in the whole house. Nothing personal, nothing uniquely Gabby—except a photo of the two of them. A wedding photo.
They hadn’t been together when it had been made. The photographer had inserted them on a computer program of another couple. Sad testimony that it was, it was as real as Max got to having a family.
Gabby lay stretched out on the sofa, her knees curled to her chest. “Max?”
“Yeah.” He sat a glass of lukewarm juice on the coffee table beside her. The power was still out, and she’d lit candles on the fireplace’s mantel and on the sofa tables. Though the room had pockets of warm glows, it also had long deep shadows that made him want to prowl and keep watch. She seemed to have forgotten the dead Global Warrior in her garage, but Max hadn’t. At this point, however, that was just another item on his worry list.
“I think the commander has wigged out on us.” She punched a throw pillow tucked under her head. “We know some of the infected mosquitoes got out of the lab. We can’t deliberately expose all of Carnel Cove to Z-4027. We’ve got to warn somebody.”
“Conlee knows.”
“But he’s not doing anything.” She stiffened her neck, cranked back her head. “Call him, Max. Tell him that he can’t just bury this and not tell the locals. Use guilt, threats, whatever, but get him to warn them.”
“Is the phone secure?”
“It was. With the Warriors here, I don’t know. I didn’t risk it and there hasn’t been time to run a check on it.”
“I’ll do it, and then call Conlee.” Max went outside to the box where the line came into the house, ran the check, and then checked all the phones inside. The Warriors hadn’t touched the line. That was both bad and good news. It meant they hadn’t been interested in taps. They’d only been interested in murder.
It also meant that it was possible Gabby had been marked merely as a judge sticking her nose into cases that they wanted left alone and they knew nothing more about her than that.
The house was stifling hot. But with that second Warrior on the loose, Max didn’t dare to open a window. He returned to Gabby. She half-sat with her knees curled up, sipping at her juice. “All clear.”
“Make the call, then.” She set her glass back down on the table. Sweltering, it left a water ring that splashed.
Max picked up the phone and dialed. When the commander came on the line, Max point-blank asked: “The lab wasn’t contained. We have no idea how many infected mosquitoes escaped into the populace. How do you want us to go about notifying the locals?”
“I don’t.”
“Commander, we can’t—”
“I have no choice, Max.” Frustration starched his voice. “If we notify Mayor Faulkner, he’s obligated to contact the CDC. The media will get involved, for Christ’s sake.”
How the Centers for Disease Control translated to media contact, Max wasn’t sure, but Conlee was convinced it was a direct line. “The word needs to get out or people here are going to start dying, Commander.”
“Word gets out and we’ve got serious problems with the discovery process. Even more people will die. Many more people will die.”
That would drive the Warriors underground, making it even more difficult, if not impossible, to discover why they were here, why they had attacked the lab, if in fact they had attacked the lab, and why they wanted to kill Gabby. “Then what do we do? Are you saying we sacrifice the lives of local civilians without lifting a finger to help them?”
“I’m saying mosquitoes don’t travel far. They’ll be contained in the immediate vicinity of the lab. If we can keep that area clear, we’ll be okay.”
“With all due respect, you’re wrong, sir,” Max said, feeling his temper heat. “There’s just been a hurricane here. Everything is a mess, and the wildlife is stirred up. The mosquitoes will feed off birds in the immediate area, but the birds won’t necessarily stay there. They’ll be infected and they will definitely infect other species. Isolation will not work.”
“That’s not what I’m hearing from Dr. Richardson.”
“He’s wrong. This is a Z-4027 infection. It’s hot and it’s loose. Think EEE, only a hundredfold worse. That’s what you’re looking at, Commander. It’ll wipe out Carnel Cove and start spreading outward from there, taking out everyone crossing its path. If you doubt it, I suggest you read Dr. Erickson’s notes thoroughly.” Conlee had hired Erickson because he was an expert on EEE, light years ahead of anyone else in his research. “I read his overviews on the ride down here. He doesn’t mince words. Isolation will not work. You do nothing, and within weeks, Carnel Cove will be wiped out. Within months—”
“Okay. You’ve made your case.” Conlee paused, then continued. “Notify no one just yet. I need a little time to reconsider strategy. You’re certain dissemination from the lab has been halted, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay. Follow your initial orders and check back with me in two hours.”
Max checked his watch. Two hours. Four-thirty A.M. “As soon as we complete the debrief, sir.” Conlee was ordering Max to move ahead on canceling Gabby. Max had to make it clear that the debrief information was vital enough to warrant waiting.
“Fine. But do it at the lab,” Conlee said. The phone line crackled and hissed, a familiar sound when the security scrambler cycled. “Hurricane damage is slowing us down on getting to the scene with backup. Whoever caused the first attack could launch another. If they do, I want you in that lab, ready for them.”
“Yes, sir.” Max put the receiver down.
Gabby grunted from the sofa, obviously hauling herself upright. “I take it I have a short stay of execution.”
“A short one.” He swung around to look at her. The candlelight flames shone in her eyes. “Are you in pain?”
“Compared to the wall, it’s nothing.”
“The wall?”
“Two missions ago, remember? When that jerk, Ambrose, had his goons mortar me in behind that concrete wall and I had to bust my way out.”
Max remembered. She’d been missing for three days. The veep and Conlee were nuts. He had been more afraid than ever before in his life. Afraid and desolate.
“That was sore. This is … annoying.” She swung her legs over the edge of the leather, shoved with her arms, and stood up. “So what do we do?”
“Go to the lab, prevent any second attack, and wait.”
“Wait?” Sliding into her shoes, she raised her voice a pitch. “For how long?”
Max felt that same futile feeling. “Two hours.”
“Two hours.” Gabby’s head was swimming. Not aching, but not right, either. Gauzy. Misty. Definitely not clear. But nothing that seemed life-threatening. Just … strange. Should she mention it to Max?
No, he’d overreact and get Keith. T
he vaccine hadn’t killed Candace, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t kill Gabby. Conlee was right about notification driving the Warriors underground. A nuisance, but a good call, and she had too much to figure out before she died.
Before she died.
Gabby’s throat went thick. She didn’t want to die. She didn’t have much of a life, but it was hers and she wanted to live it. She wanted to prevent the Warriors’ attack on Carnel Cove. To stop the Z-4027 infestation before others died, to kill the bastard who had caused it. She wanted to go to Spain with Sybil and Westford in September and to make love to Max long before then—maybe during and after then, too. But to live to do any of that, she had to find out why Jaris Adahan had tried to kill her.
Who had hired the dead Warrior? The one who had escaped? And, most important to her bleak future, why?
Chapter Sixteen
By three A.M., defensive measures against a second lab attack had been taken. The Z-4027-infected mosquitoes had been relocated in spare tanks Max had pulled from the supply room; Candace’s blouse had been bagged and replaced at the window with a piece of plywood Max had found down on Sublevel 2 in Maintenance, where a lot of construction seemed to be going on, and all surfaces in the lab except for the floor had been sterilized. Gabby was still working on that, sweeping the glass shards down the row of tanks into a pile on the floor near the supply room door. While she was finishing up, Max took a few more photographs of the lab from various angles and more close-up shots of the broken tanks and the placement of the rocks that had broken them.
An alarm sounded, sharp and shrill.
Max looked up at the wall-mounted security monitor. Dr. Erickson had just entered the building through the outside door. Now, he was in the hallway, approaching the lab.
“I’ll handle him, Max. No problem.” Seemingly unruffled, Gabby returned to her sweeping.
Dr. Erickson entered the lab, flustered, his windtossed hair spiked and his face furrowed. Startled, he stopped, stared gape-jawed at them. “Judge Kincaid?” He looked at the broom as if it were a foreign object and then cast a cautious glance at Max. “What are you doing here?”
