by Rita Herron
Images of Olivia flashed through Craig’s head
Then another image appeared—the attacker waiting for her when she’d arrived home, ambushing her. The Savannah Squares and graveyard whirled past. Concrete tombstones and monuments stood in rows, the symbols of death macabre in the murky gray light. The fear that Olivia might be severely injured twisted his insides.
He’d told her he’d take care of things—had promised to protect her….
But he’d failed and now someone had tried to kill her.
It seemed like an eternity, but he finally reached the street to her apartment. As soon as he reached the porch stoop, he saw her lying on the ground near the flower bed.
“Olivia, can you hear me?” Craig’s throat jammed as he knelt and checked her pulse. It was weak and thready, but she was alive….
MYSTERIOUS CIRCUMSTANCES
RITA HERRON
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Award-winning author Rita Herron wrote her first book when she was twelve, but didn’t think real people grew up to be writers. Now she writes so she doesn’t have to get a real job. A former kindergarten teacher and workshop leader, she traded her storytelling for kids for romance, and writes romantic comedies and romantic suspense. She lives in Georgia with her own romance hero and three kids. She loves to hear from readers, so please write her at P.O. Box 921225, Norcross, GA 30092-1225, or visit her Web site at www.ritaherron.com.
Books by Rita Herron
HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE
486—SEND ME A HERO
523—HER EYEWITNESS
556—FORGOTTEN LULLABY
601—SAVING HIS SON
660—SILENT SURRENDER†
689—MEMORIES OF MEGAN†
710—THE CRADLE MISSION†
741—A WARRIOR’S MISSION
755—UNDERCOVER AVENGER†
790—MIDNIGHT DISCLOSURES†
810—THE MAN FROM FALCON RIDGE
861—MYSTERIOUS CIRCUMSTANCES†
HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE
820—HIS-AND-HERS TWINS
859—HAVE GOWN, NEED GROOM*
872—HAVE BABY, NEED BEAU*
883—HAVE HUSBAND, NEED HONEYMOON*
944—THE RANCHER WORE SUITS
975—HAVE BOUQUET, NEED BOYFRIEND*
979—HAVE COWBOY, NEED CUPID*
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Olivia Thornbird—A reporter who wants to know the truth about her parents’ deaths—even if it kills her.
Special Agent Craig Horn—A tough, hard-edged FBI agent without a conscience—until he meets Olivia Thornbird.
Dr. William Thornbird—Olivia’s father died researching the strange virus killing innocent people in Savannah. But did he take the truth about the virus and his wife’s death with him to his grave?
Dr. Ruth Thornbird—Her death twenty years ago was suspicious—could it be related to the current rash of virus/suicides in Savannah?
Senator Horn—Craig’s father will do anything to protect his reputation, even keep secrets….
Dr. Hal Oberman—The Department of Public Safety’s job is to protect the public. Is Dr. Oberman protecting himself instead?
Dr. Martin Shubert—He is suffering long-term effects of the virus that killed Olivia’s mother—but was he responsible for the virus’s creation?
Dr. Fred Fulton—Thornbird’s coworker is racing against time to study the virus and create an antidote. Will he be able to do so in time to save Olivia?
DJ Dunce—A hired killer. But who is he working for, and why is he targeting Olivia?
Iskha Milaski—An internationally known terrorist, is he responsible for the virus that is being used to murder innocent people?
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
Prolo
Too many people had died already.
Ruth Thornbird had to tell someone the truth about what was going on. She’d come to this hellhole of a place hoping to help eradicate disease and had devoted her every day and night to the project, traveling to un-godly primitive areas to save lives.
But she’d been brought to Egypt under false pretenses. And three weeks into her mission, her orders had changed.
Now she was investigating a strange outbreak of an unnamed virus that was killing people in droves. A disease she suspected could have been prevented.
Worse, she also suspected innocent people were being used as test subjects without their knowledge.
Yanking the sterile gloves from her hands, she tossed them into the bin designated to collect biohazardous materials and rushed toward the small cubicle serving as her temporary office. Darkness bathed the cramped space, the desk lamp shedding the only light from a low-wattage bulb. The clock read nearly midnight. She’d purposely waited until everyone was gone so she wouldn’t get caught.
Once she phoned the proper authorities and sent them her suspicious findings, she’d ask to return stateside. As much as she wanted to help cure this disease, for the first time in her life she actually feared what she might find—that there was no cure.
And that her own government was to blame for the outbreak.
Guilt slammed into her for being a coward and wanting to run, and she hesitated, but the angelic face of her eight-year-old daughter Olivia flashed in her mind, and her fingers tightened around the handset. She desperately wanted to hug her child. To forget that horrors like this existed.
The door squeaked open behind her. She jerked around, shocked to see a man enter and move into the shadows. Her nerves on edge, she searched his face for recognition, but he wore a surgical suit and mask. The only visible part of his body—his eyes.
They stared at her with a coldness that sent a chill down her spine.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“That doesn’t matter,” he said in a low voice. “But I can’t let you leave here, Dr. Thornbird.”
The low timbre of his tone made her stomach clench. She reached for her purse, but the man vaulted forward, knocked it from her hand, then manacled her wrist. When she saw the hypodermic in his hand, her blood turned to ice.
He lifted the needle so the tip glinted in front of her face. “You know what’s in here, don’t you?”
A sob caught in her throat. She not only knew, but she’d witnessed the deadly results of its effects. The bodies she’d been studying. The horrible way the people had suffered. The inevitable death.
Her heart pounding, she kicked out at him and ran, but he caught her, jabbed the needle into her neck, and held her until a chilling ache seeped through her. Her throat closed. Her body convulsed. The horrible panic of knowing what came next sliced through her.
She slumped to the floor like a rag doll as he released her.
Her little girl’s face appeared in her mind’s eye. Sweet, precious Olivia. That beautiful angelic blond hair. Those baby-blue eyes.
She’d talked to her husband earlier. Olivia was making posters, decorating the house for her homecoming. She’d been marking the days on the calendar until she returned. Had planned a surprise party with homemade chocolate chip cookies. Her husband was even taking the day off so they could all be together.
A tear rolled down her
cheek, but she was helpless to wipe it away. Then she closed her eyes, welcoming the numbness. Regrets surfaced. She would never see her husband or baby girl again. Never hold them or kiss them good-night.
And no one would ever know the reason she’d died.
Chapter One
Fifteen years later
Olivia would find out the truth about the Savannah Suicides—even if it killed her. The local police and FBI couldn’t just bury the story, hide the details from the public and get away with it.
Not like they had when her mother had died.
Bitterness threatened to rob her calm, but she stifled it. The only way to keep the world safe was to inform the people of potential dangers.
She swung her leather shoulder bag over her arm and marched toward the building that housed her father’s office at CIRP, Coastal Island Research Park. She’d sensed he was keeping something from her the last few weeks. He’d been acting oddly secretive, distracted, had even sounded paranoid.
He’d even made some strange remarks about her mother’s death and a cover-up, which he’d never spoken of before. And she thought he was working with the feds on the suicide cases.
She’d noticed an odd rash on two of the victims’ bodies at the crime scene and had spotted that federal agent, Craig Horn, leaving her father’s office at least twice. She’d finally put two and two together. But when she’d contacted Agent Horn, he’d refused her calls. She’d tried to deal with the infuriating man before.
But Horn was cold. Calculating. An agent single-minded in his mission. A man with no feelings.
Her cell phone jolted out the programmed melody, and she answered it as she climbed into her Toyota. “Olivia Thornbird.”
“Miss Thornbird, this is Special Agent Craig Horn of the FBI.”
Olivia’s eyebrows shot up. So, the sexy, enigmatic agent had finally decided to make her an ally. “I’m glad you called, Agent Horn. Are you ready to talk to me?”
A hesitant pause fraught with tension followed. “Miss Thornbird, I think you’d better get over to your father’s house. He’s barricaded himself inside.”
“What?” Olivia’s heart raced.
“I hate to tell you this,” Agent Horn said in a decidedly low voice, “but you should hurry a gun, and he’s threatening to kill himself.”
CRAIG DISCONNECTED the call, his hands sweating as he skimmed the overgrown yard surrounding Thornbird’s small brick ranch. The sagging boards on the front porch attested to the house’s age, the chipped paint, shutters hanging askew and dead plants evidence of lack of upkeep. Thornbird had first impressed him as a genius, scatterbrained scientist who related more to test tubes and vials than humans. He supposed it followed that he’d neglect his home for work, but this lack of long-term care indicated depression.
After meeting with Thornbird a few times, he guessed he and his daughter weren’t close. The realization that Olivia’s family had been just as screwed up as his own had spiked his curiosity about the woman and her drive. He actually admired her ambition.
If she wasn’t a damn reporter, he might even like her.
And he sure as hell had to admit she was a looker.
But he’d never trust her.
The hushed murmurs of police officers communicating via radio jolted him back to reality. Several local police were situated at various strategic points around Thornbird’s property, each armed and ready to bring this ordeal to a peaceful resolution. Others had cordoned off the property to contain neighbors, curious spectators and reporters.
Unfortunately, so far, Thornbird wasn’t responding to their negotiation tactics. But at least he hadn’t opened fire again like he had at Horn when he’d first arrived.
Craig raised the bullhorn one more time in an effort to defuse the increasingly catastrophic situation inside. “Dr. Thornbird, it’s Craig Horn again. Please, sir, put down the gun, and let’s talk.”
“Go away, you communists! Leave me alone!” Thornbird shouted. “You’re all just pagans wanting to steal the life from me and all the innocent people in this town.”
“No, Dr. Thornbird. We’ve been working together, remember?”
The window suddenly shattered and the lights flickered off. Two cops raised their guns as if to fire, but Craig motioned for them to hold off.
“What’s the story?” New arrivals to the scene, local cops Detective Adam Black and his partner, Clayton Fox, strode up and hunkered down beside him.
Craig filled them in. “Thornbird, the research scientist who’s been studying the rash on our suicide vics, is holed up inside, threatening to kill himself.”
“He find out anything about the rash?” Black asked.
“He thinks it’s symptomatic of a virus, but he hadn’t yet isolated the strain or determined its cause.” Horn frowned as a breeze stirred the nearly dead leaves of the fern hanging from the front porch awning. “The last two weeks, he’s been working day and night. I thought he might be on to something.”
Fox raised a brow. “And?”
“A few days ago he started refusing my calls,” Craig answered. “When I finally got through, he disoriented. Paranoid.”
Black’s gaze met his. “All symptoms the other victims exhibited before they ended their lives.”
Horn nodded, agitation constricting his stomach. Had Thornbird contracted the unnamed disease he’d been investigating?
Guilt nagged at him. He’d gotten the man involved. If Thornbird committed suicide, his death would rest on Craig’s shoulders.
Suddenly the squeal of tires on asphalt jarred the tense silence, the air vibrating with the smell of burned rubber and panic as the car screeched to a stop. Olivia Thornbird jumped out and ran toward him. The sassy, confident air she normally wore had disintegrated since his call, the frantic unease of a terrified daughter flaring in her overly bright eyes instead.
The wind whipped her long blond hair around her face, and she scraped it back with a shaky hand, then reached for the bullhorn. “What did you do to him?”
He ignored her barb, plastered on a steely, cool face. “I’ve been trying to talk to him.”
She glared at him. “He’s been working for you, hasn’t he?”
Craig swallowed hard, debating a lie. “He’s been doing some research, yes.”
“I knew it!” She grabbed the speaker and faced the house. “I have to talk to him.”
Craig covered her hand with his. “I’ve made every attempt to convince him to come out, but he’s incoherent.”
Her gaze locked with his, then her bottom lip quivered slightly as his warning registered. Finally, she swung back toward the window, her bravado tacked in place. “Dad.” Her voice warbled through the speaker. “It’s me, Livvy.”
Craig caught the anxious looks on the other cops’ faces. They’d been down this same road too many times the past few weeks and lost. Hope wasn’t exactly lighting the skies that this time would be any different.
“Dad, please come out, I’m worried about you.”
“I can’t.”
“Dad, please, the police won’t hurt you, I promise.”
“I can’t leave the house.” His voice screeched. “It’s the only place that’s safe.”
Olivia inhaled a deep breath. “Then let me come in and talk to you. Whatever’s going on, we’ll figure it out.”
The curtains at the front window rustled open, and Craig spotted the old man peer through the broken glass. His wiry graying hair was standing on end, as if he’d run his hands through it a thousand times; his eyes appeared glassy, and his expression disoriented. “Ruth, is that you?”
“No, Dad.” Anguish made her voice brittle. “It’s me, Livvy. Mom’s not here anymore, remember?”
“Livvy?”
“Yes. I’m coming in now. We’ll talk, work out whatever is bothering you.” She stepped forward tentative
“Livvy, no, stop! It’s too dangerous! They’re everywhere.”
She took another cautious step. “Who’s everywh
ere, Dad?”
“The spies,” he cried. “They’re on the lawn, in the house, on the roof. They’ll get you.”
“Dad, nothing’s going to get me. I’m coming in.”
“You don’t understand.” He waved his arm frantically in front of the window. “The government wants it kept quiet. I can’t protect you anymore.”
Olivia dashed forward, shoving away from Craig when he grabbed her arm. “Dad, it’s okay. I’m right here, I’m coming in….”
Thornbird suddenly disappeared behind the wooden frame of the house, and Craig’s instincts kicked in. “Olivia, stop!”
A gunshot pierced the air.
Olivia screamed and vaulted forward, but Craig caught her. He didn’t have to go inside to know Thornbird was dead.
And it was all his fault.
“NOOOO!” OLIVIA’S LEGS buckled as the guttural protest tore from her throat. Grief and shock welled inside her, overflowing. People shouted, officers mumbled and chaos erupted around her. Doubling over, she crumpled to the ground, but Agent Horn caught her as the police rushed into her father’s house. Sobs racked her body, the tears spilling over, the anguish so deep she couldn’t contain it.
Her father, the only family she had left, had just shot himself.
She clutched the agent’s shirt, dazed and confused and too weak to stand. Horn stroked her hair and back, rocking her in his arms as he coaxed her to the front porch where she collapsed onto the stoop.
“Damn you, Horn,” she exploded, jerking at his shirt, “this is all your fault. If you’d called me sooner, maybe I could have saved my dad. Why did you get him involved in this case?”
He clenched her wrists to stop her assault, but she lurched up and tore away from him, determined to see her father. Maybe he was still alive…
