Mysterious Circumstances

by Rita Herron

  He let himself imagine he and Olivia walking the beach, lingering in the shadow of the moon with heated touches and erotic kisses. But the sound of her heartrending cries bled into the darkness.

  Those cries would stay with him tonight. And probably forever.

  HE WAS A GENIUS.

  A harsh laugh rumbled deep in his chest as he recalled the stumped looks on the policemen’s faces when they’d stood outside Thornbird’s house and heard that gunshot blast. And when they’d seen the rash…oh, he wished he’d had a camera. They were chasing their tails to discern how he’d accomplished what he had.

  But they would never figure out the truth. Not all of it, anyway.

  He crushed the seashells in his hand, then scattered the broken pieces across the grass, smiling as blood trickled down his palm. Instead of wincing at the pain, he relished it, had been trained to endure it, in fact. It drove him. Made him the man he was.

  He stared at Olivia Thornbird’s dark apartment, wondering about the woman inside. She was beautiful. Tenacious. Smart.

  Would Olivia Thornbird be manipulated by the puppet master himself?

  Probably. All he wanted was for her to print the story. Stir panic. Do her job.

  And she wouldn’t be able to resist.

  Yet, he suspected the master might have underestimated her inquisitive nature.

  Soundlessly, he moved into the shadows of the live oak as a couple strolled by on the sidewalk. His boss had been watching her father for some time. Wondering if eventually he’d let his ethics and conscience get to him again. And when the feds had enlisted Thornbird’s help, he’d known he had to do something fast before Thornbird unearthed the truth.

  The traffic noises in the background jarred the quiet, but he blocked it out as he had learned to do with all sensory intrusions.

  A light flickered on in Olivia’s bedroom, and he glanced up at the window, unease tickling his spine when her silhouette appeared in the window. Pain would only cause Olivia Thornbird to push harder, just as it had him.

  Though she’d disagree, they were very much alike.

  She wouldn’t let things rest. Unfortunately, if she dug too deeply into the past, he’d have to take care of her, too. Just as he had the others.

  But not tonight.

  The master would tell him when the time was right.

  Chapter Four

  Olivia awakened the next morning with a heavy ache in her chest. Her father was gone, and there were dozens of arrangements to make for his funeral.

  But she lacked the energy for any of them.

  Besides, it would take time for the medical examiner to complete the autopsy. Longer than normal, especially if Agent Horn was doing his job. They would conduct a battery of tests on his body that would be extensive, involve sending samples away to various labs for analysis and cross-referencing with other databases for cases that might be similar.

  She needed to get into the house and look through her father’s files before Agent Horn returned and confiscated them. If he hadn’t already.

  She poured herself a strong cup of coffee, grabbed the morning paper, and nearly choked over the photograph of her father’s limp body lying on the floor.

  Her co-worker and competitor, Jerry Renard, had written the piece, slanting the article as she would have, raising questions about the correlation with the other so-called suicides.

  Fueled by his comments and knowing that if she didn’t get the real story, someone else would, someone who might paint her father in a poor light, she phoned the Department of Public Safety.

  “Miss Thornbird,” the receptionist said in a derisive tone, “Dr. Oberman is not accepting calls from reporters.”

  “Tell him that I’m not just any reporter, I’m the daughter of the latest victim of the Savannah Suicides, that I’m not going away until he talks to me, that—”

  “One moment please.”

  Olivia tapped the table with her fingernails while she waited. It seemed like forever before a man came on the line. “Miss Thornbird, Dr. Oberman.”

  “Fin.”

  “Listen, young lady, I’m a very busy man—”

  “Hopefully trying to find out what’s causing the virus that’s prompting these suicides in Savannah. I want to know what you’re doing to protect the public.”

  He coughed, obviously surprised at her boldness. “First of all, I have spoken with the federal agents working the case, and they’ve assured me everything possible is being done to get to the bottom of these suicides. There is no proof that a virus has anything to do with the cases.”

  “That’s bull and you know it. My father was a scientist who worked for CIRP. He was consulting with Special Agent Craig Horn about the virus.”

  “He told you that?”

  Olivia hedged. “Yes. And before his death, my father exhibited the same symptoms as the other victims.”

  “Miss Thornbird, I can assure you that if there is some connection, our federal agents will find it. Now, please let the police do their jobs, and don’t create widespread panic by printing unsubstantiated speculations.”

  “Dr. Oberman, fifteen years ago, my mother also died of a suspicious virus she contracted while working for the government. When my father asked questions, he hit a dead end because your people covered it up.” Angry, her voice rose an octave. “I don’t intend for my father’s death to be swept under the rug like hers. Both of them were working for you. Now find out what killed them and let me know what you’re doing to protect the public, or when I find out, and I will, I’ll expose all of your dirty little secrets and blow you clean out of office.”

  Furious, she slammed down the phone, inhaled her coffee and washed down a chocolate candy bar for breakfast, her vice when she was upset.

  The phone rang. Expecting the caller to be Oberman, she picked it up, fuming. “I meant what I said—don’t mess with me.”

  “If I were you, I wouldn’t be making threats, or you’ll wind up like your father.”

  Olivia froze, the handset clenched between clammy fingers. The caller’s voice was deeper than Oberman’s, maybe even simulated.

  “Who is this?”

  “I’m warning you, Miss Thornbird, stay out of the way or you’ll regret it.”

  She opened her mouth to speak again, but the phone clicked into silence.

  “AGENT HORN, I just received a call from Olivia Thornbird.”

  Craig silently cursed. Dr. Oberman, head of the DPS, sounded royally pissed.

  Damn it. He’d barely gotten out of the shower and there were already more problems. He shook the water from his hair, knotted a towel around his waist and went to the kitchen for more coffee. “I can’t say I’m surprised. The woman is persistent.”

  “Persistent? Hell, she’s a bomb ready to explode.” Oberman released a string of expletives. “What’s the situation?”

  “So far, all the vics have shown symptoms of a rash, red patchy skin, fever and nosebleeds, prior to death, as well as symptoms of depression. There are too many similarities for the individual cases to be coincidence. We’re trying to find a connection.”

  “The bottom line, Horn? Are these suicides?”

  “Yes and no. For now, we’re calling them suicides, at least that’s what we’re telling the press.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means that, technically, each of the victims took his own life. But we believe that the virus causes psychotic behavior which drives them to kill themselves.”

  “That’s the damnedest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “But a perfect front for murder. We’re looking at three possibilities—a cult, a serial killer or a terrorist faction, although if this is a serial killer, we haven’t documented any similar cases before. And we have no evidence showing that any of the victims belonged to a cult.”

  Oberman swore.

  Craig continued, “We also don’t know how the virus is being contracted, if it’s contagious and why these people have been
targeted.”

  “Hell, if it is a terrorist group, there may be no rhyme or reason.”

  “But if we find out how these folks are getting the virus, we can pinpoint who might be spreading it and if they are being infected intentionally.”

  “You’ve checked the water and soil?” Oberman asked.

  “Still have some tests pending.”

  “Is the virus airborne?”

  “No. And so far, samples from the first victim’s home showed no contamination.” Although they hadn’t finished testing Thornbird’s work clothes.

  “Well, that’s a relief.”

  “Yes. Thornbird was working on isolating the virus when he died. I’m having his research analyzed.”

  Oberman groaned. “So Olivia Thornbird was right? Her father was working for you.”

  “Yes.” The knot of anxiety in Horn’s chest tightened. “Now we have to start over with a new scientist, Dr. Fred Fulton. Dr. Ian Hall, the director of CIRP, says he’s cooperating. But I’m not certain we can trust either of them.”

  “Have duplicate tests run. Samples sent to the CDC in Atlanta. I’ll speak to the higher-ups there and tell them to expect it.”

  “Right.” Craig explained about Devlin’s visit to Europe.

  Oberman hissed, “I don’t want this story leaked. I’m worried about Olivia Thornbird.”

  “I’ll handle her.“Good, do whatever it takes,” Oberman barked.

  Craig frowned and hung up, wondering what Oberman had meant.

  Olivia’s anguished expression returned to haunt him. Could he do whatever it took to keep her quiet?

  He’d have to shut her out. Lie to her. Pretend he didn’t give a damn about her old man, that his research hadn’t gotten him killed.

  Which they both knew was a lie.

  But that would be the easy part. After all, he was FBI. The Iceman. Keeping things undercover and lying were an inherent part of the job.

  The hard part would be resisting Olivia’s tempting lips and bewitching eyes.

  ALTHOUGH OLIVIA WAS SHAKEN by the phone call, the warning only confirmed what she already suspected—that somebody had intentionally infected her father with the virus.

  That his research was the key to the rash of suicides in Savannah, and that technically now the others might be related. That they might not be suicides at all.

  Her fingers slid over the card Agent Horn had given her the night before with his invitation to phone if she needed him. Should she tell him about the threat?

  Maybe.

  But not yet.

  After all, what could he do? The caller hadn’t talked long enough for a trace. And he’d been calling from an unlisted number. Besides, if she told Craig, he’d insist she have some protection.

  She couldn’t do her job with someone watching over her shoulder.

  She phoned for a cab, hurried outside and waited for it, then quickly instructed the driver where to go.

  A few minutes later, the driver parked at her father’s house, and turned to her, his bushy eyebrows raised. “Ain’t that the house where that man shot himself yesterday?”

  Olivia nodded, unwilling to elaborate.

  He smacked his rubbery lips. “Thought that yellow tape meant to stay out.”

  She rolled her eyes, her patience thin. “Just let me out.”

  He grumbled, then accepted her money, eyeing the tip as if he expected more, so she stuffed an extra five dollars in his hand, hoping he wouldn’t mention his drop-off to anyone.

  Feeling jittery but determined, she slipped beneath the tape, hurried around to the back door, unlocked it and dashed inside. She wanted to be alone in the house. Have time to remember her father and to search through his files.

  A few minutes later, she sighed in defeat. Of course, the FBI had confiscated his computer and diskettes. They’d also searched his desk.

  On the off chance he might have hidden information, she went into his bedroom. The scent of cigarette smoke and her father’s cologne assaulted her, bringing a surge of sadness. Her father’s favorite plaid shirt lay on the floor, and the worn soles of his loafers peeked from beneath the unmade . A stack of medical journals were stacked haphazardly on the floor in one corner, a half dozen notepads scattered across the bed.

  She thumbed through each one, looking for notes. But the pages were empty. Frustrated, she opened her father’s closet in search of a file box that might hold disks or information, but didn’t find one. Her father’s lab coat lay on the floor, memories of watching him shrug into it filling her head. She picked it up, pressed it to her cheek and inhaled her father’s scent, for a brief moment allowing nostalgia to sweep her back in time.

  Seconds later, she fought the grief and forced herself to search the pockets. Inside, she found a small scrap of paper. Curious, she unfolded it, her eyes widening as she read.

  Dr. Thornbird, if you don’t back off, you’re dead.

  KNOWING OLIVIA WOULD WANT her car back, Craig phoned her, but when she didn’t answer, he assumed she’d already gone to her father’s.

  Not a good idea.

  The agents had searched the house already, but she would undoubtedly want to do so herself. And there was the possibility that she might know places to look that they didn’t.

  He shouldn’t have left her alone for a second. Might even need to put a tail on her.

  He jumped in his car and phoned the coroner’s office while he drove toward Thornbird’s.

  “We’re starting to work on Thornbird today,” Dr. Rollins said.

  “I spoke with Dr. Oberman from the DPS. He wants duplicate samples sent to the CDC in Atlanta for a cross-check. Devlin will also have samples of any cultures taken from the European scientists sent there to compare. And send duplicate samples to CIRP.”

  Rollins agreed, and he hung up, then turned down the drive to Thornbird’s. His gut told him Olivia was already here.

  And that she’d bypass the yellow tape and go inside.

  Not that he could blame her. She was intelligent. The man’s daughter. She had reason to be suspicious.

  But she could screw up this investigation badly. And if they discovered there was a serial killer, if this was some kind of terrorist attack or if CIRP was involved, secrecy would be their best defense.

  The neighborhood looked different today without the curious neighbors and the police cars parked on the side. Although the immediate threat of violence had dissipated on the surface, had the residents locked their doors last night? Been suspicious of their neighbors? Warned their children not to ride their bikes outside their drives?

  Their peace would be destroyed if his suspicions were confirmed or if Olivia printed her own in the paper.

  He scanned the exterior of the house. Nothing looked amiss. Her car was still in the same spot. No lights were on inside.

  He approached cautiously. Decided to check the back before he went inside.

  He walked around the overgrown yard, noticed the tire swing, the area where a garden had once been. Thought of the family that had once lived there. The one that was now gone.

  And then he glanced through the back bedroom window and saw Olivia.

  Her blond hair spilled around her shoulders, the dark circles beneath her eyes a testament to a grief-spent night.

  His gut clenched as he thought about her carrying the burden of her father’s loss all alone.

  Do whatever you have to do to keep her quiet, Oberman had ordered.

  He braced himself to do just that as he reached for the door.

  OLIVIA CLAMPED HER LIP over her teeth at the sight of Craig Horn. Last night outside her apartment door, the air had grown tight around them. The memory of his hands on her, stroking her, holding her, had come unbidden during the night. And with the morning sunlight glinting off his bronzed cheeks, he looked more handsome than any federal agent had a right to be. More like a renegade than FBI.

  But he worked for the government. He was the enemy. And gone was any hint of gentleness. The h
ard-assed, stone-cold Iceman was back.

  “Olivia, you know you shouldn’t be in here.”

  “I…I need clothes for my father for the funeral.”

  He arched a dark brow. “The medical examiner is nowhere near releasing your father’s body.”

  “I have to sort through his things.”

  His eyes darkened as if he suspected she was lying. “So soon?”

  “Yes. I…need to do it.”

  “You mean you need to check out his work? Look for some clue as to why he’d take his life?”

  “Wouldn’t you if you were in my shoes and your father had died?”

  He silently cursed. At one time, he’d have done anything to please his old man. Now, he tried his best to put him out of his mind.

  “If there was anything here, the police have already found it.” He moved closer, so close she stepped backward. His size was intimidating, his angry eyes scorching her. “Unless you know some place he might have kept things? Did he have a safe-deposit box? A secret safe somewhere?”

  She shook her head. The rich timbre of his voice was so deep it was almost threatening. And titillating, as well.

  Craig Horn was the kind of man who could battle the most ruthless of bastards. But he also could bring a woman to climax in record time.

  She didn’t know why that thought occurred to her, but she sensed it was true. And her body was tingling just looking at his big hands. Remembering the feel of them on her back, pressing her close, trying to protect her.

  He stepped even closer, invading her space so she felt the hint of his breath on her cheek.

  “Do you know something you aren’t telling me?”

  She shook her headghting the urge to run. Olivia Thornbird had never let a man intimidate her, but the Iceman’s sexual prowess was almost more than she could bear.

  “If you have information on the case, Olivia, you have to share it with me.” He traced a finger down her shoulder, making her shiver. “You want me to find out what happened, don’t you?”