by Cade Brogan
“But I’ve already had my nighttime shot,” the imposter said. “At ten o’clock, right when I was supposed to get it.”
“I know,” Elizabeth responded. “And that’s when they called me. What they injected wasn’t as strong a dose as you needed.” She held up the syringe without showing the amount of liquid in its barrel. “What you need is right here.” She hesitated, catching sight of a shadow in the hallway as she lifted the imposter’s nightgown.
You’re doing fine, dear, the phantom murmured. Go on, finish what you’ve started.
Elizabeth nodded. I will. I just thought I saw movement in the corridor.
Would you feel better if I watch for you?
Yes, thank you, Elizabeth responded, applying alcohol to the spot she’d puncture. I love you, Granny.
I love you too, my darling granddaughter, the ghost answered, gently touching her shoulder.
“And, you know the drill,” Elizabeth said, forcing a smile. “Just a little pinch.” Unfortunately, it’ll sting more than usual. That’s what you get for upsetting my grandma. She pushed the needle through the skin of the imposter’s left buttock at a ninety-degree angle, emptied the barrel of the syringe, and pulled it out at the same angle. Then, she capped the hypodermic, tugged down the woman’s garment, and dropped the syringe into her pocket. As the imposter rolled over, she noticed a droplet of bright red blood on her gown and kissed her forehead. “Sleep well.”
“I will,” the old woman slurred, her eyelids closing. “Drive carefully.”
“Always,” Elizabeth responded, clipping a sliver of the imposter’s fingernail, the only one with lavender nail polish, to join her collection. When she placed the bramble in the potted asparagus fern by the window, she checked, assuring that the soil was moist. Then, she set the imposter’s call button on the floor, slipped off her coat, took off her wig, and placed both in a plastic bag. And with one last look around to assure that nothing had been forgotten, she walked by the flirty receptionist, and out the front door.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Kenzie shut the bedroom door. “You’re good with her,” she said quietly, “much better than I am.” She’d heard the end of Rylee’s conversation with Abby and listened as they’d said goodnight.
Rylee snapped. “I’m sure that’s because she’s not my priority, right? It’s because I don’t give a shit about her.”
“I never said that,” Kenzie responded, stepping closer.
“Well, you came pretty damn close,” Rylee shot back, yanking back the cover on her side of the bed.
“So, you want to keep arguing?” Kenzie asked, her nipples hard underneath the sheer fabric of her nightgown, her volume escalating. “It’s one in the morning, and you have to get up at five, and what you want to do is fight? Really? That’s what you want? To keep screaming at one another?”
“No, of course not,” Rylee responded. “Why would I want to do that? Why in God’s name would I want to engage in a repeat performance?” Bringing God’s name into discussions pushed her buttons. “I’ve got enough on my plate already,” she continued, shaking her head. “And besides, our fighting has Abby all worked up. And while we’re on that topic,” she added, “could you please lower your voice, so she doesn’t hear us. She’s already having a hard time sleeping.”
“Certainly,” Kenzie responded, getting in bed. “How about you do the same?”
Rylee looked at her. “It wasn’t me who was shouting.”
Kenzie’s eyes narrowed. “Wasn’t it?”
“I’m not fighting about this too,” Rylee said firmly. “I’m done. I’ve heard your side, and you’ve heard mine. There’s no reason to continue.”
“Then why are you still arguing?” Kenzie asked. “You want to know what I think? I think you have more to say or you want something.”
“Oh, I want something alright,” Rylee answered. “I want what most people take for granted.” She cocked her head, glaring. “Honesty.”
“Here we go again,” Kenzie said, rolling her eyes. “We’ve been back together for a year now, getting married in less than a month, and still you can’t get past what happened in college.”
“Well, I wasn’t going to bring that up this time,” Rylee responded, “but since you mentioned it—Exhibit One.”
Kenzie sighed. “Great. There’s more. Go on, say what you’ve got bottled up.”
“Alright, I will,” Rylee responded, sitting on the bed. “It would’ve been nice if you’d have been honest about how you felt about me being a cop. Although, I must admit that I knew when you spouted that business about coming to terms with it, that you were feeding me a load of bullshit.”
“It wasn’t bullshit,” Kenzie shot back. “It was me being optimistic.”
“Right. So, look me in the eye and tell me, do you really think you can be happily married to a cop? I mean, as the years go by, can you see yourself being satisfied with the lifestyle? Or, will you always wish that I’d have been a banker or a life insurance agent or garbage collector or something boring—anything but a police officer?”
Kenzie bit her lower lip, breaking eye contact.
“Uh-huh, that’s what I thought,” Rylee responded. “So, why didn’t we have this discussion before we sent out wedding invitations?”
“Because I love you, Rye,” Kenzie answered. “And because I know you’d never be happy doing anything else. What’s the use of saying it if it’s not going to change anything?”
“Exhibit two, in a nutshell,” Rylee muttered. “The use? Oh, let’s see, how about if you’d been honest we might have been able to come up with a workable solution?”
“I doubt that. You’d never leave the Department,” Kenzie said. “You know you wouldn’t.”
“And, there you have it,” Rylee answered, punching her pillow, and rolling to face the wall. “That just shows how little you know about me.”
“Oh, I know you, Rylee Hayes. I know you very, very well.”
“No, I don’t think so,” Rylee responded. “Because if you did, you’d have never said what you did about my priorities, you’d have known that my family—including Abby—is what’s most important to me.” She punched her pillow again, dropping onto her shoulder. “And not that my two cents are worth anything,” she added, “but I think Abby’s been through enough. When it comes to consequences for her behavior, I think we—you—should go easy on her, maybe have her clock volunteer hours with disadvantaged kids or something. And, to prevent future problems, I also think you should consider having the home security company come back out to extend the system to include the upstairs windows. Probably should’ve done that when we had it installed.”
“You? Not we?” Kenzie responded, twisting a lock of her hair. “Are you trying to tell me something?”
“I don’t know,” Rylee answered, looking off. “Maybe I am.”
Kenzie sucked in a breath, smacking her shoulder. “That’s it; go ahead and threaten to leave. You want me to be honest?” Her volume escalated again. “Well, now you know why I’m not.” She wiped tears. “I’m not perfect, Rye. I’m never gonna be able to walk on water like Jesus.” Her face reddened, tears tumbling down her cheeks. “So, go ahead, do what you need to do, give up on me.”
“Sometimes,” Rylee said, clenching her jaw, “you just piss the shit out of me.” She flipped, rolling onto her, her angry impulse becoming erotic. When she peered into her eyes, she felt the electrifying closeness of her body. “And you make me crazy, crazy out of my mind sometimes.” They’d been yelling at each other for hours, and she was still angry, but that didn’t change what she wanted, what she needed from this woman—right now.
Kenzie reacted to the intensity of her emotion. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean what I said about Abby.”
“I know. You get scared and lash out.”
“I do,” Kenzie answered. “But I do know you love her, know you wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her.”
“You’re righ
t, I wouldn’t,” Rylee responded, her anger renewed. “I love her—and I love you—way more than you think I do.” She pressed their lips together, kissing her aggressively, something she wasn’t used to.
Kenzie caught her breath, pulling back.
“You know what I want.”
“After tonight, I’m not sure I’m in the mood.”
“Oh, you’re in the mood alright,” Rylee answered, kissing her again with urgency.
“Am I?”
“Yeah, you are,” Rylee said, her gaze boldly raking over her breasts. “In fact,” she continued, “judging from the hardness of your nipples, I’d say you’re playing it cool, but what you’re ready for is some serious sex.”
“Is that right?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“Well, I’m glad you told me.”
“As if you didn’t already know,” Rylee said, her lips searing a path down her neck. “I want you,” she growled, her tone low and primal.
“Then, take me,” Kenzie murmured, lifting her thigh between Rylee’s legs, and encouraging her to ride.
Rylee reclaimed her lips hungrily. “And, I need you,” she choked, rocking gently. “Don’t think for one split-second that you and Abby aren’t my number one priority.”
“I won’t,” Kenzie whispered, raking her fingernails through Rylee’s hair and down her back. “I don’t.”
Rylee slid her hand down Kenzie’s body, lifting her nightgown over her head, and kissing her nipple with possessiveness. “God, you’re beautiful. It never fails to hit me; just how beautiful you are.” She was a gorgeous woman—her breasts, high and round; her curves, womanly; and her nipples, marble hard. She kissed her eyelids, the tip of her nose, and her lips. Two hours ago, she’d been sure they were over. And rational or not, now she was hopeful. She pushed back a terrifying realization as it washed over her, burying her face between Kenzie’s breasts—kissing and licking and suckling. It wasn’t long before Kenzie urged her downward, parting her legs. When her breaths came heavy and irregular, Rylee slipped inside her. “God, you’re wet,” she groaned, pushing in as deeply as she could go, her mind pressing mute on the horrors of the world. When Kenzie mewed softly, she closed her eyes savoring the sweetness of her orgasm, her spasms grabbing onto her fingers like a warm, wet glove.
“Come here,” Kenzie murmured, coaxing her up to hold her. Still quivering in the afterglow of climax, she kissed her with her soul. “I love you.”
“And I love you,” Rylee whispered, falling asleep in her arms, and sleeping like a log for two full hours—until her phone buzzed—thirty people—healthy when they boarded a train bound for O’Hare—dying—dead by the time she’d meet up with Homeland Security, the CDC, and everyone else. She swallowed, the pit of her stomach twisting into a pretzel. Armageddon, the final battle. God help us.
Kenzie stirred, her eyelids fluttering open, looking at the clock, stretching, and making waking sounds. “You didn’t get much sleep.”
“I know,” Rylee whispered, dropping her legs over the side of the bed, “but I’ll be alright.” She leaned over, kissing her. “I love you. Go back to sleep.”
“Call me.”
“I will.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
It was common sense, really, that the killer might eventually hit mass transit, but Rylee hadn’t allowed her mind to go there. The prospect was too awful. But here they were, her nightmare reality. The second busiest rail mass transit system in the country had been targeted. Thirty dead and God knows how many more exposed. She pulled up in front of Claire’s building, noting few lights in the windows, and clouds skating off the moon. She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, reevaluating their leads, and looking for more.
Within minutes, Claire jogged out the door, setting her satchel by her feet on the floor. “I’m not sure thorough screenings would’ve made a difference,” she said, continuing their discussion from earlier. “I mean, when’s the last time an airport screener looked through a magazine that you were carrying? And even if they did, and you had a pathogen concealed, I can’t imagine the circumstance where they’d prevent you from boarding.” Her eyes widened, looking over. “Good grief, they probably wouldn’t even recognize what they’d discovered. Probably would just catch the virus and move on to the next person.”
“I get your point,” Rylee responded, “but I guess I was talking more about the larger problem, that our buses and trains are vulnerable. Because the folks in charge think the passengers won’t like being screened thoroughly, they decide to do nothing.” She shook her head. “And now, look where we are. Healthy people board a train for an hour ride to O’Hare, gladly accepting a complimentary magazine from some kid they thought was working for the Mass Transit System. Half are visibly ill before they arrive. But everybody gets off the train, still alive.” She clenched her jaw, her mind revisiting the full gravity of the situation. “And, even with all the media coverage, no one intervenes. Thirty sick people are just allowed to walk into the airport—touching and talking and eating and vomiting and boarding—exposing the world to a virus that kills people in two hours.”
“I know. It’s awful.”
“Friggin’ end of the world, that’s what it is.”
“Maybe not,” Claire said, hoping that the CDC’s docs were as brilliant as the one who shared her bed. She bit her lip, thinking about her, wondering if her job had anything to do with stopping emerging pandemic threats. Maybe that’s why she was reading your report. Maybe she was trying to get an unbiased feel for where the investigation stood. She swallowed, staring out her window. That would explain one case, but not the other, the one involving Rylee’s bitch, the one that for some reason, since finding its case number inked on her counter, lifted the hair on the back of her neck. She took a breath, leaving the mental splinter to fester.
“It’s not that I don’t have hope,” Rylee continued, “it’s just that right now this situation feels so damn bad.”
“I know, for me too,” Claire said. “So, we try to stay focused on the case. Work as hard as we can.”
“You’re right,” Rylee said, “that’s the key. Keep our heads above the panic.”
“Exactly,” Claire said, shifting their conversation to the investigation. “So, no sign of the kids, huh? And no bags? Or extra magazines?”
“Nope,” Rylee said, “at least not that anyone’s run across yet.” The platform was in the process of being searched at the time of their callout. “Which to me means the kids handed the magazines to passengers as they got on and left the scene.”
“Yep,” Claire responded. “More careful this time. No mistakes.”
“Yeah,” Rylee said, shaking her head slowly. “No mistakes.” In her heart and her head, she knew that Piper wasn’t supposed to die, knew that whoever was behind this had plans for her and her friends to keep exposing people.
“I think what happened was that they got curious about what they were distributing.”
“That’s what I figure,” Rylee responded, raking through her hair as she caught sight of the scene ahead of them—hazmats galore and a gigantic bio-containment area. “You get the feeling we’re about to go on the set of Alien Pathogen?”
“Feel like we’ve been on it,” Claire responded, releasing a breath. “And there was a day I’d have been thrilled about that. Now, the thought just gives me the creeps.”
Rylee passed the airport’s main entrance, turning down a service road, and pulling into the staging area where they’d arranged to meet up with cooperating agencies. “If we get through this, and I really do believe that we will, I’m never watching another one of those flicks.”
“You and me both,” Claire responded, stepping through the door of the all too familiar protective enclosure. “Detective Robbins and Detective Hayes,” she greeted, showing her ID. “There’s supposed to be a multi-disciplinary meeting around here somewhere.”
“Right over there,” the suited man responded, pointing before st
epping through the door in the opposite direction.
“Operation gets bigger and bigger,” Rylee commented, shaking hands with Ben.
“Has too,” he responded, introducing she and Claire to the group as a whole.
Rylee shook hands with Walt and the guy from Homeland Security, nodding to the others at the table. In less than an hour, she and Claire were on their way to the office, the group seeing no reason for them to suit up at this scene.
“Can’t say I’m disappointed,” Claire said, climbing in, and clicking her seat belt. “Creeps me out being that close to it, even if I am in a suit that’s supposed to protect me from getting it. Elizabeth says—” She swallowed her words, hoping that Rylee didn’t follow up on what she’d been about to say, that Elizabeth had given her statistics on suit failures. She was a genius, but sometimes what she shared served no purpose other than to scare her to death. Who knows, maybe that was her plan, to make her more hyper-vigilant. Heaven knows, she rarely did anything without a good reason. “Glad they could see our time was better spent running down the leads we already have.”
Rylee nodded, leaving the access road, and pulling into traffic. “They knew there was nothing that we could do there. I mean, other than updating each other on new developments.”
“Yeah, but I’d have just as soon not known a lot of it,” Claire responded.
“I hear ya,” Rylee said. “Like not just one train car, but three, and not thirty people, but ninety-four.” She sucked in air, releasing it out her window. “I’m afraid we're gonna see this thing get really bad before we see it get better.”
“I’m afraid you’re right,” Claire answered. “It’s like they knew this contagion’s path the night they named it.”
