Kevin Anderson - Lethal Exposure

At his own office he saw one of the squad rotors looking for him. He waved. “I’m down here, Shelly.”

She looked up. “You’ve got a call-long distance from Fermilab, some woman says it’s important. Insisted on speaking to you, in person.”

Craig took a deep breath. “Thanks.” He grabbed for the phone before Shelly could leave. He punched the blinking line after pausing just a moment to gather his thoughts, calming himself and also slightly befuddled by how his pulse had quickened.

Fermilab-a woman. He knew instinctively that it must be Paige Mitchell, who had transferred out to the accelerator laboratory after the Nevada militia incident. He hadn’t talked to her in some time, but she had his home number. Why would she be calling him at work? He kept his voice even, businesslike. “This is Special Agent Kreident. How may I help you?”

“Hello, Craig-this is a voice from your past.”

It wasn’t Paige. Instead, die rich, husky voice spoke of dark hair and flashing, sepia eyes. It reminded him of a compact figure with gentle movements that held more than their share of class, creamy skin that would never have been sullied by too much time out in the sun, and of white teeth evenly spaced, except for a thin, enticing gap that made her all the more attractive…

Craig swallowed hard. “Trish? Is that you?”

“It’s been quite a while.” As he remembered that she preferred to be called Patrice now, her voice became serious on the phone. “I’d love to catch up, but I wouldn’t be calling you if it wasn’t urgent. I need your help here. I’m calling from a hospital near Chicago – Aurora, Illinois, actually, near a research facility called Fermilab.”

“I’m… I’m at a loss for words.”

She sighed with a breath that might have been a stillborn laugh. “You always were, Craig, but let’s try to have a good conversation now. I’m in the middle of a murder case, and you’re the only person I know who might be able to help me. From what I remember, you’ve been handling investigations that fall right under this umbrella.”

“What murder case?” he said, concerned now. He sat up straight in his chair, feeling sweat prickle beneath the armor of his suit. “How are you involved in it? Are you in trouble, uh, Patrice?”

“No Craig, not me-but the victim is. There’s been a terrible accident, and everything’s very confused. We don’t have much time.”

“The victim’s in trouble? What are you talking about?” Craig’s brows knitted. “You said it was a murder case.”

He hadn’t heard from Trish LeCroix since they had gone their separate ways two years before. They had been together for two and a half years in a comfortable if slow-burning relationship. They each had their own interests and they each had careful walls between them, never completely opening up.

In retrospect, after the pain had dulled, Craig realized they had both fooled themselves for a long time, but still he hadn’t been the one to make the break, and that hurt him all the more. Trish had finally chosen a path that would force them apart, take her to the other side of the country as she pursued her medical career at Johns Hopkins, specializing in nuclear medicine and radiation treatment.

They had parted amicably, promised themselves they would always be good friends, kissed each other goodbye… and had somehow managed not to speak to each other since.

“Craig, I need your help,” she said, and the tone in her voice alarmed him. Trish had always been relatively emotionless, intellectual, focused on her thoughts instead of her heart-much like he himself was. The plea in her words seemed out of character. “I’m calling in every favor I still have. The FBI is already at Fermilab, but they’re more interested in the explosion than in the murder. They think it’s just an accident-the murder, I mean. But believe me, this is a homicide case unlike anything you have ever seen before. I want you here. I trust you.”

Craig shook his head, growing more confused with Trish’s conversation. “I’ve seen plenty of unusual murder cases,” he said, dancing around the subject. He leaned back in his chair. The suit jacket had become uncomfortable, his shirt sweaty. He shuffled his feet beneath the desk as if he might somehow kick up appropriate words from beneath the floor.

“I’ll bet you dinner,” she answered, “a nice dinner, mind you-that this one is different. You have to come out to Chicago. I’ll meet you here.”

Craig knew he couldn’t say no to her. He pulled out a scrap sheet of paper, cradling the phone between his shoulder and his ear. “I’ll see what I can do, Trish. I’ve got some vacation time built up.”

He scrawled down her contact information and then hung up, realizing that his hand was shaking. He pressed his fingers down hard on the desktop to get himself under control again. He had longed for an excuse to go out to Fermilab, and now he had one-but before, the motivation had been to visit Paige Mitchell.

After his first case out at the Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory, when he had investigated the bizarre death of controversial scientist Hal Michelson, he had spent an increasing amount of time with Paige, a DOE protocol representative. She had been his escort through the Livermore Lab and had again helped him out while trying to crack the militia infiltration of the Nevada Nuclear Test Site.

But after the distressing events in Nevada, Paige had changed jobs, using her DOE connections to get her a similar job out at Fermilab near Chicago -a national laboratory that did no weapons work, concentrating instead on high-energy physics with the nation’s largest particle accelerator.

Now, the thought of spending time with his former girlfriend made him uneasy… No , he thought, be honest with yourself-it makes you downright nervous .

Some things were better left alone.

Tuesday, 5:15 a.m.

O’Hare InternationalAirport

Chicago, Illinois

Craig was convinced that whoever had designed the redeye flight from San Francisco to Chicago should be shot. The plane had departed at 11:20 P.M. and would arrive into O’Hare at 5:30 in the morning.

Even so, the flight was packed full of weary passengers who had either been willing to put their bodies through this ordeal to save a few bucks, or had been too pressed for time to come in the day before. For Craig, this was his only option to meet Trish at the Fox River Medical Center the following morning.

June Atwood had been happy to give him a few days leave, personal leave, since this case wasn’t under his jurisdiction. Also, according to Trish- Patrice , he reminded himself-an FBI team was already investigating an unrelated case, some sort of explosion near the particle accelerator, and he didn’t want to step on any toes. Some agents got touchy over their turf, so he had made a quick call to let them know he was coming.

Ben Goldfarb, Craig’s partner and designated alternate for his caseload, was set to return from Washington today, but Craig had arranged for him to stop off at O’Hare on the way. Though Goldfarb hadn’t seen his wife Julene and the girls for two weeks, he agreed to an extra day or two in Chicago, his old stomping grounds. Craig expected he and Goldfarb could meet with Trish and take care of her questions in a minimal amount of time.

“Trish LeCroix’s involved in a murder case, and you’re going out to help?” Goldfarb had sounded astonished. “Why would you want to do that?”

Defensively, Craig said, “It’s not like she’s the wicked ex-wife or anything. We’re still really good friends.”

“Oh sure, that’s why you talk about her all the time and write her letters every week,” Goldfarb said. “But if you need me, I’ll be there.” The truth was, though the short, curly-haired agent was a top-notch investigator, Craig also wanted him there for moral support.