Rita Herron - Mysterious Circumstances

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. He has 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 sounded 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 tentatively.

“Livvy, no, stop! It’s too dangerous! They’re everywhere.”

She took another cautious step. “Who’s everywhere, Dad?”

“The spies,” he cried. “They’re on the lawn, in the house, on the roof. They’ll get you.”