Rita Herron - Mysterious Circumstances

“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 bed. 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 hard-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.”