Kathy Reichs - Virals

“You lifted this yourself? Seriously?” Jason looked amused. “Who are you, Jack Bauer?”

I shrugged. “Family talent.”

“Most people just learn to fish or something.” He thought a second. “Did you file a police report?”

“Here’s the thing.” This part was tricky. “I was hoping to check the print first . The thief must be a neighbor.”

“Awkward.”

“Yeah. I’d prefer to get my computer back without having anyone arrested. We’re pretty tight out on Morris.”

“That’s a tough one.” Jason frowned. “My father could submit a request, but the form requires a case number. Even legit, it’d take weeks.”

“For side jobs?” I asked.

Jason shook his head. “The lab guys only do favors in emergencies, and they expect something in return. I don’t think I can help.”

Ben rolled his eyes. Jason cut him a look I couldn’t interpret.

Did I miss something with these two?

“Thanks anyway,” I said. “I guess I’ll just—”

“Wait!” Jason snapped his fingers. “I know who can help.” Before I could react he bellowed down the hall. “Chance! Come here a sec!”

My blood pressure spiked.

“No, no,” I sputtered. “Don’t bother Chance. It’s no big deal!”

“Relax,” Jason said. “He’s the man for the job.”

Chance joined us, Hannah perched on his arm like an exotic bird.

“Harassing Tory again?” After shooting me a wink, Chance turned to Ben. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

“That’s Ben,” Jason said. “He’s the best. Bit of a talker, though.”

Ben glowered.

I jumped in to defuse. “This is my good friend Ben Blue.”

“Chance,” Jason interrupted. “We need someone with pull. That would be you.”

As Jason described the fictional robbery, Chance seemed, what? Bored?

“That’s terrible.” Chance picked nonexistent lint from his jacket sleeve. “I hope they catch the guy.”

Jason nudged me. “Show him.”

Reluctantly, I displayed the fingerprint card, hoping the scene wasn’t as weird as it felt.

“I suppose I could have someone at the SLED take a look,” Chance muttered. “I golf with the director’s son. I think my father sponsored their club membership.”

Chance referred to the South Carolina Law Enforcement Division, the state’s version of the FBI.

“But is this really worth the fuss?” He could have appeared less enthused, but only on heavy medication.

“Chance!” Hannah admonished, sounding all magnolias and juleps. “If you can help Tory, you must. It wouldn’t be a big deal, would it?”

“Of course not. A friend of Jason’s is a friend of mine.” Chance snapped off his patented wink. I was sure he practiced it every morning while knotting his tie. “But let’s not tell my father about this, shall we?”

“My lips are sealed.” I couldn’t believe it. “Thank you so much!”

“No problem,” Chance said. “And don’t seal those pretty little lips. Hopefully we’ll hear more from you, now that we’re co-conspirators in a secret plot.” He cast mock-suspicious glances over both shoulders.

I stared, completely thrown.

Hannah giggled.

“Ignore him.” She gave Chance a girly knuckle-punch. “He’s a hopeless flirt.”

“Guilty as charged.” Chance chuckled, then spoke to Jason “Headed to practice?”

Jason nodded, turned to me. “Later, Tor.”

“Later.”

“Ben.” An insincere afterthought. Jason and Chance ambled out the front doors.

Ben fumed.

“Silver-spoon jock morons,” he muttered when the trio was out of earshot.

I held my tongue. I’d learned not to argue when Ben was in one of his funks.

But Chance stayed on my mind.

His eyes. Had they lingered on me? And the winks. Were they just for show? How many winks before they start to mean something?

Enough. Daydreaming about the most popular guy in school? How pathetic.

“Come on, tough guy,” I teased Ben. “Let’s find that mythical stolen computer.”

Ben’s frown remained fixed. “Whatever.”

Okay then.

The ride home was a blast.

CHAPTER 33

The next morning I woke up smiling.

Friday. Always good. And summer vacation was just two weeks off. Soon I would finally shed the freshman label.

But my grin had little to do with the calendar.

Last night I’d witnessed a marvel: Coop, scampering about, tail wagging. Happy. After ten minutes of bouncing off the walls, he’d cleaned his bowl and nudged me for more.

A strong appetite meant the dog was recovering. Coop’s immune system had beaten the virus. Elated, I’d fed him seconds then thirds.

But not everything was rosy on the fitness front. Unlike Coop, I felt weak and listless. Worried about the flu, I popped a Zicam doused with echinacea. Preemptive strike.

That wasn’t my only concern.

Karsten had summoned the four of us for an “interview” with Loggerhead security. The potential blowback was too appalling to contemplate.

School that morning was business as usual. We had a lecture in bio, so I didn’t meet with Jason or Hannah. Good thing. I hadn’t run my DNA comparisons. Note to self: finish before meeting on Sunday.

At lunch the gang assembled by the dock as ordered. Mr. Blue hurried us aboard, then pushed off for Loggerhead. We gathered by the rail, too anxious to sit.

All morning I’d avoided thoughts of the upcoming interrogation. But now I started to get the jitters.

Hi had very strong feelings on the matter.

“Does everyone understand that we can’t screw this up? Our stories have to match. Exactly. To the letter.”

“I got it.” Shelton rolled his eyes. “We found a dog tag. Went to the library. Learned about Heaton. Tory noticed some weird stuff about the ground, so we dug up what turned out to be monkey bones. Easy.”

“Then we ‘got scared’ like idiots.” Even Ben’s air quotes were sarcastic. “And we ‘imagined’ gunshots and human skulls.”

To avoid taking heat, we’d decided on a strategy of playing dumb. No one would believe what had really happened, so telling the truth was useless. Au contraire . Full disclosure would create more suspicion.

I nodded my agreement.

Hi smacked his forehead in frustration. “No, no, no!”

“What’s wrong?” I asked. “That’s all we can say.”

“Details!” Hi barked. “To make a lie believable you need specifics. The more vague you are, the less credible you sound.”

We all looked at him.

Hi sighed. So patient.

“First, we need an alibi for Saturday. On top of that, we have to convince Karsten we made an honest mistake at the gravesite.”

“We’ll be fine,” Shelton said. “The man’s not psychic.”

“Really?” Hi locked his hands behind his back, pivoted, and loomed over Shelton. “You!” Thundered like a drill sergeant. “Where is the dog tag you found?”

“What?” Shelton yipped. “We . . . lost it.”

“Where?”

“In the woods. After we ran.”

“Where in the woods? Ran from what?”

“Oh, uh . . . Tory dropped the tag when we ran from . . . whatever.”

“From whatever ?” Hi hammered. “Did you see men with guns or not?”

“Um, no, I guess not.”

“You guess?”

“It was dark.” Shelton struggled. “I realize now that nobody was there.”

“Then what did you hear?”

“Uh, er . . . pops. Like sticks breaking?” Shelton’s responses were growing increasingly feeble.

“How many? From which direction?”

“Lots. Like, from everywhere.”

Hi’s eyebrows shot up. “You heard ‘lots’ of ‘pops like sticks’ coming from everywhere? That’s your story?”