Alexander Death (The Paranormals, Book 3) (22 page)

Schwartzman wasn't here, though—he'd sent Heather to meet with the chief investigator, who was borrowing his office. While a team of sharp-eyed young lawyers were pawing through the records, their leader was a pretty Latino girl who looked no more than twenty years old. From what Schwartzman said, she wasn't a lawyer, and she didn't appear to have any real qualifications to run a congressional investigation. Heather wondered who she was sleeping with.

“Hello, Dr. Reynard.” The young woman stood up behind Schwartzman's desk and held out her hand. “I'm Esmeralda Rios. I was sent from the House Homeland Security committee. We're just trying to clear up a few things.”

“Nice to meet you,” Heather said automatically. She took the girl's hand, and something came over her. Her resentment at being called in to work melted away—it was clear that this young woman, Esmeralda, was just an earnest person trying to do a difficult job. Heather's heart went out to her. “I hope I can help,” she added, sincerely.

“I'm sure you can, Dr. Reynard.” Esmeralda sat in Schwartzman's chair, and Heather sat across the desk from her. “It sure was nice of Dr. Schwartzman to loan me his office while we're here. He's been so nice and helpful.”

“I'm sure your work is important.” Heather gave her a smile. She felt a strong desire to help this girl and be supportive.

“Maybe we could start with an overview,” Esmeralda said. “Can you tell me what happened the day of the...outbreak...in Fallen Oak?”

“The reports say it was some kind of chemical leak,” Heather said.

“I know what the reports say. But we're after the facts here.” Esmeralda winked and patted Heather's hand. Heather's heat skipped a beat. She liked the touch of the girl's hand. Heather had a crazy, elated sense of falling in love with this girl. “You understand. Somebody has to get to the truth here, don't you agree?”

“I really do,” Heather said, gazing into the girl's dark gray eyes. “But I was told to keep quiet...”

“By who?” Esmeralda squeezed her hand. “You don't have to keep any secrets from me.”

“Homeland Security took control of the scene,” Heather whispered. “The investigation, the media, everything.”

“That's exactly the problem,” Esmeralda said. “We're not investigating the CDC here. You guys are great. Our concern—the committee's concern—is that the Department of Homeland Security might have been used in a way that put politics ahead of the country's security. We think critical information was deliberately kept from members of Congress. We want to know the details.”

Heather found herself nodding along. She wasn't happy with how the Fallen Oak situation had been handled, either. Something needed to be done, and she wanted to help, but that wasn't really what she was thinking about at the moment. She was wondering how this Esmeralda girl would react if Heather kissed her.

“So, will you help us?” Esmeralda asked. She was stroking the back of Heather's hand now, and Heather found the sensation delightful beyond words.

“Of course,” Heather said. “Anything you want.”

“What was your role in the Fallen Oak investigation?”

“I'm an epidemiologist,” Heather told her. “So my job was to identify the pathogen and try to find the source.”

“What did you discover?”

“There was no pathogen,” Heather said. “The disease was so extreme and so rapid, I was thinking it must have been genetically engineered. I was initially worried about bioterrorism, to be honest. But there was nothing to be found. It was all symptoms, no vector. Strangest thing I've ever seen.”

“Did you have any luck finding the source?”

Heather bit her lip. She wasn't sure how much she should share, when everything had been declared classified.

Then Esmeralda laced her fingers together with Heather's, and suddenly all Heather could think about was how to get alone with this girl. Esmeralda was from out of town, so she must have a hotel room. That would be easier than Heather taking the girl home to her own bed, where Liam was obviously going to ask questions.

“The source of the outbreak?” Esmeralda asked again.

“Oh...there's a girl,” Heather said. She was feeling drunk now, aching to touch the girl. “Jennifer Morton.”

Esmeralda's eyes narrowed. “Tell me about her.”

“We...I think she's an immune carrier,” Heather said. “Some reports say she can exhibit symptoms at will, she can become contagious at will. That sounds crazy, but that's what I've heard. And I'm starting to believe it.” Her voice dropped to a whisper again. “Something supernatural is going on here, Esmeralda. Not many people believe it, but I do.”

“So you think Jenny Mitt...Morton willingly infected and killed all those people in Fallen Oak?”

“That's what I think.” Heather giggled—the girl's touch was making her lose her mind. “Don't tell anyone I said that, though. I mean, I examined Jennifer's hair and blood, and there was nothing unusual there—until I put them in contact with a control group of live blood cells. All of the cells that didn't belong to her just shriveled and died on contact. But I never saw a transfer of a pathogen. It's really not possible, what I saw. But that's what I saw.”

“And where is Jenny Morton now?” Esmeralda asked.

“That's the billion-dollar question. Homeland Security is looking for her, but she's gone into hiding somewhere.” Heather's fingertips stroked their way up along the inside of Esmeralda's forearm. She couldn't stop smiling at the girl. “Do you want to go get a drink with me, or...?”

“Aw, that's sweet. Maybe later.” Esmeralda winked. “You don't have a clue where to find Jenny?”

“Not a one.”

“What about the bodies? Where are all the bodies from Fallen Oak?”

“The bodies...” Heather had to concentrate. The desire was taking over her brain as well as her body.

“Yes, Heather,” Esmeralda said. “Where are the bodies buried?”

“I'm...not really sure. They aren't buried, though. They're frozen.”

“Where?”

“Some kind of secure storage facility. I think it's around here somewhere, maybe a little outside Atlanta. I know the contract went to one of Nelson Artleby's companies. You should ask him.”

“The President's campaign adviser?”

“That's the one,” Heather said. “He took over the investigation. Whatever Homeland Security did, they did under his orders.”

“This is just what we're trying to find,” Esmeralda said. “Whether the White House is guilty of lying to Congress. The House oversight committee hasn't heard a thing from Homeland Security, except for their official reports about a chemical leak in some abandoned old factory.”

“Which is bullshit,” Heather said.

“Of course it is. That's why I'm here.” Esmeralda scrolled through a few things on her laptop. “Okay, that gives me some ideas about where to start. Thanks for coming and talking to me, Dr. Reynard. I'm sure I'll be in touch as the investigation continues.”

“Call me Heather. And just let me know if I can help...or if you just need someone to talk to...or a place to spend the night...”

Esmeralda raised her eyebrows, and Heather blushed.

“Thanks so much, Heather,” Esmeralda said. “You're very helpful.”

Heather squirmed in her seat as she gazed at the girl.

“You can go now,” Esmeralda said.

“Oh, sorry! Of course.” Heather stood up. Esmeralda shook her hand again, holding it for a long moment, and Heather had to resist the temptation to draw her close in an embrace.

Heather hurried home and immediately stripped down and took a long, warm shower. It took a couple of hours for her fever of desire to finally break, and when it did, it left her feeling confused and a little ashamed. Heather had really never been attracted to other women, not that way. She wondered what it was about Esmeralda that made Heather crave her touch so badly.

Jenny woke to shouting voices from downstairs, and the sound of a woman screaming.

It took a second to get her bearings—it was late, probably long past midnight. She'd gone to bed after a late dinner with Alexander, somewhere around nine or ten o' clock. Late dinners were common here. So was a fantastic thing called a “siesta” where people napped through the hottest part of the afternoon.

Jenny dressed quickly, pulled on gloves and boots, and ran out of her room and down the back stairs. She followed the screams out to the front hall, where the front door stood open. Alexander and one of his men, Raul, stood just outside. Raul had his AK-47 off his shoulder and in his hands, and he nodded while Alexander spoke in rapid Spanish.

“What's happening?” Jenny asked.

Alexander hurried inside and embraced her. “We have a security situation. You should go back upstairs. I don't want you to see this.”

“See what?” Jenny looked around his shoulder to the open door.

“They were on their way back from
Zinacantan,” Alexander said. “Someone strafed their truck. We think one of Toscano's men.”

Jenny took a second to process this. Toscano headed the Juarez cartel, the chief rival to Papa Calderon's Tijuana-based cartel. And Zinacantan was the home village of Kisa and her family. She and her brothers had gone home to visit for the week.

“Did they hurt Kisa?” Jenny asked.

Alexander looked at her for a moment, frowning. “Jenny...”

“I want to see her!” Jenny pushed her way past him and ran for the open door.

“Wait!” Alexander shouted.

“If someone's attacking us, I can help,” Jenny said. She didn't stop running.

Outside, one of the trucks idled in front of the house, one headlight glowing. The windshield and one side of the truck were stippled with gaping bullet holes, and one tire was flat.

Noonsa leaned against the truck, staring into the flatbed. The old woman was screaming and crying. She had stayed at Alexander's compound instead of visiting home with her niece and nephews.

“Raul was barely able to get the truck home,” Alexander said. “By the time we found them, it was too late for a doctor.”

Jenny ran across the wildflowers of the front yard to the battered, slumping truck. She looked at Noonsa, who covered her face with her hands, sobbing. Then Jenny looked into the back of the truck.

Three bullet-riddled bodies lay in the pond of fresh blood in the truck's payload: Iztali, Yochi, and Kisa. The girl had died in mid-scream, eyes scrunched closed, mouth wide open. Most of her neck had been blown away, leaving only a strip of flesh connecting her head and shoulders.

“Kisa!” Jenny screamed. She shed a glove and took one of the girl's cold, blood-slick hands, finally able to touch her friend. One of the only friends she'd ever had. A pained wail erupted from Jenny's lips.

“I'm sorry, Jenny. This is what I didn't want you to see.” Alexander spoke in a gentle voice and touched a cool hand to the back of her neck. He drew her close to hug her, but Jenny pushed away.

“Who did this?” Jenny snapped.

“Manuel and some others are searching for them now,” Alexander said. “The shooters won't get far. But this could be the first step in an attack against this compound, so I'd like you to get back and inside. There could be gunfire.”

“If the people who did this come here, they're getting hit with worse things than gunfire.” Jenny looked at Kisa's body again, and her eyes burned with tears. She looked away quickly. “I mean it.”

Raul approached from the house with an armload of blankets. Jenny helped Alexander and Noona wrap the bodies. Alexander said he would have someone drive them back to their village in the morning. Noonsa embraced each of her young relatives, weeping, just before the bodies were wrapped. She came away with blood all over her dress.

They moved the bodies to the blind cavern under the main house, which served as a root cellar and storage. It was the coolest place to keep them from decaying in the tropical heat.

Everyone sat on the front porch, with blood smeared all over their hands, and they waited.

Manuel returned in the Jeep about an hour later, with two other Calderon men. A fourth man huddled in the back of the Jeep at gunpoint—beaten and bruised, hands tied, blindfolded.

Manuel opened the rear door of the Jeep, and the two other men kicked the prisoner out. He grunted when he hit the dirt.

Alexander and Manuel spoke in very rapid Spanish. Jenny was picking up some words of that language, too, but people usually spoke too fast for her to follow.

“There were two men,” Alexander said. “The gunner and the driver. This is the gunner.”

“Where's the driver?” Jenny asked.

“Manuel killed him and fed his body to the jungle,” Alexander said. “This man confesses. He was sent by Toscano to attack our people. A warning.” Alexander frowned. “This means Toscano knows we have an operation going here in Chiapas.”

Jenny looked at the man kicking and flailing in the dirt. “Why did they kill Kisa, too?”

“Because she was there,” Alexander said. “I told you, Toscano is a psychopath. He thinks nothing of killing women and children.”

“What are you going to do with him now?” Jenny asked. The man in the dirt was begging and sobbing, but she had little sympathy for the murderer.