Dead Drift

  Jenna, and all the other victims, deserved for their killer to be caught and justice served. It wouldn’t bring them back or erase the pain, but it would, at least for Griffin, bring a measure of satisfaction that her killer was finally behind bars and paying for what he’d done.

  “Do any of the other words apply to Ashley’s investigation?” he asked, trying to keep his focus on Ashley and her case, but it was so hard not to allow thoughts of his sister to creep in.

  “It’s been a while.” Hood exhaled. “But like I said, I pulled her file after your call this morning.” He flipped the thin file open again, and his eyes scanned the pages. “Here’s one. She was eventually killed with a large caliber round, like what you have found in other cases.”

  “Eventually?” Finley asked, biting her bottom lip.

  He knew exactly why his wife was cringing, and the same queasiness swirled in his gut.

  “Ashley was tortured before the sick b—” Eason cut off the word. “Before the sicko pulled the trigger.”

  11

  So let’s hear this theory,” Declan said to Luke as he reentered his office, but Kate’s body language indicated she was the far more interested of the two. Kate was carrying this case the way she carried the weight of everything else, bearing the full burden of it. Oh, she handled it well, but even in the short time he had been back, he could see she still tended to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders, even when it wasn’t hers to bear.

  He was certainly no saint. He had years, choices, and actions to beg God’s forgiveness and mercy for, but even he knew God never intended for anyone to shoulder such massive burdens. Christ had flat-out begged His children to hand over their burdens and take on His yoke instead.

  Kate, he feared, still struggled in that area—full dependence on God—just as she had in college. She loved her Savior—always had and, from what he’d observed, still did mightily—but loving and depending on were two vastly different things.

  “Your theory?” Kate said at his silence.

  “I overheard a couple of Ebeid’s men talking at the docks in Malaysia before one of his shipments left, and the captain said the weapons and parts had been loaded onto the vessel.”

  “If you knew the shipment contained weapons headed for the U.S., why on earth did you allow it to leave Malaysia?”

  “I had orders.”

  “And you didn’t have a problem with those orders?” Kate asked.

  “There’s a larger situation at play here. If we’d have stopped the shipment, Ebeid would have simply sent another one.”

  “So this way you give him what he wants with less effort on his part?”

  “It’s not that simple. It was far better to track the shipment, to see where it was headed. To try and physically tie it to Ebeid.”

  “Wow,” she said, shaking her head in disappointment. “They’ve really changed you.”

  “Excuse me?” How had the little he shared resulted in that pronouncement? If that upset her, how would she respond to some of the other orders he’d heeded?

  She linked her arms across her chest. “The Luke I knew would never have let that shipment leave port.”

  He swallowed. Perhaps she was right. The Luke she knew had been young and naïve. The world, unfortunately, worked far differently than he’d expected.

  “Sorry to interrupt this fun exchange,” Declan said, “but can we get back to the parts you mentioned?”

  “I don’t know for certain, but I believe Bedan is using those parts—whatever they are—to create a dispersal method for the stolen anthrax.”

  Declan’s brows shot up. “Dispersal method?”

  Luke rubbed his forehead. “I suppose it’s best to start from the beginning.” He moved to take a seat on the sofa. “Anthrax is a gram-positive, rod-shaped bacterium that infects people when the spores get inside the body. Anthrax is a Tier 1 bioterrorism threat because it produces the greatest risk with significant potential for mass causalities, which affects the economy and public confidence. It attacks on multiple levels and infects in one of three ways—via contact with skin, ingestion, or inhalation. It makes such a strong bioweapon because it can be released without anyone knowing—if done right, of course.”

  “Which would be how?” Declan frowned. “Other than putting the powder form in letters like back in 2001, or dumping it off a building like Bedan apparently so inelegantly attempted in Munich?”

  “We know anthrax spores can’t survive long in water, and I highly doubt they’d attempt to repeat the powder-in-the-mail scenario, as we have so many more precautions in place. I believe it far more likely that Ebeid and Bedan will attempt to contaminate the food supply.”

  “But I thought cattle and crops couldn’t survive long after being injected with anthrax?” Tanner said.

  “You’re correct, which means we’re looking at fresh food at the packing stage. Food that must be consumed rather quickly following purchase. For example, they could infiltrate a meat packaging plant and contaminate the hamburger before it’s packaged and loaded onto trucks headed for grocery stores.”

  “So the parts you referred to would be installed at a packaging plant?”

  “Yeah. If they went that route.”

  “You also mentioned inhalation,” Declan said.

  “Correct. Anthrax is the most deadly when it is inhaled. If not identified and treated almost immediately, the results are lethal.”

  “How do you recommend we proceed?” Declan asked.

  “You continue working to bust Ebeid.” Though he doubted a man like Ebeid would ever be brought down through traditional legal means. “The NSA and Langley are scouring the country for Bedan, but I expect he’s quite near.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Ebeid likes to keep his team close, and if that’s not possible, at least tightly knit together and overseen by only a select few worldwide.”

  “Bedan nearby is a terrifying thought,” Tanner said.

  Especially if it meant they were at ground zero for Bedan’s impending attack. But surely Ebeid wouldn’t have anthrax dispersed so close to where he was currently calling home. Although the man likely had no true concept of home.

  To Luke, home had become far more than a physical dwelling. To him a home was where his heart resided, and she was sitting three inches to his right.

  Even after all the years of attempting to suppress his feelings for her, one nanosecond back in Kate’s presence and his pent-up feelings had come thundering back like a wave crashing over him.

  “Where do we even begin the search for possible food contamination, especially without inciting mass panic?” Declan asked, thinking logistically.

  Which is how Luke needed to be thinking. Not about Kate and how she made him feel. Rather, he needed to work the case as he’d been trained to do—with intense focus. “Send out a warning to fresh-food packaging plants to report any new illnesses or any suspicious activity,” he suggested.

  “That’s a shot in the dark, don’t you think?” Declan said, clearly wanting something far more concrete and actionable.

  “I’m afraid that’s the best we’ve got right now.” Luke stood.

  Kate frowned, tilting her head. “Where are you going?”

  “To do my job.” He had his own leads to follow.

  “But I thought . . .” Tanner glanced between Luke and Declan. “Aren’t you working with us?”

  “Yes. As a consultant.”

  Declan raised an eyebrow. “But . . . ?”

  “But I still work for the Agency.” He had work to do. They were facing the very real possibility of an epidemic, and from all the intel that had been gathered thus far, they were running out of time to stop it. He couldn’t just sit around.

  Kate stood. “Fine,” she said, slipping on her navy pea coat. “I’m going with.”

  Luke started to chuckle, then realized she wasn’t joking. He hadn’t planned to leave her side whenever possible, but taking her with him for this? He’d figu
red she’d be safe at the federal building for such a short amount of time—or staying with Declan and Tanner, if this took longer than expected. “I realize as a PI you’re used to no rules, but . . .”

  He frowned at her burst of laughter. Dare he ask? “What’s so funny?”

  “I have no rules, but a CIA operative does?” Kate continued to chuckle. “That’s a good one.”

  He was ready to argue, but she was right. Rules in his world were ever changing, ever fluctuating, and somewhere amid the sea of compromise, he’d slipped into the murky gray.

  There was nothing like living in the furnace to keep you dependent on God for survival day by day, and he kept God’s Word close. Yet he’d never felt farther from his Savior.

  Kate moved for the door. “You coming?”

  He inhaled deeply. Should he bring her along?

  She was a federal consultant on the task force and a private investigator. What he was about to do was off the books anyway, as he had zero jurisdiction on domestic soil. It couldn’t hurt to have Kate along. Considering what he’d heard of her unique skill set, along with what he’d witnessed, she’d probably be a great asset. Besides, judging by the Barefoot explosion last night, it seemed Ebeid had already discovered she was his weakness. It wouldn’t be long before another hit came. The closer he kept her to him, the better he’d feel.

  And his family? How long would it take Ebeid to discover his parents and his brother’s family?

  Late last night, he’d confirmed with his Agency contact, Mack, that his folks, who’d recently retired to Florida, and his brother and family in Chesapeake Harbor were being watched for their protection. But Kate, no matter how good the detail, would pick up on other agents’ presence and refuse their help. Refuse Luke’s help.

  He swallowed and grabbed his coat. With a quick wave to those remaining behind, he followed Katie to the elevator.

  He waited until they stepped inside the elevator and the doors slid shut, leaving them alone, before he moved for his secondary gun. He pulled it from its ankle sheath and offered it to Katie. “If you’re going with me, you aren’t going unarmed.”

  “Not a problem.” She lifted the back of her shirt, giving him a quick glance at her Sig Sauer P938.

  He choked out a laugh. Why wasn’t he surprised?

  12

  Kate climbed in Luke’s rental car, remembering his red soft-top Jeep and all the adventures in that beat-up thing.

  Luke started the engine and pulled out of the lot, the black Ford Focus not suiting him at all—both the Luke she’d once known and the man behind the wheel beside her. It almost bordered on comical. She kicked her shoes off, her fuzzy, polka-dot socks pressed up against the lower heating vent. She hated shoes, even when the temperatures dropped. They were so restrictive. “Where are we off to?”

  “To do a little recon,” he said, speeding down the on-ramp to 695 West.

  “Let me guess . . .” She wiggled her toes as Luke merged in with the flow of traffic. “Ebeid?”

  Luke glanced over at her. “Not directly.”

  She toyed with the notion of pressing him for more details, but what was the point? She’d see for herself when they arrived at whatever destination he had in mind.

  Rays of sunlight streaked through the patchy blankets of clouds swirling across the wind-tossed sky, warming her skin through the windshield.

  Traffic was on the lighter side at the late-morning hour, but when it came to Baltimore traffic, nothing was a given. Unsure of the duration of their ride, she settled back in her seat. Would she ever be settled fully in Luke’s presence? She never had been, which, truth be told, had been a huge part of her initial attraction to him. He’d unsettled her in a way she couldn’t explain. He unsettled her still, and something about it was still very enticing. Like anything could happen at any given moment. Luke was the embodiment of unsettling adventure, and she felt as if she could never get enough of him.

  It wasn’t fair. After what he’d done, he deserved to have zero hold over her, but much to her frustration, his grip on her heart held firm. Foolishly, she still loved the man—still loved the man who’d deserted her.

  She wondered if he’d thought of her as she had of him over the years—daily, nearly hourly. His kiss the first night back . . . She exhaled, shifting in her seat. It’d been some kiss.

  Frustration seared through her. She was a strong, independent woman, but somehow he frazzled her brain and muddled her thoughts. Somehow she’d regrouped after he’d left, focusing all her energy into finding him. Now that she had found him, or rather he’d found her, what did she do with all the energy coursing through her? With all the emotions rattling inside?

  It crushed her when he left the first time, and he’d surely made no promise to stick around this time. How would she handle his leaving again? She had weathered the crushing blow of his disappearance, but it’d nearly killed her. She had no desire to go through that again.

  Her chest tightened, her breath constricting.

  “You okay?” he asked, glancing over as he shifted lanes.

  “Fine. Why?” The nanosecond the loaded question left her lips she knew she’d screwed up. Fine. Always leave it at fine.

  He studied her before turning his eyes back to the road. “You look a little flushed.”

  “I’m fine.” This time she left it there and shifted her focus out the window for the remainder of the ride but felt her eyes widen as they pulled into a tattoo parlor lot.

  Kate furrowed her brow. “I don’t understand.”

  Luke pulled the keys from the ignition. “I’m getting a tattoo.”

  She frowned. “What does this have to do with the case?”

  “My local handler informed me that the guy who runs this place, Hank, also rents out his vehicles to Ebeid’s and Stallings’ men.”

  “Oh.” Declan had recently discovered that Max Stallings and Ebeid used the same cargo ship to smuggle in their contraband—Ebeid for weapons, parts, and most frighteningly, terrorists. Max smuggled weapons, but even more horrifyingly, modern-day slaves.

  There was no point in Luke’s going directly to Max or his man Lennie—neither of them would talk. Declan had tried and couldn’t get anything out of them. A tattoo artist was often like a barber. They talked while they worked. And if Luke played the role right and asked the right questions . . .

  Luke stepped from the car and walked around it, opening the passenger door for her. “By the way, I’m Garrett Beck, and you’re my girlfriend, Jasmine. If you get the opportunity, casually ask if you can get a consult with Tanya. She’s the owner’s wife. You might be able to get something out of her.”

  He took hold of her hand as they strode across the paved parking lot to the set of glass double doors painted in fantastic, colorful mandala patterns. His skin felt so good pressed to hers. She struggled to breathe.

  “Just say you aren’t sure what you want, but you’ve heard she’s great at custom designs.”

  She nodded. “Got it,” she said, trying to ignore his touch. She already had a tattoo in mind, had for a while. She’d just never taken the step to get it.

  “Oh, and one more thing,” he said before opening the door.

  “What’s that?”

  “Remember we’re in love.” He pressed a kiss to her lips.

  Heat rushed through her limbs. What had she gotten herself into?

  13

  Detective Crest?” Griffin asked the man before him.

  The tall, slender man about Griffin’s age looked up from his desk. “Yes?”

  Griffin extended his hand. “Detective McCray,” he said. “We spoke on the phone.”

  “Right.” Crest stood and shook his hand. “Your timing couldn’t be better.”

  Griffin arched a brow in confusion. “How do you mean?”

  “I just got a call. Two women out walking along the river discovered human remains.”

  “Do you think it’s our killer?”

  “Let’s go see.”
r />   Griffin and Finley rode with Detective Crest to the crime scene. The poor woman, what was left of her, was a ghastly reminder of seeing his sister’s remains washed up on shore. Oh, the police had tried to keep them all away, but he’d reached the site before her body could be covered and the ME could finish his on-site examination, the beach being too narrow to effectively block anyone’s view.

  He swallowed the bile burning up his throat as Finley clutched his hand.

  “Crest.” The ME looked up from his kneeling position near the body, or rather the remains, and acknowledged his presence.

  “You beat us here?”

  “Was teeing off on the golf course around the corner when the call came in.”

  “Thanks for coming so quickly.” Crest looked around at the gathering crowd. “The faster we can speed this along and get her covered up, the better.”

  The ME nodded. “I understand.”

  “This is Detective McCray and Dr. Scott-McCray, a forensic anthropologist out of Baltimore.”

  “Dr. Scott”—the ME nodded—“your reputation precedes you.”

  “Scott-McCray now,” Finley said and then turned to smile widely at Griffin. He clutched her hand. She had been called in to work a case in Houston some time ago, which resulted in a twenty-year-old cold case being solved. No wonder her reputation preceded her.

  His wife was as talented and gifted as they came.

  Crest slipped on his gloves and bent over the remains. “Please don’t tell me we’re looking at a second victim of our killer.”

  Second victim? So Burke hadn’t mentioned his belief in one common killer to Detective Crest either. He must have wanted to see the cases as they were and as the detective in charge saw them. Presumably, Burke would have eventually shared his theory about a serial killer, but he’d been murdered before he could do so.

  “There isn’t much left to work with,” the ME said with a shake of his head. Some animal had definitely gone to work on the remains. He pointed at the gunshot wound to the skull. “It looks consistent with a large caliber round, but I’ll need to get her back to the autopsy room to do a thorough examination before I’m comfortable confirming anything.” He shifted his gaze to Finley. “Dr. Scott-McCray, given the state of decomposition and your expertise, I’d be honored if you’d assist with the examination.”